Opening the Door

Atilano at the Manila airport, walking on the tarmac, 1975. He is in a brightly printed top and bell bottom pants. Skinny. This photo is in black and white, while all the rest from the same day are in color. I don’t know who took this. I don’t know where they took it from. He carries two bags, one visible, slung on his right shoulder. He carries a book, a towel or cloth draped from his left hand. He doesn’t smile. He wears large glasses. His hair is jet black and long, almost covering the nape of his neck.

He will turn salt and pepper soon. He will cut his hair. He will start wearing suits almost exclusively at work. He is going from a Philippine summer to Boston autumn. He will experience winter for the first time. He will experience having to do things for himself. He won’t have brothers to bring him fresh clothes or food from home. He will sleep in a call room. He will put his food on the window sill, because the Boston frost will keep it fresh.

But right now he doesn’t know any of that. What he does know: he is leaving his wife of 1 1/2 years at home. With their 8 month-old daughter. He has worked hard. He passed his exams with flying colors, the tests that would allow him to get placement in the United States. Leaving the Philippines was the common goal, was always the goal. Everyone was doing it. They finished medical school in order to leave.