Queue Jumper

Queue Jumper

Jill Perry

Smashwords Edition

Queue Jumper

Copyright © 2012 Jill Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN:  978-1-742841-40-3 (pbk.)

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

To my beloved son Myles, without you there would be no story. Certainly not a story I would want to tell. Because of you I truly understand what it is to love at a level beyond oneself. Thank you for the privilege of being your mother.

Acknowledgements

For those that were there along the way that did not make it into the narrative, I want to thank you for your love and

support, they are:

Peter Elliott

Tony Tartaro

Elizabeth Nelson Jane O'Shannessy

Helen Collins

Linda Jacobsen

Auntie Marje Gregory Auntie Joyce Noonan

My parents Ron and Doris

Brother Andrew and partner, Trish

Joyce Perry

Additional editing work Eileen Keating

Cover Design by Myles Perry

Thank-you to:

Linda Foster

John Foster

Bob Griffiths Dennis Chard Harvey Haig

To Bill Leneuf and Maggie O'Shannessy

Thank you for your ongoing encouragement to write this book.

To Shaun Newcombe

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude. Shaun is a multi- talented young Australian feature film maker, with many strings to his bow including writing, thus he was able to assist me with his knowledge and experience. He has also been a wonderful creative resource during the writing and post writing process. Shaun's undying belief in me and my creative abilities gave me a great sense of confidence in this project. Thank you so much.

Foreword

From the time my son was a young boy, through to early manhood, I used to tell him stories of my life; funny incidents, exciting moments, dramatic and sad times. My son revelled in these stories and over the years was constantly encouraging me to commit them to paper. I guess I never really saw myself as a writer, my creativity was through other mediums, such as design work but none the less, there was a nagging in the back of my mind to express some of these stories in a more permanent way; one in particular.

When my son turned 24 he went to live and work in Japan, a country he had been drawn to for many years. Through his absence, I felt a large void in my life, like the pieces of the family puzzle no longer fitted together or that he took his piece of the puzzle away with him. I was in the process of studying for a counselling qualification and still doing some work with children but this was not enough to distract me from his absence.

I needed to find a way to feel close to him and through these thoughts and the memory of him constantly asking me to write my stories down, the idea came to me. Perhaps this would be a way of somehow remaining close to him, I chose to write the story of how my son came into the world and into my life.

For the most part I found writing this story a joy and the notion of it helping me maintain a connection with him was achieved, at least on some plane. Because this is a true story the words generally fell onto the page but not always without some degree of pain and anguish. At the risk of sounding clichéd it was a cathartic experience but then I guess that is part of what writing can be about.

Perhaps this book may help encourage people to realise there is more than one way to become a parent, with the same potential and depth of connection and love as a biological one.

I know, for some, this book will conjure up many thoughts and ideas and for others perhaps help surface long held beliefs and emotions but whatever it does for you I hope it stimulates you to give a thought and maybe even some small part of yourself to someone in need.

Although this story takes place in the early 1980's I feel my story is just as pertinent today as it was then, given very little has effectively changed, in connection with overseas adoption.

Queue Jumper is basically a how not to story but through my sense of conviction and determination I managed to achieve my goal. The journey to find my son was long and arduous and at times incredibly frustrating; every step of the way, every tear, the wondering, the waiting and the battle both, internally and externally was worth it.

What price, what cost a child?

Queue Jumper

Buy a flower Maam?

No, thank you, I said. She looked pretty much the worse for wear, not dissimilar to a number of women who had approached me that evening to buy something, anything to help them and often their families for a chance at survival. I guess by then I just wanted to have a drink and gather my thoughts. Unfortunately this woman was heavily pregnant and looked to have been involved in a physical altercation, her face was quite beaten, she would have been in her mid 20s, what was it about this woman? She wasn't the first needy woman to have approached me that day and for that matter not the only one to appear down trodden from a life primarily lived on the streets.

The evening air was thick with the smell of damp spices, local traffic fumes and various odours ranging from cooking in the streets to the makeshift dump near the open air bar we were sitting in. Here I am one year on, it's late 1983 and I'm back in Manila, in a bar with my husband Rod and my brother Andrew.

Why was I feeling so connected and driven to a country often associated with middle-aged men looking for love and exotic adventure, or perhaps in search of a safe haven? Sometimes from themselves and sometimes the law. Then there was the poverty, at times overwhelming, who did I think I was being so upset over a situation I could not begin to understand let alone believe I could make a difference to, albeit a small but major one...I had the luxury of reflection on what I saw as a sad desperate situation when these people were struggling to survive.

Do you want another drink before we head back to the hotel?

Yes, why not?

Probably need some fortification for the walk back.

More often than not you could rely on a colourful and confronting trip when taking it on foot, particularly in this part of the city. When we reached the lobby of our hotel, we stopped for a 'night cap' and a debrief on the events we had witnessed. A couple of hours later we call it quits, say our 'goodnights' and retire to our respective rooms.

The air conditioning is noisy, but it seems only to me. My husband has fallen asleep and I'm still awake, something is bothering me. As is my way, I decide to go over the events of the day, a long drawn out affair. An hour and a half later I'm wide awake watching some oddly amusing black and white television show that is presented in the native Philippino language of 'Tagalog'. Reminiscent of another time a year ago in this very country when I could not sleep, but for another reason. Ahhh.. That's it. That pregnant woman in the open air bar tonight with the flowers and the city battle scars, she had a dress on that I gave a woman a year ago for the very reason she was wearing it now.

Eventually, I drift off into a half sleep clouded with guilt and sadness. Yes I know why and I am troubled by my inability to have not recognised, much less bought a flower from the person who gave me such a precious gift! My sad thoughts finally give way to sleep.

It's 1978 and I am in a relationship with Rod; A successful Melbourne business man, he has a strong fondness for the Philippines, for reasons known to him that I guess I will never fully understand and come to terms with. He has an apartment in Roxas Blvd Manila. I guess I was something special to him because he decided to share his private paradise with me, it must have been my compassion towards people and my ability to get on with them. I quickly develop a love and connection with the Filippino people, particularly those in need and in desperate circumstances. Over the next few years we make a number of trips to the Philippines and I make friends ranging from bar girls, street people, seedy and somewhat questionable people, official people and people in high places.

At times, Rod struggles with my inability to just accept what is, is and he becomes quite upset when he catches me attempting to hide money on a woman who's lying in the gutter with a new born baby covered in filthy rags. Too weary with life and hunger to retrieve the baby's bottle that's rolled into the middle of the road, let alone acknowledge me. She did however open her eyes though, when I kissed her on the forehead. I guess no one had done that for a long time, maybe never.

Oh darling you have to get over wanting to help these people all the time you know that most of the money you give them ends up in the hands of pimps and thieves that keep a watch out on them. I know part of what Rod is saying is to protect me and for us not to appear an easy touch, but somehow I have this hope that at least some of what I am giving is finding its way into their tummies or to put a roof over these people's heads.

We had discussed the idea of adopting a child from the Philippines down the track, particularly as my prospects of having a child were less than optimistic.

This idea was never to leave me and as time wore on the feeling became stronger.

In 1982, Rod and I marry, and move into a three bedroom apartment in East Melbourne. Here I am, 26 years old! I had done some 'modelling' work over a number of years and was involved in fashion and costume design. I had a small clothing label, but these activities were no longer enough to distract me and keep my mind occupied. My husband worked long hours and travelled quite extensively for business. I had a wonderful family and a great group of friends with whom I had spent many precious and extremely funny times.

Still my mind was wandering back to another country and the faces of people, especially children, who needed a home and security. There was also this longing to have a child in my life.

We have been in the apartment for six months now and I am overflowing with the deep desire to have and help a child from our chosen country of such need. I am so consumed with these feelings that when I tell Rod, he is a little taken aback, with the passion and determination I am expressing, wanting a child. I guess he thought for his part when we talked of adopting those years earlier it was only a rescuing fantasy.

Although this was not what Rod wanted, he understood that my feelings of longing for and needing a child, were not going to go away just because I had a chance to express them. After much discussion, in a short space of time, I managed to convince him that this was a mission that I could do most of the work on. Rod's business was all consuming and required him to be on tap for the most part, we are going back to the days when computers, email and mobile phones were not the aide de jour. Besides I was the one who really wanted this child.

After further investigation it was agreed I would be the one to make it happen. Of course I wanted it all to have happened yesterday but realistically details needed to be thought out carefully. Just how did we propose to secure this precious cargo? I knew through numerous enquiries that if we took the course of applying for overseas adoption through Australian authorities it could be two or more years and even then it was not guaranteed. But not to despair I thought, why not go to the source? After all, I knew people in the Philippines and hell; there was no lack of children in need of parents and a home!

A plan was hatched. I was to go to Manila and find a child in need, either on the streets, through an orphanage or privately. For some reason we saw this as possible and hoped it would be sorted out within a number of weeks. What planet were we on? I had not heard the term 'Queue Jumper', prior to this journey but within a short space of time I was about to find out its true definition and possible unthinkable ramifications.

After what seemed like an eternity the day finally arrived. A small group came to the airport to say goodbye and wish me luck. My husband, my parents, my brother, an aunty, a cousin and some close friends. After the long process of saying our 'goodbyes' I felt quite emotional, particularly saying 'good bye' to mum and dad who were always there to back up the decisions I made that were important to me. I was leaving Australia, my home, armed with a lot of love, determination and the support of family and friends.

Upon takeoff I realise I'm about to embark on one of the biggest journeys of my life, it seemed a shame no one else was there with me to share it. I suddenly felt very alone. What was it, my dear Australian friends, Ivana and George said to me about contacts they had in the Philippines? Ah yes, if I ever got into any bother or trouble, don't worry as their contacts would look after me. I wonder what they meant? Did they mean personally, legally or maybe to do with bureaucratic issues? I knew they had arranged for a contact with the Mayor of Manila's office to meet me upon my arrival. At least I would not be completely on my own when I landed, I think airports can be strangely isolating.

Thank goodness that seat belt sign has gone off it feels like Philippines Airlines have decided to create an art form out of taxiing to the terminal, or was I just anxious to get this show on the road. What is going to happen on the other side of this airplane door? If they ever open it, my heart was starting to race. 'Gosh,' I thought, 'I'm not even off the plane and my heart is racing. How am I going to be when the real excitement starts?' For a brief moment I wonder how the person who is due to meet me is going to recognise me? Then I realise, of course I am one of the very few women on the flight and the other four were brunettes, all the other passengers are men, what a surprise!

Miss Jill? My name is Raymond. I will be your companion and guide while you are in the Philippines, welcome.

His English is okay but proves to be a problem at times when it comes to translation.

Hello Raymond.

It's nice to meet you Maam, would you please give me your passport and necessary papers. I am a little anxious with this request as my experience in the past has been not to let such important documents fall into the hands of strangers although he has been recommended. We then meet up with an airport official and proceed unimpeded through customs by the time my baggage arrives so do my papers and passport containing the necessary stamps. A service I have not experienced in any other country before or since.

As we exit the airport building a mixture of damp spices and gasoline delivered in a wall of humid heat hits me in the face. Hands out everywhere, like some mutated multi-hand Indian god, their eyes fixed upon you. Are you someone famous? You're white and well dressed, you must at least have money or both, what brings you to our shores and will you share some of your privilege with me? A long black limousine pulls up amongst the thronging crowd, all appearing to be waiting expectantly for someone or something to happen, but I think perhaps for most they are just waiting.

I know a nice place for us to eat Maam. I am hungry Maam you must be too. My cousin has a very good restaurant, I'm sure you will enjoy.

I think I would prefer to find a hotel before we eat as it is 11:30 P.M. and I would like to know where I am sleeping tonight. I would also like to freshen up, by the way, please call me Jill.

Yes Maam, but my cousin may not be serving food if we do not get there soon.

Raymond. I am happy to go with you as soon as the hotel is taken care of.

Yes Maam, but I am very hungry I have not eaten since Merienda, a Tagalog word for light meals taken in between main ones.

After finding a reasonable hotel, I concede to Raymond's constant badgering for a feed, what have I struck here? One hour after landing and meeting Raymond who judging by his paunch is doing quite well in the food stakes wants me to provide for his nourishment. That being everything he could possibly shovel down in his cousin's restaurant in one sitting and take home the rest in a paper bag. I guessed supper wouldn't be far off. I was right only it wasn't the contents of the paper bag Raymond was having for supper it was another meal two hours later at another cousin's outdoor nightclub venue. Two dozen prawns, three green mangoes, a half a kilo of anchovies and six, 'San Miguel' beers later, Raymond was feeling reasonably satisfied. By now I just wanted to curl up on the bed in my air conditioned hotel.

At last I am able to be alone and gather my thoughts. So much has happened in the past 24 hours and for that matter the past 4 years. There is a strong presence of firearms in Manila from the airport to the hotel entrances and official buildings. It is something I find difficult to come to terms with. Why is there a need for these weapons? I put the television on and fall asleep to the strange sounds of a Tagalog spaghetti western.

It's 5:30 in the morning. Yes, I am awake and not feeling tired. I know Raymond knows why I have come to the Philippines but there was no mention of this at dinner and supper last night. I guess he was just too hungry to want to pursue anything other than food. He is not due to pick me up till 8:30 this morning so as I have some time to kill, I start to make a list of possibilities for us to pursue that day. Before I know it the phone is ringing to announce Raymond's presence in the lobby.

Good morning Maam.

Please, it's Jill.

This hotel has a very good breakfast Maam. Lots of hot food. Not just breads and cereals, I think you will like it very much. I do.

Two hours later and not much left worth mentioning on the buffet table, we head out to our waiting limousine. I couldn't help but wonder if the driver had eaten recently. He looked very thin and gaunt. I felt maybe I should have invited him in for breakfast. When I mentioned this to Raymond, the look on his face was enough to suggest this would not be wise. I wonder if he thought this would have meant less food for him. After a one and a half hour visit to some kind of agency supposed to be connected with adoption recommended by Raymond's aunty, Raymond announces, It's one o'clock Maam, I think we should choose a place for lunch, somewhere nice with air con where you will be able to feel comfortable. I know a good place my uncle owns not far from here.

Raymond. We just had breakfast a bit over two hours ago. Could we not wait another two hours?

Oh no Maam.

It's Jill.

Sorry Miss Jill, but I am very hungry.

As I had my own driving agenda, I didn't know whether it was me or perhaps there were some health issues I was not aware of that required the need to eat huge regular meals. The size and contents of the portions Raymond was consuming did not appear to fall in line with any illness I was aware of, other than gluttony. But then, of course, that was a deadly sin not a health issue, and so I came to discover, was greed.

Food, glorious food, and as much as you can eat seemed to be the order of the day. Who's paying for all of this? Miss Jill, we must have food in our bodies so that we have the strength to look for your baby.

Yes I do need strength and support but I'm not convinced that regular large quantities of food is the way to achieve it.

It's Day Four and my optimism is dropping, but not my weight! It feels like we have eaten our way, half way around Manila and nothing has moved forward except Raymond's waistline. I thought it would take a couple of weeks to find a child. We were already four days in and no sign of a possible lead, what was this guy up to? I know he had been recommended but who had originally recommended him?

I had decided to give Raymond the day off as it was six days in and very little progress had been made other than an offer for me to buy Raymond's niece and if that wasn't the go, a further offer should things get really desperate, for the right price, he may be able to convince his wife to part with their third child: A daughter. Whilst this may sound strangely amusing, I believe he actually meant it. Ray- mond's days were numbered in my service. The hotel Raymond had assisted me in finding was fairly expensive and given it looked like this project may be going to take a little longer than originally anticipated, the bill would be adding up. Unfortunately we no longer had the apartment on Roxas blvd, thinking the money invested did not justify the amount of time the apartment was empty. With some clear thinking time on my hands, I decided to leave the hotel and find an apartment on my own. This was not a difficult task and was accomplished by midday. The apartment was part of an early 1970s, U-shaped, 10 storey complex with a communal swimming pool, on the border of the seedier side of town. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, three balconies and a large kitchen / family and dining room area. It was on the ninth floor, with that familiar smell of damp spices in mouldy water, at a good possibly long-term rate.

The next job was to track down one, if not, two of the house-keepers we had in our employ when we had the apartment here. They were more than housekeepers to me, they were friends especially Grace. Because of this friendship I stayed in contact with her through letter writing, although in the past few months contact from her side had dropped. I had a lead from three months ago as to her last known address. Raymond was still on the scene and I felt it would be helpful to enlist his services to help find Grace, as we would be going into neighbourhoods I was not familiar with and likely to be the only white person within cooee. Armed with Grace's address, Raymond and I set out to find her. After going to a few of these less than desirable neighbourhoods, I begin to realise how important it must have been for Grace to not want me to know of her current living arrangements. It is very hot and sticky; we are walking through streets that feel like something out of a post apocalyptic American cowboy town, thickly canopied by what looks like vines connected from roof to roof, wall to wall, window to window and various other combinations. To my horror they were electricity cables. My pulse started to race as I considered the prospect of a short circuit and the possibility of this causing a fire or a car crashing into a makeshift power pole resulting in a domino effect with the power lines.

I had heard of fires in these neighbourhoods and the devastation they caused. Something I was not too keen to experience firsthand.

Miss Jill, Miss Jill, I think we have found where your friend lives. A lady across the street says she knows a lady called Grace that lives on the third floor at the back of the building.

Alright let's go and see if it's her. I answer, being aware that of course it had to be further into this maze of potential death traps. We walk up two flights of wobbly steps and along a number of dark makeshift corridors. I was thinking, 'Why don't they put lights in these areas?' and then sighed with relief realising it would have meant even more cables and extensions to negotiate. We eventually arrive at a wooden door made from several used fence palings with wide gaps between them, so much so that I could already see Grace heading towards the door. Our presence is met with one of joy and embarrassment, as Grace reticently invites us in and offers us a hot drink. My immediate response is, No thank you.

Not if it involves connecting another plug to her already heavily overloaded source of power. Whilst her place is makeshift, it is clean and tidy. A side of Grace I knew well and reflected her sense of pride in herself and surroundings. We spoke for a while of what I was doing in the Philippines and to see if she was willing and available to be a live-in working as a general assistant. Grace was very happy with this offer as she had had little work for some time and this was an opportunity to reside in more comfortable surroundings for a while.

Grace is a short Filippino woman with a small build, about 35 years old. She is physically and spiritually strong and has a good understanding of basic English. She has long black hair, golden brown skin, dark eyes and an open round face. Apart from being a friend in this country; Grace will come to be my rock. We talk of what has happened for both of us since we last corresponded. I speak of my concern about Raymond and why I chose to give him a 'go' because he was recommended and had connections. He was my initial contact for this mission and had boasted of his ability to be able to get whatever he wanted, but unfortunately greed and his inflated sense of self overrode any real desire to help me.

One week has passed already with