“So, are you guys gonna handcuff me to the airplane seat or something?”
I couldn’t believe that I had found myself in a situation where such a question was necessary.
Life had been going swell.
My military service had been delayed, and in that window of stagnant time, I found a window of opportunity to make a long awaited trip to the US. My suggestion (asking for permission) to my mother regarding the trip was met with a surprising level of support, perhaps thanks to the fact that I was paying for it myself. Or rather because she knew that I’ve been wanting to make this trip for a long time now, and she was happy for me.
Ever since PragerU flew me out to Los Angeles earlier this January for their international #pragerFORCE retreat, every waking moment was spent yearning to return to the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.
My head was constantly filled to the brim with bittersweet memories of my time in LA, as well as hope for more great experiences.
After all, my life had taken a 180 degree turn. No more was I the lone conservative boy from Singapore with these tin-foil hat ideas of freedom and liberty. I was now part of a something greater that I had spent the last 3 years hoping to worm into. PragerFORCE had changed my life.
Plus, in the process of making so many new friends, I found myself on the receiving end of “American Hospitality”, as multiple people opened up their homes for me to stay at whenever I visited. A true lifesaver, for lodging is a killer when it comes to travelling.
As I excitedly ran my mother through the itinerary, we ended up spending an entire afternoon talking about plans, aspirations, and her own memories of travelling in her younger days. It was a fantastic opportunity for me to open up to her about my personal goals that I had never gotten the chance to share with her, only to be met with support that induced guilt for not opening up earlier.
Booking the flights was another adventure. Turns out Southwest really is the best. No change fees? Two free check in bags? Come on, what more could you ask for? #notsponsored.
The few weeks of excitement built up for the trip somehow dwindled down as the trip approached. I brushed it off, telling myself that thanks to the constant contact with my American friends via video calls, I felt like I never left in the first place. Little did I know, that my gut was foreshadowing the upcoming tragedy.
I began my journey in high spirits, somehow a little too excited to show off on my instagram that I was in Japan for my layover. I knew that most of my friends wouldn’t be surprised to see me back in the USA, but perhaps Japan would raise a few eyebrows. The flights and immigrations were refreshingly empty, a relief for someone who hates standing in line. The Japanese flight attendants gave me a newfound appreciation for the Japanese culture of politeness, and it was amusing to have them apologising profusely upon realising that I couldn’t understand the last 10 sentences they said in Japanese. I guess I do look pretty Japanese, and the mandatory face mask didn’t help.
The Immigrations Counter
Landing in San Francisco for my flight to Los Angeles was thrilling. At least I think it would have been.
Knowing me, my head was probably filled with something along the lines of “I’m home.”
Unfortunately, I can no longer remember how that thrill of finally landing in America again felt, for all of it was washed away by the series of events that were about to unfold.
Mayhem first began at the immigrations counter., where the first question the officer asked was:
“How long will you be staying here? Have you got a return ticket?”
To that, I responded proudly.
“Yeap, 27th August.”
“27th AUGUST???”
The officer seemed bewildered.
“What for?”
I knew this would happen. I understood that it would be rather hard to believe that I was here merely as a tourist, therefore I responded:
“Well, mostly travelling and a bit of business mixed in.”
‘Business’.
This is a key term in the story, and I must elaborate on this.
I met my friend Alysia through PragerFORCE, she’s a 19 year old entrepreneur and Real Estate Agent. Impressive, I know.
I myself have a business, under which I service clients in the areas of web design, video production, social media and more. As we got to talking, we realised that we could work really well together thanks to our common values. Hence we started working together, with the intention of eventually taking on her company as my client. I started to work with her on building her brand, and she would teach me about real estate and sales. It was essentially a “friendship with a bit of business mixed in”, hence my choice of phrasing that I used with the Immigrations Officer.
Besides, “business” did sound like a good reason to be there, and it was definitely a true statement.
It is also important to note that I have never billed Alysia for any service as of yet, and I had only intended to start taking a cut once we started making a profit. Because Alysia was a friend before business came into the picture, and friends can do that.
However, upon further questioning about my company and what I do, the officer started making aggressive red markings on my travel documents, with short-codes that spelt out nothing but trouble. He requested that I follow him to a different room, which I of course complied with.
Being “more American than most Americans” as my friends call me, I had a sense of submission to the laws and orders of the land that I loved so deeply.
The Border Security Office
I was brought to the Border Security office. I remained calm as I waited in the room. Several things stood out on the walls. The first thing that caught my eye was of course, a portrait of President Donald J. Trump. Without the election of that man, I would never have found American Conservatism, and my life would probably be a lot more nihilistic and meaningless. On the wall directly behind the counter was the Homeland Security logo. Call me silly, but I was fascinated to see this in real life, as I had heard of DHS in the TV show, The Punisher.
Plastered on the walls around me were posters that seemed to send an eerie warning. They read:
“Keep Detention Safe! Border Security has a zero policy for sexual assault. Report sexual assault!”
Another poster that gave me a pretty good situational awareness was an “I Speak…” poster, with the translations of “I speak xxx language” in practically every language in the world. Next to this was a smaller poster for identifying indigenous Spanish speakers, with about a dozen variations of “Habla Español” labelled with the respective regions
Finally, my name was called. After asking the usual questions, I was called into a separate room where my baggage was searched.
Further Interrogation
The border officer in charge of my case was a rather handsome hispanic guy, who resembled Michael B. Jordan’s character “Killmonger” in the Black Panther movie. He was bearded, had a structured, rectangular face, and had the personable yet intimidating character you would expect a border officer to have. By the end of this debacle, I would have remembered each of their names by heart. However, for the sake of this story, let’s call him Officer Killmonger.
Officer Killmonger was pretty amused by the fake concert brochure that I had brought along. I noticed that he had gone silent for awhile, before I noticed him intently reading about my “sold-out world tours” and “masters degree in Triangle playing”. I of course had to explain to him that it was merely a joke.
I would say that we built a decent rapport, however his supervisor thought otherwise and decided that it was important that I did an official QnA.
Before doing so, he asks if there’s anyone waiting for me in LA that I would like them to inform of my situation. I hand over my phone with my friend Priscilla’s number on it, as she was going to pick me up from the airport. That was the last time I would have access to my phone.
He proceeds to take my fingerprints. Apparently, I am extremely bad at following instructions, so he takes a pair of gloves out and moves my finger around the scanner for me.
“Sick prints bro.”
I laugh awkwardly, while appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood.
I was a bit too excited to raise my right hand and swear an oath that I would answer all his questions truthfully. I guess it felt like a rehearsal for a day that I may potentially swear allegiance to the American flag. Officer Killmonger then proceeded to ask me all the questions that he had previously asked, this time pausing between each question to document our conversation.
The Problem
Throughout this entire time, Officer Killmonger had given me the impression that being here just for tourism would probably not be believable. Therefore, that was the way I chose to frame my answers. I am no liar, and especially not when it came to the system of a country I loved so dearly. However, as Rule 8 of Jordan B. Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life goes, “Tell the truth, or at least, don’t lie.”
I was under the impression that I would probably have to make my trip seem more business centric if I wanted to be admitted. Which was true, since the majority of the trip would be spent with Alysia, whom I just so happen to do some form of “business” with. Therefore when asked about what exactly the “business” I would be working on with Alysia was, I explained that we would be making a video series, hence I would be staying with her for a month. He then asked me, “And how much would you charge for this video series?”
I had no intention of charging Alysia for this video series. However, I figured that it would be a bit hard to explain why I would do it for free and call it “business”. For me, this was business in the sense that I was investing my time into the company for greater benefits that would come later in the future. Though, I thought, he did say “would”, hence I gave a rough figure on how much I “would” charge for such video series. After all, why would it matter? As I told him, it was all word-of-mouth, and we don’t have any contracts stating that I should be paid. “About say 1500USD probably? Would depend on how much work she gave me.”
Again, in this entire conversation, I was thinking in the hypothetical situation that I would be paid. Which I had no expectation of. Keep in mind that throughout this conversation, he was asking me many questions about my business, and I assumed that he was trying to get an idea of my income.
I have to acknowledge now that I’m looking back on it, I was being stupid for interpreting the question that way.
In my defence, I had just gotten off an international flight and was in a high-pressure situation.
He also made it pretty clear that it was pretty unbelievable that I would be doing this video series for free. Hence, yes I admit that I did say I would be receiving financial compensation for the work.
Legality
He did say so himself, that if I were to be charging for the video editing done in Singapore, that would be perfectly legal.
And I knew that as well.
Hence, that was exactly what I was thinking when he asked if I would be receiving financial compensation.
Besides, I thought, at the end of the day, it was up to my own discretion if I would charge my friend for the video editing done in Singapore. Why would I charge my friend for bringing me on a tour around Colorado?
I’ve done so many things for free for my friends in pragerFORCE, and this was no different. The only reason I answered yes to his question on receiving financial compensation was because:
- Hypothetically, I COULD if I wanted to, and it would be perfectly legal. For video editing done in Singapore.
- I assumed that his intention of asking was just to get an idea of my average income
- He did not ask specifically which part of the work I would hypothetically charge for
- He gave me the impression that they wouldn’t believe I was working for free either way
Little did I know that this would come back to bite me in the *** later on.
The Waiting Game
After the official QnA, Officer Killmonger sends my statement to his supervisor. “Alright you should be all good, I just sent an email to my supervisor, so from now till then, it’s just a waiting game.”
Now that’s what I wanted to hear. Officer Killmonger got me. He knew that I was just a kid who wanted to visit his friends before he had to return home to serve in the military, and one of his friends happened to be someone he did business with. He’s staying at her family’s house for free, obviously he wouldn’t be trying to make money off them. This kid should be no harm, right?
“What time is it by the way?”
I had completely lost track of time.
“It is now… 2:38, or 14:38 since we use military time here.”
“Right, my flight to LA leaves at 3.30, you think I’ll be able to catch it?”
“Yeah hopefully, though honestly I wouldn’t worry too much about that because this is kinda more important, see you’re not actually in the country yet, and besides if you miss it, the airline will just put you on the next flight there so don’t worry about it.
He tells me to take a seat outside as he awaits the email.
The smiling portrait of President Trump hangs on the wall, seemingly laughing in mockery at the failed attempts to illegally immigrate.
I sniggered, only to realise that I too, could be in a similar situation.
The Decision from Up Above
After a few minutes, Officer Killmonger calls me into the room.
This was it. I was going to make my flight. I was going to have my long awaited meal at chickfila with Priscilla and sing along to country music all the way there. I would finally get a good night’s rest on Josh’s couch, and I would find out for myself if California summertime is as bad as they say, or they simply haven’t experienced Singapore.
My fantasising was interrupted by the words that came out of Officer Killmonger’s mouth.
“Unfortunately… it looks like we won’t be letting you in today. Decision’s final bro, I’m sorry.”
At that moment, the entire border wall collapsed on me. I was crushed.
Was this how people felt upon receiving news of a loved one dying?
Perhaps I’ve been too sheltered from such tragedy, but the reality of the situation was, I was crushed. And if you know me, or at least follow my work, you would understand why being denied mere entry into the United States would be so devastating for me.
He proceeds to explain that I am not allowed to do paid work under the ESTA visa.
For context, ESTA is a visa-waiver programme granted to citizens of first-world countries. Essentially, countries where people are less likely to try to illegally immigrate to the US from. Having an ESTA means being able to travel to the US for up to 3 months at a time for leisure or business reasons.
At this point in time, I am too shocked to realise that it was never my intention to do any form of paid work in the first place. After all, “the decision was final”, and as a foreign “alien”, I had no rights.
At that point, I lost all sense of my dignity, and everything Officer Killmonger said was the apparent truth. I even went as far as to say:
“Okay I mean, can I sign a statement to swear that I will not do any form of work for financial compensation or anything like that?”
I just thought it was ridiculous. I literally hadn’t done anything. What were they ‘charging’ me for? Based on a vague, misinterpreted statement? Where was the proof? Did they find some contract between Alysia and I?
Impossible, Alysia and I have never signed any sort of agreement, and I have never, and was not intending to, take a cent from her. So one could understand my shock and confusion as to what was happening to me.
“Sorry man but that’s not how this works, once the people up there make a decision, it’s final, and there’s no changing it.”
He goes on to explain that my ESTA has now been revoked.
This crushes me even more.
The Initial Blow
It was one thing that I’ve been struggling so hard to find a way to one day LEGALLY immigrate to the US, and the one comforting factor was that I could at least come and visit my friends essentially whenever I wanted. And now I wouldn’t even be able to do that?
Officer Killmonger senses my already visible devastation, and he explains to me:
“Hey look man, it’s more of a slap on the wrist than anything, it happens, it’s really not that big a deal, you’re not banned or anything, you just gotta get a normal tourist visa from your embassy and you can come back.”
That did nothing to alleviate the stabbing pain in my soul. The fact was, that this trip I had been looking forward to for so long was now over before it even began. And I was so close.
I would not get to reunite with my friends in LA. The connections that I waited my entire life to make
I would not get to see the friends I never got to meet. Months of “I can’t wait for you to finally be here!” and “I can’t wait to show you around”, all turned to dust.
“Wait so really? I can’t even make an appeal or anything?”
I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Yeah it doesn’t work that way bro, I’m sorry I know it sucks, but here at immigrations, it’s tough, you come in here, you basically have no rights.”
How ironic, considering I always joked about having no rights in Singapore, and would be grateful to just to be able to breath in the freedom of American air. Instead, all I got was the stale, dry, air-conditioning of the Border Security Office.
Next Steps
He proceeds to brief me on what was about to happen. Essentially, I would be detained at the office until they got me a flight back to Singapore. However, since I was travelling at such an unusual time, they didn’t know when the next flight was.
I would not get an official confirmation on when my flight would be till the next morning. Until then, I was detained indefinitely.
Officer Killmonger gets me to sign some documents so I could get a copy of the QnA statement that I could present when applying for a tourist visa in the future. Upon grilling him on the repercussions of signing these documents, I agree to sign.
I try my luck at a final request to inform my mother about my predicament as to ensure that she did not worry more than she probably already was, after not getting an update from me upon my arrival in San Francisco.
Officer Killmonger agrees to do me a favour and escorts me to a section of the room with WiFi connection.
As I unlock my phone, the first thing I see is a barrage of messages from my friend Priscilla, whom the border agent called to inform about my situation, since she was planning to pick me up from the airport.
I also see an email notification from the Embassy stating that my ESTA had been revoked, with the exact timestamp from when Officer Killmonger gave me the bad news. He really wasn’t kidding, they made the decision there and then.
Officer Killmonger stands over me watchfully. I ask him:
“So am I just allowed to text my mom or can I shoot a quick text to someone else as well?”
“Just your mom, I mean this is already deviating from protocol.”
I find myself having to take a seat as I struggle to find the words needed to let my mother know that I am indeed safe. Detained, stripped of all rights, but safe.
“Hey man it’s a simple thing, you’ve been denied entry and you’re taking the next flight home, you don’t need an essay for that.”
I apologise deferentially, a tone that I seem to have mastered in the short time I had been there, and hit the send button.
He briefs me again on what’s roughly going to happen, and that I would have to stay overnight.
“Wait, overnight? Here or…?”
Hopefully not in a cage.
He reassures me that I’ll be brought to a lounge area
“I know there’ll be blankets, pillows, so don’t worry about it”
Very reassuring.
And so it begins.
I pace around the room anxiously, boredom immediately kicking in as I alternate between avoiding the cracks on the floor and stepping only on the cracks.
I start to read the rules and regulations on the posters around the room, and I could probably have learnt to say “I speak” in every single language if I tried. I definitely had the time, though the intense anxiety and insanity slowing creeping in made productivity rather challenging.
I look with envy at the people walking in and out who barely had a reason to notice the posters on the walls.
By that evening, I had memorised every single detail of that room. My anxiety turns to anger and envy as I watch countless people who fit every stereotype of the kind of person who would have issues with immigrations.
Turns out, you just need to know the right answers to the questions to get in.
I watch as several women enter with the same story: I’m married to a US citizen
After a few scrutinising questions such as “how often do you see each other?” and “can I see your marriage certificate”, they too are granted permission to pass through the big metal door.
For me, that door was a good as the gate to heaven. I was the camel trying pass through the eye of a needle.
I was seriously considering proposing to one of the Border Officers at this point.
Border Hospitality
“You sure you don’t want something to eat? We’re legally obligated to feed you.”
Officer Killmonger asks again, after having the offer previously turned down by me. He offers me a menu, probably realising that I didn’t find instant ramen noodles too appetising.
“Sure I’ll have a cheeseburger.”
“Okay great, yeah some people tend to get so caught up with all this and they just don’t wanna eat.”
“Oh yeah for sure, sorry yeah I just wasn’t hungry earlier don’t worry I’m not trying to starve myself or anything, that would be a bit too dramatic.”
The burger sure wasn’t a chickfila meal with a dear friend, but it was filling. Dry, almost tasteless, but filling.
A friendly Asian-American officer asks me about my last name. Again, I do know all the office’s names by now, but let’s call him Officer Nice. I explain to him the concept of Catholic confirmation and how I took my confirmation name as my last name and got it legally changed since my father stepped out of the picture.
“Yeah I know, Asian guy with a white last name, I get why you’re asking.” I validate his curiosity.
I take this chance to ask him in return:
“Hey have you guys got anything to read , maybe an immigration rule book, that would probably be appropriate.”
“Ha that’s hilarious” he chuckles.
“Yeah I’ll be a border security officer by the end of this.”
The big African-American officer standing on the other end of the counter lets out a slight snigger, the most emotion he’s expressed since he started his shift. He’s a minor character in this story, but let’s call him Big Mike.
Officer Nice returns and hands me a magazine: Frontline- US Customs and border protection
“Alright I found something… hm.. yeah this should all be public domain…” he says as he scans through the contents of the magazine.
I proceed to engross myself in a surprisingly well-written article about the implementation of biometric systems in US border security.
I position myself on a bench that is missing an arm rest so that I can lean against the wall while reading it.
Another Asian officer walks in. Upon seeing my stuff which is on the other side of the room, he tells me:
“Hey I know we’re holding you and stuff but this ain’t your house, you gotta watch your stuff.”
At this point, I honestly couldn’t care less if some guy in a turban took my leftover fries. Nonetheless, I apologise and reposition myself back to my original seat. An important decision, as I would later realise.
Lighting a flare
I devour the magazine in about 30 minutes, I guess that’s what happens when you have nothing else to do.
After 2 hours or so, Officer Nice takes pity on me.
“Mr. Charles, have you got any games on your phone maybe?”
“Well, I’m apparently not allowed my electronics so…”
He stares into blank space, as if to carefully consider giving me this privilege. However, I already knew that this officer had kindness in his heart.
“Okay, what electronics do you have on you.”
“A laptop and an iPad…”
“Okay, I’ll give you a choice then, the laptop or the iPad?”
I immediately think about the Instagram app installed on my iPad. I pretend to ponder on it for awhile as he did.
“I think I’ll take the iPad, I can read on it.”
I initially pretend to be engrossed in reading my kindle version of Dennis Prager’s: Still The Best Hope, before frantically connecting to the WiFi to contact my mother and the friends that were expecting me. Thank goodness I was sitting back in my original spot, where the wifi signal was strong.
I first attempt to contact my mother, who was unfortunately not online at the time.
I then have a brief conversation with Priscilla, Devon, and Alysia.
I’m not sure if hearing them tell me how bad they felt made me feel better or worse.
Because it could not get any worse.
Priscilla had assumed the responsibility of letting everyone who was expecting me know of my situation, and hence I was greeted with a barrage of worried texts.
As inconspicuously as I can, I hide my typing motions behind my iPad as I assure everyone that I was okay and safe, despite my detained status. Alysia and Devon even attempt to contact lawyers to try to save me, however thanks to my misuse of words and inability to fully realise that I had been misinterpreted during that time of shock, there was nothing they could do.
In fact, even if I had been in the state of mind to defend myself at the point, the decision had already apparently been made the moment they assumed I was coming to the US to work. After all, the fine print always reads: Up to the Immigration Officer’s discretion.
Fly on the wall
I start to eavesdrop on a Taiwanese lady being interrogated by two petite Asian lady officers. Despite my weak grasp of Mandarin, I found myself giggling at how annoyed the officers were getting at the lady’s inability to answer their questions coherently.
After about 2 hours of frustrated-sounding mandarin, they finally chase her out, not before a final yell of “Bu yao zai hui lai!” which translates to: Don’t come back again! As I amuse myself with this scene of two petite Asian lady officers chasing the Taiwanese lady out of the room in angry Mandarin, I lose it and burst out in laughter.
Big Mike starts to giggle as well, gesturing to me saying “Even he’s laughing eh!”
For some strange reason, Big Mike had a strong Singaporean accent. Or at least it sure sounded like it.
Almost coincidentally, an Asian guy who seemed to be working for an airline comes in with the passport of an another Asian man, asking every Asian in the room in Mandarin they knew who he was.
“Ni zhi dao zhe ge ren ma?” (Do you know this person?)
“Bu zhi dao, dui bu qi” (Sorry, I don’t know know him.) I reply proudly back in Mandarin.
He gives me a strange look, with a doubtful eye, and I am forced me to repeat myself in English before he nods and understands.
I have unfortunately been seasoned to receiving such responses to my Mandarin.
It is perhaps at this point where I realise that not only is San Francisco a very Asian city, it is a VERY Asian city.
I find myself being entertained by a conversation between a greasy-looking officer and Big Mike. The greasy officer starts going on a whole rant on how the Covid-19 numbers are a scam.
“You know they’re diagnosing everything as covid now, you die from a flu, it’s covid. You die from a car accident, they do a cheek swab, and it’s covid. You die of cancer, it’s covid. You go skydiving and get your head severed off, they do a cheek swab, and it’s covid! Heck, I bet they were gonna say George Floyd died of covid!”
At that point I just lose it and burst out in laughter.
A Long Night
The next major character in the story is Officer … let’s call him Officer Dan. A wise Filipino man who’s a bit more grey than the rest. He speaks with a thick American accent, with hints of mixups of his Ps and Fs.
“Alright it’s time to go sleep he says, pack your stuff, no electronics. You can keep the magazine if you want.”
“Oh yeah now that would make a great souvenir.”
Big Mike sniggers again.
I am however disheartened that I would not be able to have my iPad with me. If I did, I would have perhaps been able to regain some sanity by talking to my mom and reassuring her that all was good. For the most part.
I am escorted into the supposed lounge room, and upon finally being revealed to me, I am unsure if I am impressed or disappointed. At this point, perhaps it didn’t even matter anymore. I set up camp on one of the recliner seats, and grab a pillow and blanket, both of which turn out to be rather useless for the night. After all, how could one sleep, being detained in the place I had always seen as the freest and greatest country in the world?
Thoughts race through my head as I stare blankly out at my 5-star view of San Francisco Airport. Or at least, the loading bay. I catch a glimpse of the outside traffic and start to fantasise about all the car rides and road trips that I would now be missing out on. I stare up at the crescent moon as I slowly start fo lose my mind. I guess that’s why they call it “lunatic”. The thoughts refuse to leave me alone to my fate.
“I guess freedom only applies if you’re American.”
“So much for Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.”
“I dedicate my life to defending America, but America won’t do the same for me.”
“Do I really want to come back? After all, the Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness only applies if you’re actually a citizen, so what’s the point?”
And many other nihilistic thoughts that held unproductive truisms.
I grip my rosary in hand, saying what is likely to be my 200th decade of Ave Marias for that day, as I try to fall asleep so that time may pass more quickly.
After all that prayer, I finally manage to gather my thoughts.
This was probably the moment I came to the realisation that I had been misinterpreted and my ESTA was unreasonably revoked.
I had never intended to work here, so why was my ESTA revoked?
Not the desired outcome of meditative prayer, but upon realising this, I was furious.
I start to pace up and down the room, thinking of what to do. I start to think, perhaps I could still salvage this situation.
I approach Officer Dan with the same deferential tone I had adopted throughout the day.
“I’m sorry I hope I’m not asking for too much, but something has been on my mind and I was wondering if you could help me google it or something.”
I start to question him on the terms of an ESTA visa and try to convince him that I have not violated them. From this, we enter a very educational conversation that could have been an episode of my podcast, Rule 9.
He explains to me that besides the issue with being suspected that I intend to work, there are many other things that immigrations officers look at.
“Having an ESTA visa does not guarantee that you will be admitted into the United States, and the responsibility is on you to convince us, the immigrations officers that you are able to support yourself on your trip here.”
At this point, I realise that there’s nothing he or the other officers can do to reverse the decision made by whoever the guy at the top is.
“Tourists, they come for a week, maybe 2 or 3, but you, you’re coming for 3 months, and you have no hotel reservations and only $250 in cash.”
Obviously, I stand there taking whatever he just said as completely invalid reasons to deny me entry, since I’m here to stay with friends and I never use cash. Besides, why would I want to carry so much cash with me, especially with all the news about the riots and such? Nonetheless, I listen to him.
We go on about how Trump’s proclamation on the suspension of work visa applications has also affected the scrutiny of people coming in.
“There are also some businesses, who try to take advantage of ESTA, and they try to bring in these immigrants to work, saying it’s business purposes when it isn’t, because they don’t want to pay for a work visa, it’s very expensive you know?”
Oh trust me, I know.
“You know, even me, when I go to the Philippines, and they see my American passport, they will ask the same questions! Even though they see that I’m born in the Pilippines, I mean Philippines. It’s still my responsibility to prove my reason for being there!”
Ah, there was the Filipino accent.
“I get what you mean, I guess, I was too confident of my own conscience that I was here with no illegal intentions, that I didn’t look at things from the immigration officer’s point of view and how it would look to you guys.”
I go on to talk about how I run a conservative podcast and most of my following consists of Trump Supporters who are all big on strict immigration laws, and how I just find it so ironic to be on the butt end of this.
I thank Officer Dan for taking the time to speak to me. He ends the conversation with a final word of advice:
“Just remember the two simple steps, prove that you can support yourself, and where you’re going to be staying.”
Very important points that I had taken for granted. Since my last entry into the USA was extremely smooth, I did not bother to think about explaining why I was in the USA. Perhaps the whole American state of mind gave me too much entitlement to being granted entry. I had to understand, that these border officers, they don’t know who I am. As far as they know, I’m just a kid from Singapore travelling in the middle of a pandemic. People who know me, they know that my blood might as well bleed red white and blue. But these immigration officers, that means nothing to them, and rightly so!
The human interaction helped me with regaining some sanity, and I had a light nap for about an hour before it was time to go back to the other room.
Day 2
The morning begins with a fresh set of characters.
A short haired Asian officer with a commandeering personality who we’ll call Officer Sue, a prim and proper Asian man with the “I’m quite the expert” demeanour that would remind one of Daddy Pig from Peppa Pig, a tiny but rather attractive Latina with bleached hair who we’ll call Officer Jess, a bald Chinese guy officer, and finally a big and rather greasy looking guy who often breaks into Spanish gossip with Officer Jess. He also happens to know Farsi.
It’s the end of Officer Dan’s shift, and he bids me farewell and wishes me good luck with my flight. My already paranoid mind hopes that he is not just saying that out of pity because he heard some bad news.
I had probably seen so many shift changes that if I were to ever return, there would be a good chance of me recognising some of the officers.
My morning is greeted by Officer Sue’s attitude.
“Sir, please sit here, right in the front.” she commands, directing me away from the corner spot with strong WiFi that I had strategically positioned myself in just in case I encountered another kind soul.
Unfortunately, that was not the case for this morning anyway.
A random immigration officer walks in to get something and asks Officer Jess:
“Where’s this one from? Taiwan? Philippines?”
While my face was half covered by a day-old mask, I still fail to understand how this woman would think I was Filipino.
“I have no idea, I haven’t even looked!” Officer Jess replies, gesturing to her computer.
As the door closes behind the immigration officer, I promptly enlighten her:
“Singaporean, in case you were wondering.”
“Ah, you should be fine they’ll just put you on a flight back soon”
“Speaking of which, would you happen to know when exactly my flight back is?”
“I actually don’t… but I will ask and let you know.”
She walks into the room behind her and asks Officer Sue.
I hear her disinterested reply, which Officer Jess repeats to me, slightly more enthusiastically.
“Your flight leaves at 11, so about 10ish.”
Wow. So Officer Sue could’ve told me all along but kept me in the dark. Thanks ma’am.
I thank Officer Jess for the enlightenment and return to grasping at my slowly wearing out rosary.
I was starting to like this Officer Jess. She was the new Officer Nice.
Until this Kiwi boy walks in.
“So, you’re staying for 3 months, that a really long time! What are you here for?”
“Oh yeah I’m here to visit my my Uncle and a friend.”
“Who is this friend you’ll be staying with?”
“Oh my friend um Stephanie.”
“And how did you meet Stephanie?”
“Oh online, we play the same games.”
“Online gaming huh…. and how long have you known this Stephanie?”
“A few months.”
“And have you ever met Stephanie?”
“Um nope.”
“Have you booked your flight to go see your uncle yet?”
“No I haven’t”
She continues to grill him on his employment status and such, to which he gives a bunch of dodgy replies.
I swear he’s about to get turned away, and to my shock, she lets him in!
At that point, I just wanted to punch a wall. Come on Officer Jess, I get the kiwi charm and all, but really?
The other hispanic officer asks Officer Jess in Español why she let him in.
“I mean it’s his first time here! And his employment seems to check out, he should be fine.” she replies in English.
Great. So they let the Kiwi go stay with his catfish egirl but revoked my esta.
I wish she had answered back in Español, then maybe I wouldn’t feel like punching myself.
That is when I realised that if I had just told them I was just here to visit my friends, they would probably have let me in. And that crushed me.
That is one of the hardest things to do. To come to terms with the fact that your ailments are the result of your own shortcomings. Why do you think victimhood mentality is so popular?
My anger is dissipated slightly as they spark a conversation on migrant caravans. Turns out, Officer Sue is a tad bit liberal. Why was I not surprised. Officer Prim and Proper starts to voice his thoughts, to which I almost shout an “Amen!” in response.
“What I can’t stand is that we’re doing all this for the illegals, and those stand and wait in line get nothing.”
Preach it Officer Prim and Proper, preach it.
It’s 7AM and Officer Sue’s quiet partner gets me a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. It tastes surprisingly good as compared to that pathetic excuse for a burger from last night.
Final hours
As time goes by and I say a few more rosaries, Officer Sue comes out and briefs me on the procedure for what’s about to happen.
“So you’ll be getting your flight back to Narita…”
“Wait I’m going to Narita?”
“Yeah for your flight back to Singapore, that’s the way you came in.”
Great. Literally being sent back to where I came from.
“And will I get my phone back?”
I was thinking of purchasing some plane wifi, for I could not wait any longer to update my friends on my situation.
“So your phone and passport will remain in this envelope, we’ll be giving this to the head flight attendant and once you’re in Narita you’ll get your stuff back.”
Great. They don’t want me calling in a lawyer last minute before I depart.
“So are you guys going to hand me to the airplane seat or something, how does this work?”
“Well you’ve been relatively cooperative since I got in at 6am, so for now, I don’t think we’ll have to do that.”
At about 9.30AM, a petite Japanese lady comes in with my boarding pass and takes my luggage to be checked in.
I never thought I would ever be this excited to leave the United States and go back to Singapore.
I hear Officer Sue talking on the phone to someone.
“Yes this is San Francisco Airport Border Security.”
“Yes, he’s currently preparing to board a flight to Narita for his transfer back to Singapore.”
I wonder who that could be. Probably the Singapore Embassy.
My mom had later told me about how she called up the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to locate me and find out where I was. Turns out I forgot to tell her that I was in San Francisco and never made it to Los Angeles, hence they apparently tore LAX apart looking for some detained Singaporean kid only to realise by the next morning he was in San Francisco all along.
Perhaps if I had the time to tell her where I was they would’ve come rescue me.
Almost Free
At long last, it’s 10.30AM and two big burly officers come in to escort me to the plane.
Before I leave the room, I of course remember to make one final grand gesture.
I pick up my backpack, and give the portrait of President Trump a proud salute. While it did feel ironic, it was something that I’ve always wanted to do.
I make my exit, and I do not stop to check how the other officers reacted to that.
The two officers escort me through the backdoor of the plane, as if I’m some VIP being escorted through a private entrance.
I was definitely far from that.
I finally make it through the doors of the airplane, and my documents are handed over to the head attendant. The two officers leave me and I made my way to my seat. I immediately take my iPad out and attempt to connect to the Wifi. Apparently you can’t purchase wifi while you’re on the ground.
I finalise the points of this novel on the plane back to Narita, Japan. My eyes get droopy. I haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in days, not to mention the emotional trauma of being detained for 20 hours, in a country I revered as “land of the free”, only to have all my freedoms taken away, wishing I was back in the place I was trying so hard to leave.
The thoughts start to get tiring and I knock out on my row of airplane seats, only awakening for the meals. The dry plane air causes my allergies to act up, and I sneeze a few times. However at this point, I do not care anymore. I’ve just been detained for almost 24 hours. Your corona fears can eat dirt.
Upon waking up slightly more refreshed, I realise that I am able to buy an hour of WiFi for $5. What a steal. I immediately whip out my credit card and purchase it.
“That’ll show those immigration officers who think I can’t financially support myself…” I chuckle to myself.
I am greeted by another barrage of messages from concerned friends whom Priscilla had informed of my predicament. I decide to expand on an already pre-existing group chat to explain my situation, adding people as I went along so that they could scroll up and read for themselves.
Freedom
Upon landing a Japanese representative holds a sign up outside the aircraft exit with my name on it. He proceeds to escort me to the boarding gate with my documents. He returns my phone to me to fill in a travel declaration for the Singapore government, and lets me keep it from then on. After awhile, a Japanese lady returns my travel documents to me and lets me know what my boarding time is.
That was the moment I got my rights back.
I get connected to the airport wifi and hop on a video call with my mom. She is surprisingly calm and I appreciate that. The last thing I need now is the person that matters the most to me freaking out. I fill her in as to what exactly happened, and assure her that I was treated fairly, all things considered. I then hop on a video call with Priscilla, who is still at a loss for words.
I then proceed to pay $15 for a shower. I hadn’t had a shower since I departed Singapore on Saturday morning. So the hot shower was definitely refreshing.
After which, I rush for my flight, only to realise I have an hour left to go. I use the time to catch up with my many shocked friends who are still at a loss for words regarding what had just happened to me. Finally, I get on my flight and continue writing this recount. It’s funny, but when you spend about 20 hours in a detention facility, a 6 hour flight feels like nothing.
Home… sweet home…?
I have never been so relieved to land in Singapore. If I had learnt anything, it was that no matter how little rights I may believe I have as a Singaporean Citizen, Singapore is the only place I have ANY rights.
However, I now find myself facing a battle of a whole different flavour.
Round 2
I am in a unique situation. I did not plan to be back this early with these quarantine rules still in place. The protocol is, that if you’ve been to any other countries, you need to serve a 14-day quarantine. Problem is, I technically never entered any country. Not Japan, and not the USA. I never made it past immigration, hence the only stamp in my passport is the one from LA earlier this year.
Situation being, if I had just gone to Japan, I would be allowed to quarantine myself at home. I could just lie, and say that I never went anywhere but Japan. And they would probably believe me, since my passport has no proof of any travel.
But as I know very well, the Singapore government knows everything, and if they were to find out that I lied, I would have to pay a huge fine. So I take the wiser choice to be honest.
The beginning of the end.
I now find myself in a hotel that I cannot pay for. Thanks to my honesty, I have now been subject to a compulsory quarantine in a hotel since I traveled out of Singapore despite travel advisories.
Thing is, I wasn’t planning to be back in Singapore anytime soon. By the time I was originally planning to come back, this quarantine rule would probably have been over. Therefore, I now find myself in another battle, attempting to make an appeal to the relevant government entity regarding my unfortunate situation, in hopes that I will not lose another $2000 on this.
Now that I am on a proper bed, perhaps I will now be able to start slowly comprehending the reality of what just happened to me.
I have just:
Lost $1500 worth of travel
Had my ESTA visa revoked
Missed out on a trip I had been looking forward to for so long
Been turned away by the country I dedicate my life to defending the honour of
Been issued a 14-day quarantine that extends to my birthday when I literally have not entered any other countries
The real tragedy
I think the hardest part about this isn’t really the missing out on experiences and friends, because I do believe I’ll be back sooner than later.
But the hardest part has got to be taking ownership for such a tragic mistake.
Because it was my arrogance in my love for America, and that I would not have any issues getting in, especially just to visit, that led to me not carefully researching the terms of my visa.
Of course I knew that you couldn’t come to the US to work, but had I known that it was such a strict rule, I would’ve definitely known to phrase my answers more carefully.
Thanks to my lack of knowledge, I had gotten myself turned away and my visa revoked for no good reason when I had come with no ill-intent at all.
And I now have to own that burden and live with it.
If you would however, like to assist with the financial burden, you can make a donation to my gofundme. Anything helps.
Or if you would like to support me in the long run as I take this time to reflect on what exactly I want to do in life after this life-altering tragedy, you can make a monthly pledge on my Patreon.
Thank you.
