Tag: Identity

• I’m Glad

  personal

  I’m Glad

  I stayed away from distractions and noise to write this; a simple poem about gratitude.

  I’m glad I got beaten up
  I learned how to fight back
  through lashing out with
  brave words and unforgiving phrases
  I understood my strength.
  
  I’m glad I failed all the time
  I looked for my truest self
  raging from one place to another
  the disturbing, the kind, the stoic
  I saw it all, I felt it all, I lived through it all.
  
  I’m glad I grieved more than one should
  I discovered life and defended it
  all had a special case to win
  society, as I knew it, was a walking cemetery
  I could not be fooled anymore.
  I cannot be fooled anymore.
  
  if you were as smart and wise as you’d insist
  tell me when your life started
  tell me when your life ended
  tell me, please tell me
  when you met life again
  have you met life again?
  
  my human reputation
  if God were to judge it
  is the longest maze
  of both heaven and hell
  “Sounds about right,” He says.
  Sounds about right.
  
  I’m alright.
  I’m still alive.

  January 1, 2026

  Identity, Immigrant Challenges, Life, Life Lessons, Wisdom

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• So I’m Gone

  personal

  So I’m Gone

  I’m obsessed with death. It’s the first and last thing I can think of every single day. I wonder a lot about it, and my curiosity just keeps on firing up. So I wrote yet another “death” piece just to suffice this “morbid fantasy”.

  What happens after I die?
  This is the question
  that confronts me
  each time I wake up.
  Also, this question;
  slaps me out of worries and concerns,
  pushes me to move on from hurt,
  slips me into rabbit holes of my own identity,
  shoves me away from the worldly,
  cues me in to the magic of time.
  
  So I’m gone.
  Into an unknown realm.
  Mind celebrities even make up stories
  about how surreal yet enchanting it is
  just to comfort the living.
  Where grief is answered with full love.
  Where a reunion with passed loved ones
  is assured.
  Where the past, the present, and the future
  meet up.
  Where mystery becomes truth.
  Where truth becomes judgment.
  Where judgment weighs hearts and souls.
  Where hearts and souls finally understand
  their purpose.
  Where purpose rests.
  All at last.
  
  So I’m gone.
  Into an unknown realm.
  My poetry and stories hopefully will live on;
  to guide my niece through this insane world,
  for my loved ones to understand my absence more,
  to stand up for my dignity and integrity to
  those who have done me wrong,
  for old friends who will suddenly appreciate
  my helping hand and my parting words,
  for those whose tears poured over
  my cutting punch lines,
  for old bosses and colleagues
  who beat me up good,
  for peers who had seen my value,
  for evil eyes who still work in the dark
  to harm my name,
  for churches that would defy my beliefs,
  for students who would study life
  through my perspectives.
  
  I was:
  an oddball
  a misfit
  a lone wolf
  a curious munchkin
  a seeker of silence
  a fighter
  a survivor
  a vagabond
  
  I was homeless.
  Yet, I lived a full and colourful life.
  I worked hard down to the last muscle
  of my strength.
  I tirelessly wrote since I was a little girl
  until I knew it was time to say goodbye.
  I failed many times.
  I won hearts many times.
  I cried and laughed over my
  inhibitions many times.
  I held back.
  I hid away.
  I never had a real name.
  I never knew who I was.
  
  So what really happens after I die?
  I’m gone.
  Just gone.
  Gone forever.
  With only this to leave behind.
  
  Though, I may let you know
  how it goes in the
  unknown realm
  once in a while.
  
  Through a stranger
  born after my time.

  November 15, 2025

  Death, Identity, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons

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• Candle in Hand

  humanity

  Candle in Hand

  A random encounter with a “supposed” witch during a grocery run after work. Was it a “divine nudge… or simply an assumption?”

  She barges in with a black candle in hand,
  sits right behind me, pats my head lightly.
  Like me, her skin color is like a solar flare,
  ready to burn, ready to rage, ready to share.
  
  She chants away in her own dialect.
  Impassioned words, cruelty I cannot detect.
  Every syllable sounds like a gun fire.
  I reckon she’s on the phone, lambasting a
  blood line.
  
  Digital music blasting into my ears,
  drifting away as she’s too loud to bear.
  I get off the bus, she jumps off after me.
  She stands in my space, eyes gazing away.
  
  Her ears jolt up in the evening mist.
  They’re free, they’re clear, I’ve caught the
  twist.
  
  She feels my curiosity, triggering her fancy.
  Once again, the impassioned words
  explode out of her black candle days.
  
  As we wait to cross yet another street,
  she blasts out profound words just for me
  to notice her presence,
  “They don’t know how to read and
  understand!”
  One more time, make it louder, madam,
  “They don’t know how to read and
  understand!”
  I say, “Time to cross the street now.”
  She paces down after me, still raving on,
  with a trembling soul hidden in her
  ingenius scorns.
  
  She suddenly disappears, then God
  whispers in my ear, “You’re shielded, don’t
  worry about her voodoo trick.”
  I freeze, my heart races, I pray,
  “God, a new perspective would be okay.”
  
  So I go on to get my grocery run done.
  I talk to a friend who says, “All good minds
  are gone.”
  The strange lady’s hex turns into the most
  beautiful eagle,
  I release it into a world where wonders
  grow.
  
  She was not alone, there were thousands
  trapped in her.
  A prison of despair, causing her to fight
  back out of fear.
  The eagle delivers her the message,
  “Quit it. It’s not going to work on her. She’s
  not alone, too. Lest you forget.”
  She can also barge in with a candle in hand,
  only her goal is to save the innocent.
  
  Yes, this is how I barge in with a
  candle in hand.
  To save the innocent.

  November 1, 2025

  God, Identity, Immigrant Story, Life, Witchcraft

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• I’ve got a strange name

  lyrics

  I’ve Got a Strange Name

  As a Filipino, my real name sounds both American and Spanish, and it feels strange to me sometimes. This was written as a song; these are the lyrics.

  I’ve got a strange name, it doesn’t know it’s real. Only the ones who hear it, can tell me to heal.
  
  I’ve got a strange name, it’s loud and proud. But the ones who hear it ask me what it’s all about.
  
  I know its story. I feel its pain. I listen to its cries. Nothing is sane.
  
  It promises a heart to understand who I am. Though I don’t know how to start as my soul spins around, looking for something to be found in a world where my strange name doesn’t have the same sound.
  
  I’ve got a strange name, it’s worn out and dying. Those who have heard it still can’t stop judging.
  
  I’ve got a strange name carved from my home’s history. But the ones who have heard it would laugh at its identity.
  
  It’s just a name. Is this how life begins? My mama says it’s safe ’cause humans are all born to slave. In a world where everyone’s name doesn’t need to sound the same.
  
  Strange.

  September 13, 2025

  Identity, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons, Wisdom

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• If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth

  personal

  If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth

  I wrote this poem as an ode to my old profession. I was once a teacher before I immigrated to Canada.

  A commanding voice echoed through the learned hallways. Eager hands raised; squeals of knowing, nature fell silent. They sang about their future. They rang the bell. Fragile bodies moved inch by inch. Until they reached the grand gate. They bowed to the masters. They smiled at the commanding voice. And they orbited away. To catch their own stars. While their ears summoned the commanding voice each time the sun awakened them.
  
  “What’s the answer?” “When will it work?” “Where am I heading?”
  
  “Listen to your own voice,” the wind replied. “If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth.”

  Meanwhile, the commanding voice flew far away to catch an alluring star. For a thousand nights, he carved on in the dark; to laugh, to cry, to feel alive. Once the sunrise crept in, the world confronted him. Judgment struck its sword! His bones creaked, his blood ran dry, his skin was scarred. Wounds covered his charm. And his voice, oh, his once commanding voice!
  
  At rest. Resting in a dream. Reclaimed in sleep. Heard during a revisit. He met seasons, dragging his feet to touch them, one by one.
  
  He addressed the alluring star, “You lied!” As tears kissed the soil.
  
  “So what’s the answer? When will it work? Where am I heading?”
  
  The wind breezed by, caressing his forehead.  Nature fell silent.

  “Bring back your commanding voice,” he whispered.
  
  “Bring back your commanding voice,” he cried.
  
  The learned hallways echoed back, “You already had your own star before the alluring one. The alluring one was nothing but an illusion. But if you feel that it has run away, then come back and feel the earth.”
  
  “So what’s the answer?”
  
  “Where the commanding voice came from.”
  
  “When will it work?”
  
  “As soon as you accept the truth.”
  
  “Where am I heading?”
  
  “Where the journey began.”

  And he stood up, head held high, carrying a suitcase of life. He felt the earth one last time. As his commanding voice echoed through the void. It knew. It had always known. It was his star.

  It is, and will always be… his own star! But it’s too late now. Or is it?

  “Please don’t run away. We’re ready to listen.” The void whispered.

  September 13, 2025

  Dreams, Identity, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons

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