My long planned journey to America with a dear friend close to my heart began under a cloud of doubt. After all, who would want to be venturing far away from home with the world seemingly on the verge of falling apart. On the eve of our departure, the US-Iran conflict erupted, threatening to bump up oil prices to heights unknown and, along with it, doomsday Armageddon scenarios.

The headlines were alarming and the timing terrible. But with the airline tickets already purchased, the hotels booked months in advance, and cancellation penalties too steep to bear, with a great degree of trepidation we decided to press forward — anxious but determined to let family ties and dreams of exploring familiar places together outweigh geopolitical storms.

At Los Angeles International Airport, the rumored gauntlet of immigration checks proved untrue. My partner, with her brood of US passport holders, and I were ushered through rather swiftly. Perhaps it was the late hour of our arrival, or maybe it was the wheelchair I requested for my busted knees that softened the process. Whatever the reason, our entry was smooth, swift, and mercifully uneventful.

Orange County and the AirBnB apartment in the well manicured Irvine community became our home base for days filled with reunions — family gatherings and a fraternity fellowship with Upsilon Sigma Phi brothers. From the sprawling estate of a relation we visited in Escondido, nestled in a hilly guava estate, to lively get-togethers in San Dimas and Buena Park, hearty meals of Southern California cuisine unfolded as a nostalgic tapestry of good food and gleeful laughter. We recalled days bygone and made the introduction of young nieces, nephews, and grandchildren — interspersed with food trips and window shopping in the nearby Irvine Spectrum mall which surprisingly was often crowded to the point of suffocation considering the uncertain times and costly gasoline.

A highlight was our visit to Google’s YouTube California office on the site where the legendary Spruce Goose of Howard Hughes was built and once stood. Free‑flowing food and gym amenities for casually dressed employees and visitors painted a portrait of a modern technology–driven corporate culture — part indulgence, part innovation. It was a glimpse into the new America where history and technology intersect, and where the workplace resembles a playground.

From nearby John Wayne Airport, we flew eastward, bypassing the chaos rumored at LAX. Again, tales of nasty, fearful ICE agents replacing unpaid TSA staff and horrendous delays proved to be exaggerated.

In New York, we stayed with my investment banker son — who once swore he would never follow in my footsteps as an often harassed, overworked and adrenaline pumping dealmaker — in gentrified Brooklyn Heights along the East River, where the kilometers long Promenade offered breathtaking views of Manhattan’s scenic skyline.

Despite my slower pace, my partner mercifully adjusted her stride to mine as we logged countless steps daily in the redeveloped sloping terrain of Dumbo underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Each step was a reminder to me of resilience, of the body’s limits and the heart’s determination to keep up.

But the most romantic chapter unfolded in Central Park. Amid the cherry blossoms in full bloom, we climbed into a horse‑drawn carriage, a long dream of mine. The rhythmic hoof steps of the horse carried us through pathways of the park adorned in pink, a living movie scene from countless films of springtime in New York.

For a brief interlude, the city’s bustling roar of honking horns of impatient New Yorkers faded into the chilly air replaced by timeless serenity. The blossoms framed us like a painting, petals drifting in the breeze as if choreographed for our ride. It was a cinematic love scene that would linger long after the petals fell. The lovely afternoon ended with a wine-filled sumptuous dinner in another iconic landmark in Central Park, the Tavern on the Green.

Another reunion brought us to a Michelin‑rated ramen restaurant in Chelsea. The food was fine, though Manila’s noodle houses surpass it in flavor and are not as expensive, particularly if converted into pesos.The $700 bill was a sobering reminder of New York’s extravagance and how great a bargain we have back home with so many great ramen restaurants to choose from.

Nevertheless, amid the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation, family bonds for Pinoys in distant places are the irreplaceable and priceless feast.

On Day 9, we journeyed to Philadelphia to cheer my teenage granddaughter in an inter‑regional volleyball competition. Watching her play, surrounded by family, was a fitting culmination to a trip that began under the cloud of war but blossomed into a celebration of resilience, kinship and romance. The cheers in the gymnasium echoed the laughter of reunions past, the applause a reminder that journeys are measured not in miles but in moments.

Traveling across America in these uncertain times was a contrasting reminder of fragility and of resilience. The resilience of humanity, of families, and of our being. The war headlines reminded us of fragility. The reunions reminded us of love. The joyful laughter of kin reminded us of humanity. In the end, it was the romantic carriage ride in Central Park, the warmth in San Dimas, the footsteps across Brooklyn Heights, and the cheers in Philadelphia that defined the trip.

America, in all its kaleidoscope of sights and sounds of crowded malls, serene estates, luxuriant parks, extravagant dinners, and simple family meals remains a stage where personal stories unfold against the backdrop of global drama. And for us, this journey was proof that even under the dark clouds of conflict, the sun still breaks through with every new dawn.

Until next week … OBF !

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