Lara Reyes-Terry, Week #2: American Filipino (A Short Story)
Hope you enjoy this exploration with two of my characters!
The moon had long claimed the sun’s place in the sky, and the branches scratching on Aeriko’s bedroom window had begun their nightly shuddering to the prickling breeze.
The house was dark, minus the glow of her laptop because the lamp on her desk would surely wake Cal. Lord knows he’s a light sleeper and nosy guy, but he listened in completion. He took it to heart when she confided in him when they first moved in. Placing a statue of the Virgin Mary on their bedside table, she admitted, I’ve never told anyone about this. He responded in kind, hanging up a photo of Saraswati. Neither have I.
Those artifacts meant little to them in practice, but it meant the world to their families, so it had to mean something to them.
This was open on her laptop: her Tagalog learning notes and wallpaper of her parents at her and Cal’s wedding. Though they were shining in joyful stillness, something about their eyes felt judgemental.
Seeing the notes against a swallowing white void, there was an odd strangling of envy. Those words were recognized and without red underlines. Google was Google after all, but an American corporation knowing them better than her was a unique pain she never considered. It reminded her of the contortions in her throat and mouth to wrap around words spoken so naturally by her pamilya.
It made sense, but it wasn't fair.
Google didn’t have a pamilya; it didn’t nod awkwardly to stories it couldn’t understand; it didn’t have to say hindi ko alam magsalita ng Tagalog to relatives; it never saw the wounded look in their cousins’ eyes when it couldn’t respond. How could she even try when shame blossomed in the best season that was her relatives’ well-meaning laughter. At least sinubukan niya, they’d say, as American as she sounds.
English was what echoed in the chambers of her heart and head. The nuances were lost to her, like little ghosts taking a bus ride to nowhere. She would look for them for the rest of her life if she couldn’t accept the “just think of it like this…” as a stop sign.
Her ancestry was sewn in the quilt of her body. Blood wrought from earth an ocean away, but the culture would fade as it filtered through her. Suddenly, she wasn’t so different. From those Filipinos growing up in the motherland. Heads turning west. Tongues bending towards English. Away from the standard she was convinced would make her pure.
“Good morning--what’re you still doing up?”
Cal stirred beside her. The sleepy drawl weighed heavy on his voice, taking some of the blanket as he rolled over. She breathed easier now. Her hand came to rest in his hair.
“Isn’t it past midnight?”
“Anything past 12:00 is morning enough.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, eyes drifting back over to the bedside table and the photo hanging over it. He looked up at her. Is it “this?”
She tapped her fingers on her laptop. Yup.
Cal smiled gently, “There’s a Filipino restaurant not too far from here. Yes, open even now.” He spoke unprompted, tone soft like a disjointed syllable would kill her.
“I heard it’s pretty good, authentic.” His confidence was clear, he knew what she wanted. She would do the same for him.
His coat was on his shoulders by the time Aeriko caught up with him. His hand held out to her,
“We can get some food, talk. Tell me what the food is.”
Breathe easy sweetheart. You don’t know much, but you are who you are.
Lara, it is astonishing how you are able to create a short story that says so much in just a few words. Feeling far away from a person’s roots is something I, and so many others, can relate to and it is truly incredible that you were able to capture that feeling without saying anything directly. I also have experienced pretending to understand things the people around me are saying, despite only picking up bits and pieces of what is actually being said. Your creativity really shines through with this story, not to mention the incredible drawing you included at the top.
ReplyDelete“Her ancestry was sewn into the quilt of her body.” I remember you telling me how my writing reads like a poem, and it’s surprising to me because this is exactly what you so beautifully do as well. It’s clear that this story is derived from some sort of personal experience or feeling, and it is so painfully relatable to me as someone who grappled with the guilt of not knowing her language for the longest time. Your development of Aeriko is astonishingly well done, from the flashbacks of the past to the sprinkled verisimilitude that makes the scene feel all too real. I’d love to learn more about her!
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