Kalinga

The leaves seem greener here.
The air is cooler, because it stings your face just a little bit,
as if the air is kissing you on the cheek to greet you good morning.
The sun is brighter.
The water is crystal.

I can’t tell if there’s something magical about this place, or if my senses just take it all in differently. Like I’m being reborn, and I’m using my senses for the very first time.

Bitter coffee. Black, no cream.
Sugar.
Steam rising from my cup, my plate.
Bare hands.
Bamboo slats on the floor.

Children are laughing.
Little giggles,
hearty laughs,
muffled snickers.
They point at us from the little hill next to the hut.
They peek through the windows.
They’re not shy about staring. I’m uncomfortable, just a little. I wave.
They laugh and run away.

Cool water.
Crisp, like it ran through a little bit of ice just to get here.
The floor is slippery, so I grip real tight with my toes.
Bare skin.
Splash.
Nervous smiles because this is awkward.
The water heals the bumps and bruises I acquired getting here.
I feel so clean, like bathing in water from the heavens.
I’m being baptized in the middle of a forest.
Shedding away the tough layer I’ve worn all my life
and being reborn.

¯ Ako ay maligaya kung kasama ka.
Ako ay maligaya kung kasama ka.
Ako ay maligaya kung kasama ka,
Kung kasama-sama-sama-sama ka. ¯

She holds my hand so I don’t slip down the mountain.
They sing songs to the beat of my heart.
She shares her cigarettes with me, rolled in thick newspaper.
Laughter. So much laughter, all the time.
Weathered hands, wrinkled smiles, bright eyes.
Resistance, and a way of life so ingrained and natural.
Love.

¯ There’s a struggle in those hills.
You can feel it’s power still.
The women’s take down private property.
In the peaceful act of the people’s will. ¯

I close my eyes and try to hold on to these fleeting moments.

Excerpts from Josefina's notebook, 1995. (Part 1)

13 June 95

I'm here.


12 June 95

Paolo

Bel and Ma

The man next to me is writing a letter for his wife while we are flying right now and I don't know how he can do that.


10 June 95

Ma is packing
my little bag
for me, right
now. I said
I can do it,
but she keeps
saying Ako na,
ako na. She
doesn't want me
to stay in
the room with
her.


8 June 95

I just woke up from a nightmare that I went to the states and I was a grown woman, and I was walking in a crowded street. I saw Bel and Darling and RJ walking in front of me. They were all grown too. But when I ran to them and tried to embrace them they didn't know who I was. I kept yelling at them, I'm your sister, and they kept yelling for help. They thought I was trying to steal from them and they were trying to run away.


7 June 95

Paolo finally said he was sorry, to my face.
He said it in his letters but I didn't really
believe him until today. I could see his face
and I knew he meant it.


3 June 95

Mama is acting like I'm not leaving. I am too.
I don't think she told Darling and RJ yet.

I don't know what to do about Bel. At night, I pretend that
I'm sleeping even though the bed shakes and I can hear her
sobbing. She tries to be quiet, but I know she pretends
not to care that I'm really awake.


1 June 95

Paolo and I


27 May 95

Everything Ma and I have been talking about is really going to happen.


26 May 95

Mama got home late today.

She had new shoes for everyone.

She gave me new Adidas sneakers. Real Adidas in a box. I thought I was getting a heart attack.

She gave shiny black Mary-Janes for Bel for when school starts, those jelly slippers with glitter for Darling and rubber sandals with dinosaurs for RJ.

And then after everyone went to sleep, Ma called me out of the room and gave me my plane ticket for San Francisco.
My flight is on June 12.


17 May 95

I saw Paolo today and we talked for a long time.


15 May 95

I can't sleep
at a good time
anymore. Not
since last month.


3 May 95

Paolo is writing letters
for me all the time. He
tried to catch me when I
was walking to the sari-sari
or brining RJ to the park.
Since 2 days ago I make
Bel run to the store for me
and she delivers his letters
every time she comes back.

17 April 95

Today is RJ's 3rd birthday. Bel and Darling helped me bake a cake for him.
It was a good job even though we used 1 egg instead of 2. He was
really happy.


But I was so annoyed at the park today because Paolo gave me a letter
that said he didn't want me to move to the states. I don't know how he
found out, but I think Bel told his little sister about it. I'm still so angry. He
thinks he could fuck around with Clara Kang, who everyone knows she can't do
any of these 3 things: run fast, keep a secret and close her fat stubby legs.
So Paolo thinks because I didn't talk to him since last year that it's now
ok for him to spray an envelope with his fake cologne and put it in
my hands in front of everybody, like nothing happened.

I wanted to kill him.


13 April 95

Bel was crying a lot earlier tonight because she wants me to wait for her to go to the states together.


4 April 95

Mama says she's 3 more paychecks
away from my plane ticket. I stopped
breathing when she said that. I didn't
move. My hands froze in the foam
water. I was holding Bel's uniform and
the soap felt like a rock inside my fist while
I waited for Ma to say something else.
She just starts talking about Kuy's
letter again, like I wasn't here during
this whole time and I didn't know about
the letter and what he says about me
living with them. I start washing again
when she said I have to always help them
around their house especially Ate Rose with
the children. She talked about this again. They
need help with their big house. I want to tell her
Ma, you don't really know how big their house is.
I can admit I don't know what it looks like. Instead
I said of course I'll help them. So she would stop
talking about it. I felt bad later. She always says I'm
lucky I'm the oldest and I can do this. I don't want her
to know. I didn't even tell Bel what goes through
my head in this past 2 months because I know how
much she wishes she can come with me. I can't tell them
I can't even think of how it is over there.

Pick Up

“Darassem! Aiy! Amom na ladaw-en!” Seden’s Tita calls from the van’s passenger seat. Her Tito pounds on the horn. “See-dun! Enya ti oras en?” Tita’s accented voice booms from the running car. She jumps into the van, slamming the side door shut. Her Tito questions, “Why do you slam doors?” Seden responds, “sorry, but if you didn’t rush me, maybe…” Her Tita cuts her off with a glare, “Hmmmph, watch your mouth. You are the one making us late! Sica met, awan te panunoten. You don’t behave properly when your Nanay and Tatay arrive.” Trying to rid the annoyance in her voice, Seden responds, “Well if you could’ve told me sooner, I would’ve gotten up early.” “Hummmph, taking so long, and look at you, narugit pay, dugyit! Tita retorts. Seden holds her tongue. Her Tita continues the barrage of insults, “Why don’t you look properly? Look at your clothes, what is that? You look like a bum. Your Nanay and Tatay will say we are not taking care of you, Ai dugyit!” Seden understands the wrath to Tita’s reasoning. She ignores her Titas commentaries and psychoanalyzes the situation at hand. Tita is disgusted by urban youth culture. She hates on street art, scratch that, she doesn’t understand art, let alone street art, or my art for that matter. She lacks an un-biased point of view, therefore allowing her to confuse the appearance of a working artist versus poor hygiene.

Tita continues her ranting while they travel street mazes until they reach a clear shot at the free way towards the San Francisco International Airport. Tita’s mouth twists like a tornado, spinning through her reptitive argument, while Tito grunts in accord every now and then. “Why didn’t you change your bado buisit, your Nanay and Tatay are arriving and you can’t do one thing? Ai, see your cousin, she’s no disgrace.” Seden turns flush, yet she keeps her temper out of her inflection, “who? Marie-Criss, she’ll be there?”

“Wen your cousin looks proper, her bado is always very nice. Look at you, so dugyit, I don’t understand. You should look like a lady, where’s your purse huh?” Tito slams on the brake. The passengers snap with a whiplash ripple. Tito growls at the yellow Corvette culprit who cut them off. “Tay-ina! Stupid, learn how to drive son of a gun!”

Unfortunately, the jostled car does not derail Tita from talking. She complains about Seden’s appearance up until the on ramp to the airport. Once Tita realizes their close position, she flips the mirror down and checks her face, re-applies her pink lipstick and pats stray hairs into place. The van winds its way into the traffic-controlled pathways of patrolled curbs and metallic reflective signs. Tito pulls into one of the multi-leveled parking structures. Seden rests in the moment of peace as they enter the cave like cement complex. They circle the ramps until an empty space is revealed. Seden watches the flicker of the florescent lights from above dancing on the parked car tails. He stops the engine and the adults dash out of the van. Tita turns to Seden as if she were blind and hard of hearing, “Psst! We’re here now, behave yourself properly.”

Family Love

Jen loves her family, and she knows they love her too. They continue to ask her "When are you coming home?" 12 years have past and they still ask her that. Jen went out-of-state for college, and since then has graduated with a degree in Psychology and created a new home for herself. She yearns to come home to her family and community someday, but visits every 3-4 months in the meantime...

"Oh my gad, Jen!", Tita Joy gasps dramatically, "Ikaw ha, you gained a lot of a weight! Have you been eating a lot?" Tita Joy sucks her stomach in her jeans 2 sizes too small – she had hoped to fit into them perfectly over the last 10 years, but her plan of slimming down didn’t quite work out for her.

"Yah!", Lola looks straight at Jen, "You’re fat!"

"So what! I’m happy with my size and I’m happy with my life," Annoyed, Jen says to Tita Joy "Look who’s talking! You…"

"Hoy! This is my after giving birth to 5 kids! How ‘bout you, do you have any kids?!"

"You gave birth to the last one 25 years ago, what are you talking about?!"

Lola butts in again, "You're not the only one, Gigi’s fat too!"

"Hoy! I just pointed out your flaw, and you get defensive about it?!", Tita Joy aggressively raises her voice, "Fine, I won’t help you improve anymore!" She rolls her eyes and whispers, "Talagang walang respeto!" Raises her voice again, "Oh is that why you’re not living here ha?! A decade has gone by and your family can’t count on you being around all the time anymore! What?! You think you’re too good for us?!"

Anger and guilt are fuming out of Jen’s eyes, and they well up like a glass about to overflow with water. She doesn’t know whether to blow up, or to just walk away and cool down – not something her family was accustomed to.

"I'm not ready! I'm just not ready yet!!!" Jen takes a deep breath, and contemplates on what she has been contemplating since she left home... Jen loves her family, but she's not sure if she'll just end up going crazy if she were always around them.

Burger King Night

10pm. Dark outside. Dad’s in the living room, watching reruns of McGuyver. He cusses at the tv.

Shet. Ang galing mo talaga! / Shit. You’re so good!

My sister and I are playing inside our room. (And by “our room,” I mean the only room in our one-bedroom apartment in the Westlake apartment complex.) She has a Barbie. I have a Polly Pocket. She’s on the inside corner of her lower bunk bed. I’m on mom and dad’s adjacent queen bed.

Lalalalala-LA! Lalalalala-LA! Lalalalala-LA! Yessss! (While dancing and singing)

Why are you so happy, ate?

Because today is TUESDAY. (Eyes big, half whispering)

Ooooohhhhh! TUESDAY! (She’s clueless. I can tell.)

(I smile)

What’s Tuesday? (Told ya)

Duuuhh! It’s Burger King night!

Ohhh yeaahhh! Yaaaaayyy!

She joins in the dancing with me.

10:30pm. We hear steps coming up the stairs leading to our apartment. You can’t see out the window from the room because the big bunk bed blocks most of it. We hear the jingle of keys. She has hella keys, but we never really knew what they all opened. We shoot one look at each other, and Barbie and Polly didn’t have a chance. We threw the toys down to the floor and run out to the living room.

Mama! Mama! (both of us yelling, semi competing)

O. Kain na. / Eat now.

She still had her Burger King hat on, short curly hair tucked neatly with pins. Her makeup, applied carefully this morning, left faint traces on her face. Her collared shirt is blue, but faded. Black slacks, black shoes with scuff marks. She was beautiful.

One by one, she unwrapped our Tuesday night feast: two whoppers, a big fish burger, a cheeseburger, slightly stale (but still delicious) large fries, some onion rings, a chocolate shake, a strawberry shake, and some cokes.

My eyes were big. I must be the luckiest girl in the world! My stomach rumbled. Has it been rumbling this whole time? 10pm is late for dinner, but who cares. This was totally worth waiting for.

Mag-pray muna tayo. / Let’s pray first.

Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.

O sige na. Kain. / Go ahead. Eat.

Tuesday night is Burger King night. Thank you, Lord for the leftovers that Mama always brought home from work. I must be the luckiest girl in the world.

Broken

(I was also inspired by aiza and elaine's memory stories.)

I was fourteen.  The world made so much sense yet no sense at all.  I lived in a bubble.  A bubble that burst once my eyes met a pair that changed my life from thereon.  There is a world outside mine.  And it’s not so simple.

It was hot, humid, and overcast.  The stickiness of the air clung to my skin as the sweat slowly surfaced.  I was at “home,” I was told.  This was home. 

I looked out through the window of our car and saw a multitude of cars bustling through the narrow streets.  Cars forming their own lanes, honking, and irritated drivers consumed the roads.  Coke ads lined the tips of the roofs of the little stores that laid along the streets.  Jollibee was across from McDonalds.  And what seemed to be little huts enveloped these well-known establishments.  People were crammed into these little huts.  Huge billboards shot out from these little huts and featured women resembling an all too familiar image.  They looked nothing like me.  They were beautiful.

It was an overwhelming feeling.

Tons of people were walking through the streets in what seemed to be aimless wandering. The car was still stopped amidst the heavy traffic and everyone was growing more irritated.  It felt cold.  Empty.  Dissatisfied. 

Amidst the chaos, was a pair of eyes.  Deep eyes, much like my own, but spoke more true words than any human being could actually verbalize.  More true words than I could say or write.  These words, which gazed back into my own, were desperate.  But I could not get a full grasp of those words, as the window stood between us.  And what reflected back at me was just a boy wearing only shorts and tsinelas, standing there with his face and hands propped up against the window.  Desperate to sell the necklace he was holding.  This little boys eyes spoke truth. I wanted to break through the window that separated us and listen to those words.  But the window remained intact.

My aunt sees me looking at the boy, distraught.

“Oh don’t mind that boy, anak, he is just working for the drug dealers.”

“kawawa naman,” coos my mom.

 “oo naman, I wish there was something we could do to help, but there’s nothing.”

And the car drives on, but through the rear view mirror, I stare at the boy.  The image of his eyes never leave me.  I will not let them die in vain.  There is not nothing.  There is only everything. I will break that window, and only then will I see beauty.

Senses

(FYI: this memory was sparked from Elaine's story.)

I see a rush of people.

I hear tongues of different dialects.

I smell the smoke of cigarettes.

I feel the sticky heat.

I taste salty sweat dripping from my nose.

It feels like one of those moments in a movie where you are standing in the middle of a crowd, and everyone else around you is moving really fast. I look and look. Nothing looks familiar. I stand there not knowing what to do. Should I run? Walk? Yell? Ask for help? I decide to do nothing.

I stay there standing…. seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, tasting. It feels like a roller coaster ride that is never going to end. I am going to vomit. No I won’t. I will. I won’t.

I finally realize that I am at a market. I hear women bargaining for the best deals, “Ten pesos na lang. Marami pa akong kailangan ibili para sa pamilya ko.” I see a child with their mom asking to buy Japanese imported stationary… the ones with Hello Kitty on it. I want one, but I know I won’t get one.

I am hungry. I smell fish balls freshly cooked on the cart. I finally start walking towards the fish balls. I felt the oil trickle on my skin. My mouth was able to taste how it smelled but I had to ignore it. I didn’t have any money.

I turn around and I see a familiar face. She looks terrified and panicked. I hear her catching her breath. Sweat was dripping from her face. She runs to me, gives me a hug, and a kiss on my forehead. It’s my mom.

delusions...

During the last few months of being in college..I was proud, I felt I accomplished something: getting my BA…I was happy…because it was a physical push to be in the new present…but when I got out of college…my dreams became out of touch…plans for grad school fell through because I decided I was not ready..I couldn’t afford it…I couldn’t just do more school because i had nothing better to do…so I put it all away..all the work I did for it…I had a specific school, with a specific program picked out…I had an advisor in mind, I read his books…I dug his work and I wanted to learn from him…I did my research on financial aid…all the loop holes and obstacles of trying to get a PHD…the more I researched, the more I dug myself into a hole of wanting…wanting to get the PHD, wanting that experience…I contacted the school…I talked to grad students…I was ready…I had a thesis…I was in contact with professors: editing my work, reading books, buying books specifically on the subject of Venice in the 1400’s…then I moved back home…something I wanted to avoid because I didn’t like who I was @ home…I felt stuck there…felt like all my growing in the 4 years away from home, supporting myself…it all felt like it never happened when I went back home…and so at home I fell into my pattern…dancing…working…dancing…it hit me pretty hard when the only job I could get straight out of college was at the mall at a fuckin chocolate shop…I felt lucky…at the same time I felt like shit…I felt like all my dreams were slowly fading…the need for adventure, curiosity, growth…started to dim…I stopped dancing…and I distracted myself with booze, drugs, hanging out with pple who party…met a boy…i got hurt…took a re-bound, hurt him…then off to the Philippines I went…to hash out the demons of my home land…only to find that there is so much more than I ever could have expected…my mind blew up…3 months back where I was born…my home…spent time with family…new friends…my father…who I haven’t seen since i was 8…talk about a long distance relationship…but I’m not going into the dad issue…hahaha…I’m talking about being in the present…and here I am re tracing my steps trying to figure out how I got here…sitting in my room dark, contemplating the reality…I fell in love in my home land for the first time in my life…and a tragic ending it was…I left my birth place with a bigger hole in my heart than when I arrived…I came back to CA missing my homeland, missing my father, missing the community I made for myself, missing my new friends, missing my love…most of all…missing myself…I came back to SF scattered, torn, confused, drowning out the pain by trying to process everything…I came back to work at the mall selling chocolate…I was numb…I numbed myself…I couldn’t see what was in front of me…I was so lost in my head that the present could not snap me out of it…I was so lost that I didn’t realize I had fallen in love until 2 months back into the daily grind of America…side tracked…always being side tracked…so here I am now…tracking down where i got lost, where that path faded and I wondered into a strip club…who puts a strip club in the woods? Hansel and grettel didn’t get that shit…they got a house made out of yummyness…what did I get?? America the land of the “free” where they put your grandma on stage butt naked so that she can get quarters thrown at her so that she can give you an allowance so that you can buy hot cheetos at the school cafeteria for lunch…money blinded me more…debt hit…my grace period for student loans ended..and now I had to face that I owed $20,000…so I had to stay selling fuckin chocolate…there are so many avenues of exploitation in this industry…from the farmers, to people like me…employees…so much anger and frustration when I stop to think about the realities we face…poor, working class, striving to find something that makes us feel warm…something to fulfill us…and where do we find room for that in the present?? When do we dream? Because “sleep is the cousin of death” and when we wake we go right back to the ball and chain…I keep thinking, the sooner I get out of the chocolate shop, the closer I am to getting back on the path…but what path is that? Grad school? That road no longer exsists to me…it’s like I’ve always been lost and one road just got me to another road that was not meant for me to take in the first palce…so where are you happy?What does my path look like? Where can I find it? I’ve often gotten criticized for trying to be an island…and folks seem to think no wo/man is an island…but that’s where I see my path leading…my little hut surrounded by lush greenery…eating what I grow, or catch…reading in the shade, in a hammock…painting the landscape…swimming…getting brown on the beach…and watching hella movies…and if I’m inspired enough I’ll make those movies myself…but this dream requires shit I don’t have…and shit that I will never have because i refuse to do the things that enable me to have that…so again…where am I and where am I going? To be in the present…but to be here is to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time…because the present disappears once you name it…because once it is named…it either becomes part of the future or part of the past…elusive…I write because I feel the need to express…an expression that could not be told through visual aides or melodies, color, or flicking a button…I write so I do not forget..i write because it is the record the thinking brain keeps, a paper trail so that the next time I do this head trip I’ll see that I already told this story and that I can expand on something else…to show myself how far I’ve come…because my path Is lost…did I ever have one to begin with? We choose our paths..we choose who we surround ourselves with…we choose how we feel…because our brain created a pattern…different patterns for different situations..but one brain…its all a coping mechanism…a defense for sadness…so that we don’t just keel over and die…because if we did not have reasons to live…we’d be dead…and I guess the most concrete answer I have for myself is: I’m on the path of life until I find death….hahaha…morbid right? Yup…that’s me…morbid at heart until I find distractions to keep me from being so friggin sad…but at the same time…I can tolerate it…I can tolerate a lot of things…and maybe when I find someone to live in my fox hole…we’ll sit on the porch swing eating apple pie and drinking lemonade…I’ll turn to my fox and say “yo, I’m kinda happy, I’m on my path and I like it….” Or maybe when I’ve become hella financially stable I can say the same shit…or maybe…there’s too many maybe’s…and I get stuck in those maybe’s…so stuck that sometimes I become delusional…is that all it is…either constantly questioning or constantly settling until we snap out of the maybe and move on to the next thing???

• • • 
      

Sampaguita

I like walking down the Mission District because there’s so many houses that have sampaguita flowers growing in their yard. I have no idea what this flower is called in English, and I don’t really care. It’s just not the same, you know, if you call it a different name from the one that I’ve known all my life. It’s like saying cumquat instead of kalamansi. Yuck.

The scent of the flowers always brings me back to the same place: Sunday morning outside of Christ the King Parish in Quezon City. The scent of sampaguita floods my nose as a dozen or so vendors pass by me, white garlands strewn about their arms, thrusting it in my face as an attempt to entice me into giving up my coins in return for a lei.

Coz’ that’s what good Christians do, right?

It’s almost an abomination to enter the church without some sort of floral offering to the saints and statues that adorn the building. Am I really ready to doom the rest of my life at the tender age of 6? Lola’s gripping my hand hella hard because she doesn’t want to lose me in the crowd, and my frilly Sunday dress is itchy. She presses a big coin into my palm, and points to a little girl not that much younger than myself, with so many sampaguita garlands hanging on her little body that I was sure she smelled permanently of the sharp flowery scent.

Pabili ng isa / I’d like to buy one
Bakit isa lang? / Why only one?
Okey sige, dalawa na nga. / Ok fine, I’ll get two
Ang ganda ng damit mo / Your dress is nice
Salamat. / Thank you

I look back at her as I walk away, and glace at her big dirty shirt (probably a hand me down) and striped shorts. She’s not wearing tsinelas and her hair, pulled back in what must have earlier been a neat ponytail, is now straggly and unkempt. I wonder how long she’s been up selling sampaguitas?

I go inside the church and run straight for the statue of Mother Mary. I wait patiently for my turn. I light a small candle, hang one strand flowers on her hands and kneel on the pew. I clasp my hands tightly and pray.

Mama Mary, sana meron palagi akong magandang maisusuot. / Mother Mary, I hope I always have something nice to wear.

I stand up, and hang my second sampaguita garland around my neck.

I love the way sampaguitas smell. And every time I walk around the Mission District, I pick a flower from someone’s yard and put it in my hair.


--laine

Fieldtrip!

The Farm by the Shotgun Players

a stage adaptation of George Orwell's Animal Farm

by Jon Tracy

August 1-Sept 13

@ the John Hinkel Park, Berkeley

Let me know if you are interested in going to see a theatre show in Berkeley!....Lorna

Troubleshooting

Hi All,

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let me know if you are having issues with this and we can troubleshoot....Lorna