Look at you, hard-pressed to speak with a flourish,
in a language you used to hate or at the very least,
gave you the heebie-jeebies. Congratulations,
you are now inconsequential, another anecdote
about moving and movements. On the 101,
every once in a while, you get the urge to spew out
phrases. Ubusan ng kalye. Malansang isda. Wika.
But words always fail. Listeners disappear. You mute yourself
while conversations are free. You’ve learned what small talk is.
Cheap, you try losing the baggage, lugging around big words.
Diaspora, exile, imperialism, post-capitalism.
You turn the key, calculating your step, and hit the gas
heavy with deliberateness.
Begin with your journey again
and finally accept that all this time,
you have been losing your way. The asphalt tonight
has never seemed this endless, ferrying the desolation with time,
almost convincing you that everything
is going to be fine. Road signs have been stolen anyway.
The streets, pockmarked. Manhole covers have all been melted,
repurposed. Returned. Reverberating. Revealing
that the way back is longer now. If only you can find it again.
You will, like before, wing it. Spread out and turn left,
instead of heading west. Measurements
will not be in English, only directions.
—
Zosimo Quibilan, Jr.’s book of fiction, Pagluwas (Going to the City) won the 2006 Philippine National Book Award and the prestigious Madrigal Gonzalez Best First Book Award in 2008. His poetry collection, Ang Tanging Natagpuan (The Only Thing Found) is forthcoming this year from the University of the Philippines Press. He performs as singer-songwriter ZOS!MO in Los Angeles and leads No Sisig No Rakenrol, a musicians collective promoting original Filipino American music.
