The Deafening Silence of American Life

For the past nineteen years, Stephen De La Cruz has lived in the United States. When he was just ten years old, Stephen and his two young sisters boarded their very first airplane at Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila and said their goodbyes to the Philippines, their country of birth. Accompanied by a family friend, the De La Cruz siblings eventually made their way to Eagle Rock, a suburban neighborhood in northeast Los Angeles, which during the late 1990s was emerging as a primary destination for Filipino immigrants and their families. Having been separated from their parents for a few years, Stephen and his sisters were excited to rejoin their parents, who at the time were living in the house of a close relative and saving up money to lease a place of their own.

            Stephen had his preconceived notions about the United States based on all of the American television shows and movies that his father would record on VHS and send him every few months through large cardboard care packages, known as balikbayan boxes (the word “balikbayan” literally translates to “homecoming”). To him, America was the land of prosperity and money. In the months leading up to his move, he could hardly contain his excitement. However, for as much as he had valorized American life, he vividly remembered the transition being much rougher than he had anticipated. Life in Eagle Rock did not compare to the hustle and bustle of the Manila subdivision that Stephen called home the first decade of his life. In poetic fashion, he eloquently captured the differences between Philippine urban life and Filipino American suburban living:

            “My first impression was how quiet it was. There’s an isolation from interactions with other people. In the Philippines, where I was growing up, there’s interaction between people right when you step outside of the house. Whether it’s someone selling street food or your next-door-neighbors greeting you, you already have interactions.

            When we moved to Eagle Rock, I knew my boundaries. At first, we lived with my uncle, and in that way, it felt like it was the Philippines—living with relatives. That was an easy transition. But stepping outside their house, you have borders, you have fences, you have your own space. This is America. The streets are relatively empty, and you have perfectly maintained lawns. It’s not the Philippines, walking in the crowded, busy, trash-filled streets.

I think silence was the best word for it. That silence was really deafening.”

Living in a growing Filipino community did not entirely assuage Stephen of his anxieties either. Prior to his migration, he had had much angst about moving to a neighborhood that he had envisioned would resemble the one in ET: Extra Terrestrial, his favorite movie as a child. But before Stephen boarded the plane, his father informed him that Eagle Rock was becoming home to many more Filipinos, which calmed his worries about living around all white people. The nominal presence of Filipinos, however, provided him little protection against the backdrop of suburban silence.

“To my surprise, America was not so white after all. At first, I thought I could feel comfortable being surrounded by Filipinos in Eagle Rock. But being around familiar faces wasn’t the same comfort. It was still unlike the Philippines because everyone here seemed to lead their own private lives.”