Growing Up Halo-Halo

It's one AM and I can't sleep  Thoughts are racing, unquelled Anxiety finds solace in the words on a page By the moon and the lighting of a candle  And once my mind has been distracted enough I sink in the softness of cushions The burning of a wooden wick Attempting to send me into slumber The flickering whispers Guiding me to morning.

 I've had a lot of conversations lately that swirl around what I pathetically describe as a "reckoning".  I have talked to a few people in my life surrounding having to reflect so much on my past and childhood racial issues - this reflection stemming from my parents divorce and accompanying shame of having a white father who didn't hold space for other parts of me (us). I have these constant thoughts of if my dad hadn't done the things he did, I wouldn't have had this figurative mirror placed in front of me. Maybe I wouldn't have to work through all of this now.  Discussing how exhausting it is to always be explaining myself and who I am because it doesn't fit the person's idea of me that they've prematurely constructed. Reiterating that I am Filipino, with a period, and that's the only thing I want to need to tell someone. Perpetually just wanting it to be enough. How I feel like the ball in a game of ping pong - being tossed around from e...

 Ambiguous  I think not  Because something specific Wouldn't be their first thought They'd have to read between the lines Try to put the obscure pieces together  Assumptions are made instead  And I've known this forever  You mistook my appearance Had to backpedal your words  I'll play stupid, I'll be coy Like I didn't hear what I just heard And you'll get off clean despite your foot in your mouth  While I have to stand there and internally scream  Constantly not having any other choice Tell myself I just need to chill out and reconvene  Right  Just hit the reset button  Wait for the next time I wonder when this feeling bubbles over Of being sick of being defined  Someone come and sing to me Notes of my delusions Serenade me the tune of finality Create me an illusion  One of a life carefree My anger placed on the shelf Where I'm maybe not ambiguous But rather just myself.

SAD feels like a deep aching in my chest  Something lodged so far there's no pulling it out  Even when I try to ease my figurative hand in I can't reach it No matter how hard or loud I cry  It won't shake it, doesn't rattle it Despite how tightly I wrap my arms around my ribcage  It won't pop it out of place I recall being a sunshine girl  Such a different version of myself  And I wonder where the hell she went Where the sun went  Why is it too easy  To allow myself  To leave  Eventually the ache subsides but I know it's still in there It comes back, in the darkness of the spaces my mind preoccupies  I lay in bed grasping for warmth Hoping the layers that I cover my head with  Might save me, maybe this time  But it always finds a way between the sheets Sometimes I long for someone to pick up this weight  If merely fleetingly  Yet I ask myself  If anyone could truly lift it  Am I the cookie in the cup...

 And oh how I wish I could erase it.  How much strength would it take to push it away, push it down? How much pain would it inflict to strip it from myself, from the inside out? How hard should I scrub to get this layer off of me? How much wealth would I have from the amount of people that tell me You're still white.  Have I talked about my proximity enough?  Have I talked about my privilege enough? Have I talked about my resentment enough? You're still white. It's never, do you identify as white? It's never, are you connected to your Caucasian background? I was born into a western society, and so I live accordingly. Held by both bigoted cuffs and resignation. Constraints I viewed as real, rules that felt like binding contracts I didn't even realize I signed. Whose hand was it that held the pen? From all the time I absorbed other people, shaped myself to who they saw, accepted that this was what I was supposed to be. I swallowed their words You're still white. N...

I stood at the window, Taking in the rain. My view to the horizon, The wind that blew, the leaves that swayed. I stood at the window And cried for a home That isn't truly mine. My heart ached My body resigned  Wishing I was staring out into Manila rain.  The thunderous downpour  rumbling the veranda. The rushing of water down the streets The humidity of the storm The cool of the calm. * A draft of unfinished thoughts

I haven’t been writing as often as I like, which is obvious based on when I post. This week has been really tough, and for no apparent reason. I have felt so mentally unwell since Monday and I've only started to feel some sort of relief today.  I have been going home after work and sleeping for the majority of the night.  I haven’t eaten a proper meal all week. I’m more irritable/anti social, and today I cried for most of the morning. Very depressed-adjacent (I say this because I am not diagnosed). I even experienced a flare up in anxiety - the kind where you walk through a hallway of people laughing, and think they're all laughing at you, and you hold your breath all the way back to your car, and don't fully inhale-exhale until you get in. I dreaded today, because I knew I couldn’t go home and cover myself in blankets in the dark.  I had an appointment after work, that I knew would be unpleasant. I always commit to going to Zumba, even if I don’t feel like going, probabl...