Hey Siri, Define: An·i·me Gen·e·sis Req·ui·em
You retcon the canon of your father’s
Adultery with Schrodinger’s cat eyes :
Blue blinks once for truth, Red unceasingly
Flickers : 「Lying …」 in your next Shonen Jump
Life you wouldn’t have this hassle : deadass
Tago-ng-tago before your hero’s
J. Campbell Over-Powered arc drops : You、
Hallowed First of Tres Marias、 curse yourself
Alone the Strongest : your ultraviolet
Loneliness rends space so none may ever
Touch your infinity : rōnin reverse
Blade slashing no belly save yours : 「Lying …」
Your love language : Ganbarre Ganbarre!
Katsusa! Bukkorosu! Believe it!
Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! ∞
You brat、 know love only from insides of
A blood-black palayok ; kamagong sticks
Like fans abaniko-striking temples
Of all shadow opps ; Queens Yellow Paged shields
Absorbing One Inch Punches & absence :
Your fanfic has more fighting spirit than
A body like yours can contain : 死ね! [ Die! ] 、
Is what you wish to say to your villains :
Your Father-Emperor of Iron Sand
Warring states to bury your insolence、
Your ice-veined Mother whose frost ingit pinch-
Pricked your upper arm meat & cancerous
Beauty found no rival in your face : Die [ Sige, mamatay ka na ]
A thousand suicides : their command you
Refuse。
Note: Debt of gratitude to adult authority figures in Jujutsu Kaisen, My Hero Academia, Naruto, Rurouni Kenshin, and Saga.
Balikbayan Noir Prelude
They Drive By the Claws of Night in the Naked City : Jaguar packs under Karnal
Moonlight : You Only Live Once — they croon to The Balikbayan : Stray Dogs drag Bodies
Bodies Bodies underfoot : asong pinoy tales wagging from the wrong end : make for
Pretty Little Liars — It’s good times, yeah— Joyridin in Cars with burgis Boys babe :
On one of those Brutal Scorpio Nights The Third Man leads The Balikbayan with
Mga Batang X through a Dark Passage : Bomba Queens Burlesk Kings Midnight Dancers
Tukso Sa Mundo Kundiman ng Lahi sing Maging Akin Ka Lamang : kind
of Is It A Sin To Worship You? like real love
Note: Capitalized language borrowed from Philippine film titles and film noir.
The Homme Fatale in The Balikbayan Noir Multiverse
It was already too late when she turned around. Sheets funeral shrouding
their hormonal bodies. So-called slumber on the banig mat on the floor.
Filipinos back home will sleep anywhere, five in one bed, horizontal at
kuya feet, who cares.
Too late when she woke to the weight of his more muscular arm over
her waist, when she breathed shallow, when she only heard his breathing
on her neck and no other snores in the bed above, when realization sunk
in her belly button and bare kneecaps and armhairs and tonsils, when
the chasm opened, all too late even with eyes closed they ampersand-
curved into each other, all too quiet until other people’s comfort recedes
far far far from the only reality that existed in that daybreak hour.
She was the one to move first. She knew she would. Every answer to
What Would Ate Do? governed The Balikbayan’s decisions in this trip.
She wasn’t bad. The Balikbayan wanted to know herself better, taking
detours into such unknowns as what would follow after she turned
around to face him. Eyes (still) closed.
How did she forget the pastel flowered sheet covered
their heads. There had to be a few minutes of waiting, holding
breaths in to let the other make the first move. Noses first. No
longer kids to repel and laugh away awkwardness. No excuses
left to utter. Lining up mouths. That had to take some seconds.
Slow seconds in every pressing, every entrance, lick becomes
licks becomes underliptasting becomes cut green mango slick slippery
becomes shooting guard palms on goosebumped skin dipped at her ribs
like a valley at her shorts’ elastic becomes his erection against
her thigh
Breathing becomes too loud.
When they stop, he breaks the silence.
Ang sarap mo pala. Grin reaches his ears.
They leave after breakfast.
Alone in the car he asks if she
wants to go to a motel. No answer. He says it’s not
like i forgot who you are.
Alone in his room where there are no locks
they risk they writhe as if ennui and youth
puppeteered their parts. They know and they don’t think.
Some mornings he pulls her SO-EN flower-embroidered pastel panties
to the side, enters her in whatever way they have time before footsteps
in the hall cause them to untangle, before maid hands turn doorknobs,
before almusal announced. There is always more time to be alone.
Rattan bed almost broke when she was on top.
Ceiling to floor wardrobe with deep shelves
serendipitously high enough for him to stand against,
for him to lift her on, for her to blend into
his folded polos and jerseys, her bottoms off,
for her to lean back, for him to lean into her, into
her, in, to, her, intoherintoher, i, n , t , o, h, e, r,
They never seem to finish.
Some nights they drive to the city, dance in clubs
where nobody really dances, where nobody knows
who they are to each other. Some nights they hide from
family in dark corners, grind against a wall as he
taunts her for showing so much skin in public where
he has to keep her safe. Sometimes in the pools the lagoons
on the road against his motorbike one time in the cave.
When she goes home, none of this
will cross the customs line. All of it
stays when it’s time for her to go.
The Underage Balikbayan Never Walks Alone in the Probinsyang Twilight
You and your kind never drink alone in the province : Adults pushing San Mig Lites
Into your open hands after mano po’s second breakfasts meriendas : Cans
Erupt gush overpoured in stereo you and your cousin’s Lasallian bros
Chug out on the balcony in full view overlooking the kalye : Your family’s
Not rich like those bros are not famous pero over there by the gate : a kuya
You’d never known perched in-stool gun in-pants : Presume from here on that you at lahat
Sila present are not American legal drinking—Easy Ka Lang Padre
Your other kuya’s barangay kap’tan : They try to speak English to you not with
You : Only the sosyal one matangos yung may pera-pera enough to split
Live between the Makati Hills and the West Coast spoke the most casually assured
With that pointlessly idiomatic language : Tells you that The Filipino
Dreams most about the 3 A’s : 3. To be an Athlete — 2. To be an Artista —
1. To be in Amerika —
—“No wolves have ever managed to reach the islands and breed” — In the Philippines twelve
Million strays the Filipino street dog aspins askals their own breed : Walang wolves
Except for the soap opera Lobos : no rules of the road but always carry
Barya folded behind your lisensya in your wallet on the driver’s visor
Pag may pulis stopover : no aircon in doorless jeeps and Higit Sa Lahat
No Love in the Club pare : Bituing Walang Ningning live on stage lights fleshed Gods
For cash or Private Show you stare they don’t care you wash you Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Macho
Dancer Till We Meet Again…
Notes: Capitalized language borrowed from Philippine film titles.
Quote from Quora answer by Selwyn Clyde M. Alojipan to “Why are wolves rare in the Philippines?”
Pamela K. Santos is a Pinayorker writer-artist practicing popculturomancy across disciplines and genre. She dedicates her multilingual work-at-play to bekis, lolas, and dalagas everywhere. Pamela co-founded Portland’s Winter Poetry Festival and has received support from the Sustainable Arts Foundation, Oregon Literary Fellowship, and Caldera Arts, among others. Her poetry appears in Cultural Daily, ANMLY, Snail Trail Press, and elsewhere.
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