As I sank deeper into the depths of America is in the Heart, I felt as if I was slowly losing the sense of Allos. Allos, climbing an acacia tree while smelling papaya blossoms his long raven hair flowing in the wind. Only to be replaced with Carlos the boy with whose eyes were torn from the reality that ripped his simple mentality into shreds. Allos represents Bulosan’s gentle Filipino nature that undergoes a radical change when forced to adapt in a fabricated promise land crushed by malicious reality. Where is Allos, our lovely naïve boy, and why did he leave or does he still live on in the heart of Bulosan?

“Well, let us go home and I will cut your long hair,” said Marcario to me. “Don’t you ever cut your hair, brother?”
I was speechless. I was ashamed to say anything.
“He needs it for protection against vicious mosquitoes and flies,” said my father. “It is also his shield from the sun in hot summer.”
“I will make a gentleman out of him,” Macario said. “Wouldn’t you like to be a gentleman, Allos?” (pg.21)

A sudden insight that opened Allos’ eyes, for at that instant he was exposed to a modern ideal that was foreign to his indigenous ways. He understood Marcario’s words were not meant to afflict hurt but it left a sense that the old ways were dying due to the western communized generation whose ideals proclaimed profanity that was the American way. I wondered if Allos’ father ever looked upon Allos’ long hair and smiled knowing that his son was growing into a fine man. In Marcario’s eyes they were traditionalized and untame compared to the sleek fresh cut look that represented style and chic. Due to these two dissimilar perspectives, Allos must choose which outlook he will accept. His first reaction was undeniably shame which he endured and sought Marcario’s comments as truth. Thus he slowly began to fall into a whirlpool that is Western ideals that was sweeping away all that he once knew.

“Run! Don’t go back! Run!
I lift my shirt and wiped the blinding tears out of my eyes. I ran swiftly in the dark. I was running away from love, from all that was good and true.” (pg.281)

Every boy has a middle passage in which he struggles to become more whether he achieves that dream or not it evermore determines who he is as a man. Allos no longer wished to spend the rest of his life in poverty, starving for a purpose to live. He wished to seek out a future that was seemingly bright beyond the shores of Manila and into the vast unknown. Young and restless he ran into the night and its claws dug deeper into his heart leaving irrevocable hollowness. Further and further into night’s depths he searched for it blindly as the dark ate all that was him leaving him empty, a concave shell filled with pain. Until he finally realized what he was running from years later in a godforsaken hospital bed his hand trembling as he wrote the story of his life his heart aching to return to what he knew as home.

“Long afterward I found myself standing in the heavy rain, holding my rattan suitcase and looking towards the disappearing Philippines. I knew that I was going away from everything I had loved and known. I knew that if I ever returned the first sight of that horizon would be the most beautiful sight in the world.” (pg.93)

Realizing all too late, Allos has crossed the line into a society where he must learn to survive in the midst of all that was wrong, striking him severely with blows that left him shaking on the floor. He still held that simplicity that is so dear that shone from within him. For at that moment he was still Allos in heart but his mind was developing and his horizons have been broadened. Although he was traveling alone, he was bringing a part of the Philippines with him. Cradled in his arms he held all that he knew was true and while the wind whipped him mercilessly, his eyes were clear and full of hope staring towards this faraway land he had heard so much about. Little did he know that he was venturing into a false reality that he would not escape with his life.

“Someday you will understand, Carlos,” he said.
Carlos! He had changed my name, too! Everything was changing. Why?” (pg.130)

Everything was different in this alien land where Allos can no longer be called Allos but Carlos even by his own flesh and blood. There was no shelter from the harsh reality only pain and sorrow. It did not bring itself upon Bulosan but instead he had wandered innocently into it, a mess he could not overcome. His eyes slowly became familiar to his surroundings and before long he was adapting to it. Like a primitive animal he evolved into an offspring of a common mother, violence.

“There were times when I found myself inextricably involved, not because I was drawn to this life by its swiftness and violence, but because I was a part and a product of the world in which it was born. I was swept by its tragic whirlpool, violently and inevitably; and it was only when I had become immune to violence and pain that I was able to project myself out of it.” (pg.152)

As Bulosan grew into this environment he sprung like an intricate tropical plant in soil that was dry and coarse. Furthermore he evolved into a cactus but felt completely isolated for he could not escape the irrefutable fact that he was indeed a tropical plant. This was perpetual fight between Allos and this outer violence that wished to consume all that was pure, or tropical in a more humorous term, in him until he became just another victim. To become its prey who is unable to breathe without breathing in the toxins of its reign. Bulosan was young and was not aware of the severe aftereffects of violence only the adrenaline rush of the moment. The sudden high that made him feel superior over the fictitious foe, to see justice in the face of death.

I tried to find a justification for my sudden rebellion-why it was so sudden, and black, and hateful. Was it possible that, coming to America with certain illusions of equality, I had slowly succumbed to the hypnotic effects of racial fear?” (pg.164)

In my eyes the violence was simply dormant churning in depths of Bulosan, patiently waiting for the moment it could unleash itself upon Bulosan. For once he accepted violence as a way of life it became a part of him. Now it was simply a matter of time before it made itself known like a ticking bomb just inching to be triggered. Bulosan was not so as he was before, he has changed in a way so he might survive to see another day no matter the how dark the future lay before him.

“Did you ever smell papaya blossoms? There is nothing like it. Someday I will go back and climb these guavas again. Someday I will make a crown of papaya blossoms. Do you think I am sentimental?” (pg.198)

When Bulosan exclaimed this it was as if at that moment he was that simple boy again with dirt scrawled across his face. Amidst callous reality he illuminated a docile light that shone within the pages. In a second his cold heart melted and something sprung, like a budded sprout in the snow. It gave us a glimpse into his desires, what he truly held dear. It was as if Allos had never left this entire time. He simply shrouded himself with an air of mystery and hid in a forgotten chamber in Bulosan’s heart. All this time it was Allos and Carlos, who he was and who he is becoming, slowly unfolding like an immortally blooming blossom, its delicate petals rippling as sunlight dances leaving it aglow. Two parts of the same, he is Buloson.

“It was broken, trampled upon, driving me out into the dark nights with a gun in my hand. In the senseless days, in the tragic hours, I held tightly to the gun and stared at the world, hating it with all my power. And hating made me lonely, lonely for love, love that could resuscitate beauty and goodness. For it was life I aspired for, a life of goodness and beauty.” (pg.164)

Thus bringing into light the blinding consequences of violence for when he finally realizes all he has done wrong, it is now pitch black and the stars will refuse to shine under his head for he cannot see their beauty. When Bulosan first committed a dishonest act he felt that violence was an ally, to justify those who have wronged him only to find he was drowning deeper into its nadir. Violence was reality, perhaps the only reality in this America, but he fought against it groping in the darkness he searched for truth. For through all he endured he longed for what seemed almost surreal.

“That’s it, Carl,” Pascual would shout, storming around the room. “Write your guts out! Write with thunder and blood!” (pg.183)

Bulosan had found an outlet to his internal groans that finally found voice in pen and paper. He poured out he blood and dreams in his writing and made immortal his words. He was Allos but he was Carlos and yet he was entirely Bulosan. Although he was born into poverty’s crevice and hunger was his former brother he lived to tell his tale as Allos. Breaking free from the old ideals he set forth into a place where it did not accept him, he was Carlos. A name is a name, but Bulosan has become more for when all that grappled at his heels threatening him with death he triumphed as he wrote his heart out into words that spoke a speech comprehensible to all .

“My father cupped his hands and put them on his mouth, and the voice that called for me was disturbed and sounded far away. I was still a kilometer from our land, but I could hear his voice rolling down the valley. It was familiar and unforgettable, like the trees that whispered as I ran eagerly toward them.” (pg.12)

He ran with his words and illustrated the valleys that poured forth his heart, he returns to his homeland. Being painted forever were his memories, developing into vivid masterpieces as some dulled into the canvas. The ones that were closest to his heart were relived, time and time again until they were beating abreast with his heart.

“I had something to live for now, and to fight the world with; and I was no longer afraid of the past. I felt that I would not run away from myself again.” (pg.306)

As I neared the end of my beloved book, tears were brimming in my eyes for I have found Allos. He left momentarily as the violence soaked in leaving Bulosan in the night but as surely as the sun rose, he would spring like a phoenix from the ashes anew. His voice echoed throughout the book reminding Bulosan of who he really was. He was not a murderer, nor a drunkard, nor a gambler, nor a lie, he was forever Allos. No matter how far he ran away from his true identity he would always come back defeated to the reality that is him. In adapting to an alien environment one must become like them but never should one forget who they are.