udyak

*

discreetly, she asked them what happiness is…

(all answers translated to English. of course.)

jean. all around-helper.

“every time i step out of the traysikol and the sight

of my husband and our 1-year old daughter,

that thin blurry view of them across the ricefields.”

kujhuan. 4 years old.

“chicken joy.”

nong boboy. fishball vendor.

“my guitar after all of these are sold.”

nang aku. semi-calbo mother of two.

“good income, no fights with the husband. kape.”

gha. parlorista.

“friends. friendly customers. non-stop videoke and laugh trips

cooking and siyempre, my men. ahahah.”

jan m. overstaying high school/musikero.

“songwriting over beer. kids playing in the nearby swing. thoughts of 

childhood and walking alone at night.”

jules. tattoo artist.

“a new tattoo,  rock gigs and a calm girlfriend.”

sid. writer/songwriter/loner.

“ah you know me. sunsets, the smell of lunch from eateries, school kids

passing by our house on Mondays. late night songs from the radio.

cigarettes. great great sex.”

 nang ar. mercado fashionista. buco juice vendor.

“my family and oh yes, when i see your hair!!! hahaha!”

sunny. Indian/ ESL student

“long travels, customers who pay on time, my wife and my kids.

learning English day by day. good health.”

kinoi. 3 years old.

“ikaw nanang!”

Nav. teacher-to-be/ romantic

“simple. good beer. hot women. noisy music. masturbation. hehe.”

 Boyet. Billiard hall assistant manager.

“sending my siblings to school. when i receive balato from players.”

nong pablo. street sweeper.

“when Paskwa comes. why are you asking?”

Botod. Ex-con. childhood friend.

“being free from bars at last, seeing the sun. being given another chance.

arguing with your gay cousin. haha.”

torn Aaron Carter poster in my sister’s room.

“Nick Carter.”

you have to come with me one day,

there stands my blue thermos and my cupboard of mugs.

clam my stomach as i drive the scooter

along the dusty country roads

do not cover your nose, let the flying soil kiss your

face, your cheeks and your forehead

your whole meandering soul.

we’ll pass by public markets and seawalls,

stop by bakeries and buy pan de regla and pan de coco.

we’ll argue about the salt and the panadero’s sweat,

hold the thermos and the mugs well

as the sun sinks on the cleavage of the earth.

ponytail my hair if it hurts your lips as the

wind blows the late afternoon cold.

tell me stories no matter how mushy they are,

i love stories being told from my back.

laugh and shake as long as you want to,

i’ll just drive ahead and you can yell fuck yous

and bullshits to speedy sugarcane trucks and vehicles

loaded with hogs and manure.

i will never ask about the past or how many times you 

wounded your knees, bent.

i will never stop you from singing the old songs

or from taking off your shirt and waving it like a fool.

and so, with me, let’s throw the scooter keys to the 

grasses. together let’s eat the last tangerine drop of the world.

pour the hot water from my blue thermos to our mugs.

dip the bread to our black coffee,

sip one time and stare at the vast,

i will wait for you to look at me, weave your wearies in words.

and with the silence, let’s dunk our hands on our pockets,

fall on the ground and 

forget about chasing happiness.

you can hum broken tears.

too.

owner of the sky- cynthia alexander

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