{m}33 artist spotlight
meet loella disto, one of our talented {m}33 members and our outgoing co-community coordinator. they recently graduated from uc berkeley with a major in english and minor in ethnic studies. we are so excited to share their collection of poems (in no particular order).
Balikbayan.
hangin lang ang laman ng balikbayan box ko,
Ito ay para sa aking Tita Bing.
Ipapadala ko ito sa kanyang bahay
Sa langit. Wala akong sapat na maipapadala, pero
gusto kong subukan magpakailanman.
Susubukan ko;
Ibalik ang mga aral na itinuro niya sa akin
Ibigay ko ang pagmamahal na ibinigay niya sa akin.
Ang Isang Babae
MATAPANG
Umiiyak siya sa tuwing gabi, naghihintay
sa tawag ng mga apo niya araw araw.
Sabi niya na lagi akong magiging sanngol
Sa mata niya. Ang kunot niyang mga kamay
ay ang nagpakain sa akin. Tinuruan niya ako
kung paano mag-alis ng balat sa manga.
Ang lola ko, ang buhay niya ay para sa mga apo niya
Panganay na bata, Ate sa anim
Siya ang pangatlong magulang.
Na tikman niya ang kahirapan,
Na tikman niya ang walang pagkain.
Nagtrabaho siya sa kolehiyo, nakita
niya ang oportunidad sa negosyo,
binigyan niya ng pera sa kanyang pamilya.
Tinuruan niya kami kung paano sasabihin
Ang salita na hindi, HINDI.
At ibig sabihin ito. At kung bakit importante
ito para sa mga matapang na babae.
Tinuruan niya kami kung paano ito
gawin na walang lalake.
Mayroon na siyang tatlong anak,
Lahat ay sa ilalim ng walong edad, pero
inalagaan niya ako tuwi hindi ako kaya
Sa mama ko. Isang braso na may hawak na bata
Ang ibang braso ay nagpapakain ng isa pa.
Kahit na pagdating ng cancer, at
Kahit na nahulog yung lahat na buhok niya,
Yung bumaba ang timbang niya, siya parin
Ang nag hawakan sa tibook pamilya namin.
Pagod sa trabaho, pagkatapos nangunguna sa tao
Uuwi siya na nagtanong sa akin at sa aking kapatid
Kung gutom kami-- maririnig ko ang stove,
Ang amoy ng sibuyas at bawang kumakalat sa bahay
Namin. Ang pinaka-unang bahay ko ay ang tiyan niya.
Maingay siya sa mga hilig niya
Kahit na sinabi ng mundo na dapat tahimik ang babae
Nagsusulat siya ng mga kwento kahit na
Sinabihan siya ng pamilya at lipunan na medicina
Dapat ang aaralin niya, o nabigo siya.
Gusto niya at nagmamahal siya ng mga babae,
Pininturahan niya ang kanyang buhok palagi.
Ako ang babae na pag-angkin sa sarili ko.
Galing ako sa mga malakas na kababaihan
sa itaas ko.
Sabunutan
Actor Mom hurls violent screams
Slaps actor daughter’s face
Slaps actor daughter’s face, again
And again and again...
Actor daughter cries, coils into small
Self on wooden floor, cornered
against wall. “Pasensiya Mama!”
Actor daughter begs and begs for
forgiveness, Actor mom gives none.
“Ang kapal ng mukha mo!”
Violent words with violent hands.
Actor daughter’s face full of hurt
but Actor mother shows no mercy.
Pulls Actor daughter’s hair,
Tapos sabunutan niya ang anak niya.
The pulling of a child’s hair,
a usual punishment. Done enough times
in Filipinx culture, it has its own term
SABUNUTAN
“Ginagawa ko ito para sa
kabutihan mo”
Actor mom justifies, throws Actor daughter against the wall.
Dramatic music,
Cuts into commercial break:
I away turn from telenovela,
watch and listen to my Titas
All defending and praising Actor mom.
Maternal violence
Only adds to TV ratings-
“Now that little girl will learn!
Do not disrespect your elders!”
I hear Lola say.
Real Aunt
yells at Real cousin
For not putting dirty dishes away
Real cousin says she had homework,
“Excuse me? Anong sinabe mo?”
screams Real aunt with angry eyes
I tuck my small shaky legs into my body,
And I coil into myself.
Hiding behind the couch, I peek
Real cousin’s eyes fall to the ground.
Ang tigas nang ulo mo ha! Real Aunt
Gets real close to Real cousin’s face.
Real Aunt slaps Real cousin’s face,
“Do not talk back to me again!”
Real Aunt slaps Real cousin’s face
Again. And Again. Real cousin cries,
Real cousin runs into her room
I run to Real cousins room
I grab for Real cousins hand
Attempt to show love
And alliance and support. But
Real cousin slaps my hand hard
“Touch me again little brat!”
Generational repression
Men silencing women,
In consequence
Women silencing one another.
Maternal anger.
Maternal violence.
Maternal abuse,
Defined as love.
Rage within women. Normalized
Through Fake television scenes,
Through Real scenes in our homes.
So when Mama first hurls
Emotional punches,
So when mama first violently sweaps
Her hand across my face,
It feels so familiar, I almost expect it.
Para sa Ina ng aking Ina
[For my Mother’s Mother]
Mahal Na Mahal Kita Nanay.
Sinubukan ko ito.
Our native language leaves a bad
taste on Americanized tongue,
like ampalaya strips in your breakfast dish.
My small fingers handpick the eggs
avoiding that bitter melon. Acrid like
the teasing of white elementary school peers:
“Speak Tagalog for us, you know
like the girl scout cookie”.
Short legs dangle off the brown
wooden chair. Four years old, my
belly nourished with tropical fruits
you cut for me each morning
while I beg you to tell stories--
Our ancestral lines, the myths,
things mama and Tita did that angered you,
we laughed at them together
back when I still understood.
Makulit yet you respond with tight,
endless hugs. My small mouth too small,
still slow at formulating words, so you
teach through melodies of Bahay Kubo.
I take in like a sponge
the language that we fought to keep
This beautiful melody I recognize, wait,recognized...
In past tense, cause now,
its too faint, too blurry, like radio static,
too muffled, too far in the back of my head.
When did singing along feel impossible?
I listen and reach for our forgotten song,
feeling pathetic while I desperately decode through Google translate.Years of white friends stereotypes;
stretching eyes with their fingers,
generalizations of Chinese and Japanese
ancestry. Search depths of my mindfor notes and melodies.
And hope to remember
I wish I remembered.
Racism hits deep and wins:
First I forget sentences,
Then I forget words,
Deep shame in asking
“Can you repeat that?”
I pay Berkeley for a refresher,
relying for a re-connection of a culture from
this same white institution took away.
The rolls of my R’s no longer
slide easily; musical notes bend,
crack, hesitate
Parallels my disconnect from
a cultural identity I intentionally stowed away
in the bookshelves as I organized male
European authors to the front, who only
recognize my brownness through sexual
observations and uncomfortable gazes
I fear going home and your last memory
is the deafening echo of my silent answers,
Pasensya po Nanay.
Nahiya rin ako sa aking sarili.
Majoring in English, proficient
in our colonizer’s language, but when
Ninang talks I stare
blankly
cursing my own memory.
My shame floods the room
pushing like waves of harsh waters Mama and I crossed, frothy white surface I swallow
but, at some point disappoint our lineage
by surfing the complacency
Swimming happily in privilege I do
not even benefit from.
Pagod na pagod ako
From hiding parts of myself,
For hating myself. Other girls criticize
kase hindi ako puti; my sandstone skin,
width of my nose, coarseness of my hair,
shape of my eyes,
Pangit daw ako Nanay.
Pero isip ko ngayon, maganda ako
kase ang cape ang balat ko,
We hid it from the sun, scrubbed
with Papaya soap, yet it continues to
shimmer through the rays like our land
Unattractive but still worth at least
one fuck like a science experiment,
a tropical island flavor: a must try,
just once pero tapos na.
Importante ako kase matalino ako
Kase mabuti ang puso ako.
In high school I feel sure that a white man
will father my children. European features
avoids risks of my children’s erasure
White blood in my daughter’s blood will
easy her life, one-half privileged, An easy detour from:“What are you?”
Hindi. Hindi puwede Nanay.
Ayaw ko po ngayon.
Akin ito. Sa atin ito.
So I correct them. I continue existing.
I continue claiming space.
“How do you say this word in Tagalog?”
I owe you nothing. Hindi ito para sayo.
Drown in the awkwardness of my silence.
After forced redefinitions of identity
and linguistic access
I refuse to translate.
I owe you nothing.
Ako si Loella, at mahal na mahal ko ang sarili ko. Mahal na mahal ko yung mga kuwento
na para lang sa amin.
Nanay, tinatanggap mo ba parin ako?
Pasensya po.
Real Mama
Nine months your womb my home
First three months on earth you decide
my existence: a mistake
Best if we separate your full breasts of
volcanic milk nourishes nothing.
Eventually stops leaking
Stops producing love
as fast as you stopped missing me.
I mourned a mother still alive
You and Papa spend paychecks on vices
Alcohol over diapers
Weekend trips on drugs
over sleepless mornings
Laughters with friends over my first words
Club music over my quiet cries
in the emptiness
of my abandonment.
Not yet ready for the title
Your problems bigger than my childhood
No compromising the lifestyle
Everything is more important than me.
No choice in being born, yet
Why do I regret YOUR decision
Creating a life I never asked for
Wish I was never born.
I mourned parents still alive
MOTHER
verb. bring up a child with care and affection.
Thank you for putting me in hands of
love nurture acceptance,
Dear Aunt who even with
swollen belly, baby cousin kicking in
womb, carries my weight
Me: A child Tita did not prepare for
while
You: carry no weight of guilt
Me: still carry sadness of attachment
issues today will also won’t hold anyone close
You: give care and affection only
when you want only when convenient
Me: Pushes anyone away
If you never wanted me why would
Anyone ever want me
I mourned a love never alive
When you finally decide On Motherhood.
Nestled on green leather couch with baby
Cousin Cleo, little arms hug each other tight
Cartoon network blaring in the background
Tita swallows it’s time
you go live with real mamaMy small brown eyes full of wet tears
But you are my real mama! Run to Tita wrap both arms around her neck,
Tita’s hands on my face
Be a good girl visit often please
Clothes and toys in boxes piled near door
Woman whose name I barely know.
Expensive perfume and light brown highlights;
“Real Mama” I guess. Hold Cleo’s hand tight,
Wont go I wont go dont make me go TitaUnfamiliar lady kneels on ground
Eye level, says I can get any treat I want.
I want Mama!
I scream In my head,
The one who cared enough to keep me.My small hand waives at Tita and Cleo,
New mom/actual mom, stinky perfume
Highlights and fake care voice puts me into
backseat of grey Honda Civic.
Sink in deafening silence blue butterfly
backpack full of sadness gripping doll
New mom/actual mom takes my hand
I snatch away. New mom/actual mom smiles
I turn away wish you’d go awayWatching home pass by through window
I mourned a mother that was never mine.
Mother not just feeding a mouth
Mother not just a transaction
A title earned not a decision suddenly yearned
Mother verb. bring up a child with care and affection
Mother certainly not you
Letters
Letters to people
I’ve written but never sent
My body was never yours to own but I allowed you, anyways. I still feel like it’s my fault
Thank you for letting me wear “boy clothes”. Thank you for taking my skirt off every time I cried as I wanted to peel off the biological skin I was born into. Thank you for not telling me to “sit like a girl”. I answer every phone call/text as fast as I can because pride doesn’t measure up to the regret I felt when I didn’t pick up your call, and you were buried the week after
You loved me more than I loved you. I’m beginning to wonder if I ever even loved you, or if I just wanted a taste of stability. I should have ended it the moment I realized. I am so sorry,
I destroy myself with your same chosen poisons. Is it [still] out of spite because I can outlive you. I can show up for people I love, something you could never do for your own daughters. Or maybe, I am testing how close I can get to you. I look in the mirror every morning wishing I could rip your DNA out of my face. I look in the mirror every morning, wear your face, miss you and wish I could have been more important than your vices
I didn’t talk to you for years after we f*cked because my own queerness scared me. Please respect and love yourself enough to stop reaching out
Sometimes I miss feeling protected. They pray to You the way I used to, or maybe not
Even with you around, it honestly never felt like I had a Mom. I would have preferred not having one than whatever it is you gave me. I break your heart, everyday, too. Maybe we'll forgive each other someday but not in this life
You wear purple freckles as if they were your own. You scared me because I saw parts of myself in you. But you were never mine to fix, and we met at the wrong time. We weren’t ready to face our queerness. We fell apart in a different life and I’m afraid, we have already fallen apart in this one. Let’s try again in other life
You tucked my hair back behind my ear, and I actually reconsidered
You were the first girl I ever loved. Every homophobic joke you made destroyed me. Every time you kissed him it destroyedme. Every time you kissed me it destroyed me. And you knew, too. That night we blacked out at the park and killed a pack of cigarettes, you told me you loved me, but I didn’t remind you in the morning so you didn’t feel shame. I felt shame too. I’m sorry your family sucks and plays FOX news on repeat. I’m sorry I loved you enough to sit through that. You’re one of the reasons I avoid New York
Someone probably more tamed, with no desires to go wild. Someone whose head isn’t constantly running at full speed, unhinged. Someone who doesn’t flip every idea upside down, inside out. Someone other than me. This is my purge of negative insecurities; maybe if I wrote who and what you need, I could humanize you again. But I will not fold myself for a man again, the way I did my father and the others. The way my mother and grandmother and her mother, folded every piece of clothing and themselves, watching wet spots where their tears lay drip on all wrinkled pieces. I was too much for you, because I contain more than you’re able to eat. Enjoy your scraps