Dear Stranger


When I asked you for turon

And you asked me if I was Filipina 

When I replied “o po”

And your eyes widened and your smile brightened

When you said I didn’t look it

And all I could say was - I know


Dear Stranger 

You probably didn’t think I cry in my car

Thinking about how I listen to Tagalog music but don’t understand it

Thinking about how it’s not my fault that I was born here

And if I had the choice I wouldn’t be 

But also that I probably wouldn’t be the same me

Sorry actually more accurately I would definitely be a completely different me

And is that really what I would want (?), knowing and living with myself


Dear Stranger,

Tell me

How can I compare myself to someone who doesn’t exist and yet I still do

(You didn’t know those are questions I ask myself, right?)

Wondering about the possibilities, all winding back to being more Asian,

More of the things I know I currently am not 

Wishing I could change my features

Maybe I would have a cuter nose and straight black hair 

Perhaps I could look the part

And you wouldn’t have to ask,

You could just tell



Dear Stranger,

This is my letter
Trying to learn to let go of the things I am not - or could have been 

If the circumstances were different 

And that every time I am faced with a stranger like you

I am prepared to say, I know 

I know that I don’t look the way you think I should



But I also, maybe,  shouldn’t have to.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Coming Home

 I placed my self worth in the hands of someone else, and I let it break me. I was naive thinking someone could offer me part of a world I've been so desperately trying to be a part of, and that they'd dangle it just out of reach, ready to pull it back.  Left with a feeling that they set it on fire and left you scrambling to hold on to the ashes that remain, a sharp ache in its place. A foolish and futile thought that a singular individual would be the answer to your fragile and fragmented identity issues - if they just let you in and accepted you, chose you, that it would signal something. You would be enough - good enough, Filipino enough, if this one person could care about you and let you in then you would belong. You would fit. Something snapped.  I wrote that back in February and it is now May. Before running to Japan for my planned vacation, I ended up deciding to continue my time abroad.  I came to Asia seeking novelty and new experiences; firsts. Japan is so...
Read more

Speak Up

you’ll tell me to speak  say it with my chest  but everything comes out  dripping foreign to you  and you won’t hesitate to make it known  you unleash this imposter in me  still feeling like I’m on a tightrope  at any time my foot will slip and I’ll plunge  hit the rigid, arduous surface of inadequacy   because deep down you’ll never see me  I can see the constant questioning in your eyes  it deepens with every syllable I whisper into the dark  my voice choked by many hands that graze my soul  but dare not venture further  as if afraid to see what lies in wait there  you’ll use pinay against me as much as to praise me  a weapon of choice i have no armour to shield  and I’ll admit defeat even if only to myself  silent and with unbearable weight  I’ll sleep with it like a blanket
Read more

Eggwashed

Growing up, I took whitewashed and internalized it as a term that equaled acceptance. As long as I had molded to the fray, belonged in the space, that word could continue to be tolerable, used both for me and against me. It's a sad realization knowing that it had stung the whole time, but the thing about stings - the more you endure, you eventually go numb. Sometimes you can't feel them in the first place, and then it's too late.  Numb, like not being able to talk about it, and not knowing how to push away from it.  Numb with compliance, docility and resignation. A misplaced acceptance of others shaping a warped version of your sense of self. Numb to the idea that being anything other than white was an offense; an offense that sorely needed to be prosecuted.  The numbness is melting away, leaving the feeling of pins and needles that resembles something like regret.  Whitewashed was and is a way to explain me away. It's appellation of something you don't understand a...
Read more