I WAS in my teens when I first thought of one day uprooting myself from the Philippines and resettling in the United States. My paternal grandparents were naturalized American citizens, so the entire family had the right of permanent residence in the States, plus the memory of the first time we traveled there using those much-coveted ?green cards? was still clear. My parents flashed the little laminated plastic ID (that was actually more pink than green) at the immigration counter, and with the briefest of exchanges we were ushered into America.

Actually seeing those cards in use gave me the epiphany that America was not just this strange-but-wonderful land on the opposite side of the world that we?d occasionally visit for shopping and sightseeing. I realized that I could actually live full-time in this glittering "Promised Land," and stake my claim on its rewards.

This was at the tail end of the ?80s, an era of conspicuous consumption, so many of my ?coming to America? fantasy scenarios were inspired by the prevailing cultural touchstones of the time, like the glamorous TV soaps ?Dynasty? and ?Falcon Crest,? indulgent novels such as ?Bonfire of the Vanities? and ?Hollywood Wives,? and films like ?American Gigolo? and ?Wall Street.? I imagined going out for nightly meals of foie gras and filet mignon in restaurants like Spago and Le Cirque, clinching multi-million dollar deals during the week and dashing off to Napa or the Hamptons for the weekend. I?d be in power suits that Giorgio Armani himself had sewn together, using fabric hand-woven by blind Italian nuns in some ancient convent in Lombardy.

I had flashbacks of those imagined scenes from my youth just recently, as I was contemplating dinner in my apartment in San Francisco. Instead of choosing what caviar to have with the Chateaubriand, I was rifling through cans in the kitchen cupboard, trying to decide between Vienna sausages or corned beef. I wasn?t doing eight-figure deals at work and then jetting off to a spa on the weekend to relax.

In fact, after getting laid off last January, I?m currently not doing much of anything, except job-hunting and dealing with daily errands. Spending an entire day at a spa? A manicure and pedicure at the salon is an indulgence nowadays. I do have a few Armani suits, but these were long-ago off-the-rack purchases, when my affinity for designer names overrode my aversion to credit card debt. That evening I was wearing ancient Adidas track pants and a Calvin Klein undershirt so worn the name on the label had faded to just ?Calv Kle,? making it sound like my top was the handiwork of some old Tibetan Buddhist nun. At least the ?nun? part of those long-ago daydreams still had some relevance.

It wasn?t supposed to be like this. I?d moved here visualizing an existence better than what I had back in Manila. Not that my formative years in the Philippines were exactly marked by deprivation. In fact, I was blessed enough to have what most people would consider a pretty privileged life ? with average upper-middle-class trappings.

But I had a yen for adventure and a yearning to assert my independence and prove I could make it on my own ? a prospect some people, including my occasionally overbearing father, were skeptical about. I was also done dealing with Metro Manila and its many miseries ? the more I set my sights on a Stateside address, the better I felt things would be.

Well, for a while, the brass ring was admittedly in hand ? I drove around in an Acura, then a Saab, went for long weekends in Europe, entered tony stores and emerged with bulging shopping bags filled with frivolities (such as, for heaven?s sake, a few swim trunks that are ?dry clean only? and can?t get wet ? what was I thinking?).

So why did I end up waylaid off the Yellow Brick Road to Oz, dining out of a can in a cold apartment? Well, there?s the worldwide financial meltdown, for starters. The $45 billion California budget deficit meant that a recent hire like me, working within a state-run organization in a position that was rather ill defined from the start, wasn?t in the most tenable of situations, employment-wise.

It?s cold comfort, but there is a bit of consolation in knowing I?m not the only one riding this storm-tossed boat. I know at lot of people in the US and elsewhere who?ve been swamped by the global economic tsunami. And for each one who has managed to ride the wave, there are several others barely keeping their heads above water. Almost everywhere, the media is filled with stories of pink slips and bankruptcies and other portents of gloom, and everyone knows someone who?s been a victim of the crash.

Consequently, the mood in most of the United States feels almost funereal. Most malls are bereft of shoppers; many bars and restaurants, formerly teeming with revelers, are now nearly empty. Almost every conversation is sprinkled with news about who?s out of work and how everything?s so horrendous and the various ways folks are using to try and cope with things.

Most of the Pinoys I know of here in the States still have it a bit better than many others, though. Unlike other immigrant groups or even native-born Americans, a lot of our compatriots are college-educated, speak English fluently, and assimilate easily, which helps with job prospects. In addition, they are employed in fields such as medicine, accounting, and engineering that, despite the downturn, have proven to be resistant to shedding workers. This probably explains why, as an American friend of mine put it, ?The only malls that are doing decent business now are those that a lot of Filipinos go to.?

Personally, I?d say one of the best, if perhaps unintentional benefits of this catastrophe has been that it?s forced a good bunch of people, myself included, to reassess our lives and just how we had been living over the last couple of years.

Not having as much money left over for thoughtless splurges pushes one to decide what is essential and what is mostly inconsequential. Not having a job compels a reevaluation of what one really wants to be doing and what steps could be taken to get to that goal ? whether it?s going back to school, broadening the roster of skills possessed, or moving somewhere previously never under consideration ? which for me, might even be back to Manila for a while. Not being tethered to an office bestows a freedom to engage in ventures one previously never had enough time for, such as reconnecting with old friends, going for long, contemplative, restorative walks, cleaning out closets and garages and throwing out the detritus of less enlightened (more avaricious) times past, and a host of other oft-deferred pursuits.

All of this will hopefully end with a person who is far happier, healthier, and more balanced. Or, at the very least, someone whose residence is considerably cleaner than it used to be.

So, the final question ? is the American Dream over? There has possibly never been as varied a range of answers as we?ve had in recent times. As far as I?m concerned, although its luster is a little dull at the moment, the Dream is still very much alive. Indeed, I find its imagery to be a lot more realistic, have a great deal more depth and perspective, and, frankly, look much more sustainable over the long-term.

But for the time being, I hum the chorus to Crowded House?s ?Don?t Dream It?s Over? in my head, pray that people awaken from this collective socio-economic nightmare soon, and hope when that happens we will discover ourselves at the dawn of a kinder, gentler, wiser day.