Say I were to dedicate this to my great-grandmother. What would I write?



She was very Bisaya.

Jolly, always in a good mood,

Eternally ready to launch into song.

Although the songs she would sing were always sad.

A Manila boy like myself couldn’t understand them.

But they were always sad.



She had this seashell collection.

I never actually bothered to count them.

To the five year-old me they seemed to be in the thousands.

They weren’t, of course.

I wonder if those seashells

Are bits of home she brought with her.

Bits of a home she can never go back to.



I’ve never been to Aklan.

I heard my great-grandmother’s hometown is quite nice.

It’s situated on a coast.

I’ve always wanted to go,

See the town she grew up in.

I feel a part of me is there too.

But obviously that town is much different now.

More buildings, more cement, less sand.

Less men singing composo to their loves

From under their windows.



I’m not really going anywhere with this.

I want to go to Aklan.

It’s a home I’ve never known.

I’ve been to the beach, but never there.

I want to see if the ocean’s any different there.

Does it feel any different if you wade in it, I wonder?

Just let the waves wash over you.

Are the sunsets any different there too?

I’ve always liked sunsets.

It’s the colors, I guess.

I remember all these sunsets I saw before.

They were so vivid and colorful.

But they were always sad.



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This poem was originally published in Novice Magazine Issue 03.