english,
I wake before the rise of the sun
I rise from my mattress, careful not to wake the kids I share it with.
I hurry to a nearby pay station.
Losing access to the network, I cannot allow,
Not when my children need to attend school online,
Not when it is their safest way to study.
I spend my day off with my children,
My son needs help with homework,
My daughter tells me about her favorite video game,
Until the barangay speaker blares
An announcement about vaccinations.
Anyone aged eighteen and older
May be vaccinated, I thank God
With relief in my heart
I get my mask and head outside.
I must reserve a spot at least for myself
So I can keep my family safe.
The monoblock creaks as I shift my weight
My muscles strain,
Ache,
Long for a bed to rest upon.
I silence their pleas with a reminder
A5, at least it’ll be soon.
Yawns and grunts bounce off the faded walls.
Through the door I catch a glimpse
Blue silk and diamond-studded shoes
A lady steps out of a car so grand,
It could’ve housed a child or two.
I stare in disgust
She stares back defiantly,
A fleeting moment, the look wavers
But then an icy heat forms behind her eyes.
She heads toward the front of the room
Without a backward glance.
Still, I rouse myself awake,
I force myself to stand
And stride down the streets with purpose.
Though I feel ashamed that I barely have everything under control,
I know there’s no harm in seeking help.
I peek at them through the cracks between the few bodies before me.
The sun has risen high by now,
The rays prick my nape.
The dense heat suffocates me.
I envy the surface of my face shield
And the wind that touches its cheeks.
Perspiration gathers behind my mask but
I’m
Almost
There.
Her fingers brush against my palms,
They’re soft, nails shaped with finesse.
The fingers of one who does not wait in lines,
Does not have to venture into rush hour crowds.
To the little girl hiding behind my legs.
Literary: A Mother’s Day
Another day, another chance at life
In the middle of a pandemic, yet the world seems to just go on.
I wake before the rise of the sun
I rise from my mattress, careful not to wake the kids I share it with.
As I shower, put on my uniform, then eat my breakfast of instant coffee and a couple biscuits.
I struggle.
My mind and spirit hesitant to spend another day at work
Yet,
One look at my children still asleep
Fills my heart with enough vigor to go out the door
At the bus station
I am lined up alongside other breadwinners of varying backgrounds.
Fast food employees, nurses, janitors, office workers
All with weary eyes.
I see a news reporter and his cameraman on the pavement
Possibly reporting on our current state
Another bus arrives after the first one fills.
Everybody in line gets on.
“2 meters apart”
No time to think about that
Our jobs must come first.
The factory reeks of misery.
Distressed workers stand side by side
The machines, they operate thick with grime
Weeks-old soap in the restroom, a broken ventilation unit
I suffocate, mentally and physically
The pay does not outweigh the willpower needed for this,
Barely enough to feed a mother and her children.
My heart aches from the work I see,
My eyes wish to shed tears.
But not now.
I may not wish to work here
But I need to.
For my family.
As I leave work, I get a text,
A reminder from my internet provider
That I must pay the monthly bill
Or my connection will be cut.
I struggle.
My mind and spirit hesitant to spend another day at work
Yet,
One look at my children still asleep
Fills my heart with enough vigor to go out the door
I wake as the sun’s rays shine through my window
My king-size bed initially tempts me to return to my dreams
But I shake the temptation and check the time
“9:10 am”
Twenty minutes. I still have twenty minutes.
I need not rush to my company’s online conference.
I turn off my air conditioning unit
Before I head down to the kitchen
Knowing breakfast is already prepared by my maid.
I observe a bus overflow with passengers
Each person desperate to get to work
At the bus station
I am lined up alongside other breadwinners of varying backgrounds.
Fast food employees, nurses, janitors, office workers
All with weary eyes.
I see a news reporter and his cameraman on the pavement
Possibly reporting on our current state
Another bus arrives after the first one fills.
Everybody in line gets on.
“2 meters apart”
No time to think about that
Our jobs must come first.
It’s a horrible sight on my widescreen television
All these people crowding on the bus
Not observing proper social distancing.
This is why the pandemic doesn’t end.
If only people just followed the law,
If only people had more discipline,
If only people just stayed home.
I shut off the TV in disappointment.
No need to dwell on what I have no control over.
No need to focus on what I cannot change.
No need to do anything.
It is time to get to work.
The factory reeks of misery.
Distressed workers stand side by side
The machines, they operate thick with grime
Weeks-old soap in the restroom, a broken ventilation unit
I suffocate, mentally and physically
The pay does not outweigh the willpower needed for this,
Barely enough to feed a mother and her children.
My heart aches from the work I see,
My eyes wish to shed tears.
But not now.
I may not wish to work here
But I need to.
For my family.
My room radiates peace,
Such a blessing it really is
Working in the comfort of my own quarters.
Air conditioning turned back on,
My padded office chair giving me repose,
I switch my laptop on.
As the meeting goes well, my mind wanders
Remembering what I saw on the television
Why don’t people just learn how to work from home?
Don’t they think about the safety of their loved ones?
All it takes is a device and some internet
It cannot be that hard.
Internet is nearly essential in this day and age.
Many important things that need to be done require it.
As I leave work, I get a text,
A reminder from my internet provider
That I must pay the monthly bill
Or my connection will be cut.
I hurry to a nearby pay station.
Losing access to the network, I cannot allow,
Not when my children need to attend school online,
Not when it is their safest way to study.
Ah, there is something beautiful about a streaming service,
The access it provides
Hundreds of shows,
Hundreds of films.
I relax watching a film until something terrible happens
The movie momentarily stops.
Five excruciating seconds of a frozen screen
Followed by video quality loss once it resumes
Unacceptable!
A slight network inconvenience, I cannot allow,
Not when I now just spend my afternoons watching movies in bed,
Not when it is one of the safest leisures in this pandemic.
This pandemic has taken a lot from me and my family.
I wonder when vaccinations will arrive.
I spend my day off with my children,
My son needs help with homework,
My daughter tells me about her favorite video game,
Until the barangay speaker blares
An announcement about vaccinations.
Anyone aged eighteen and older
May be vaccinated, I thank God
With relief in my heart
I get my mask and head outside.
I must reserve a spot at least for myself
So I can keep my family safe.
I get a call,
My vaccination is ready.
The perks of having connections are extraordinary,
A blessing indeed.
After I head down and tell my maid to call the driver,
I take a peek into the hallway, through a door slightly open
My son, busy on his computer.
Soon he may be vaccinated.
I just need to make myself safe for my family.
My maid says the driver is ready, so I head to the car.
Today, a line stretches a mile long,
A slinking serpent of bodies.
The monoblock creaks as I shift my weight
My muscles strain,
Ache,
Long for a bed to rest upon.
I silence their pleas with a reminder
A5, at least it’ll be soon.
Yawns and grunts bounce off the faded walls.
Through the door I catch a glimpse
Blue silk and diamond-studded shoes
A lady steps out of a car so grand,
It could’ve housed a child or two.
I am ushered to a door upfront
Of a room crammed from wall to wall
Bodies mechanically stand and move forward
Only to rest their poor bottoms on plastic kept warm by those before them.
B6, what nonsense,
They expect me to wait
And risk my life congested in line
Among all these carriers?
I hold my head up high and take a step forward.
For a second, everything stops
A set of eyes holds steady my own.
I stare in disgust
She stares back defiantly,
A fleeting moment, the look wavers
But then an icy heat forms behind her eyes.
She heads toward the front of the room
Without a backward glance.
As I head home, I rub my shoulder,
A bandage--a mark of what I’ve done.
Shame slowly seeps in--
No.
Why must I feel ashamed of wanting to protect my family?
No, what I did was for the best.
Better to have it sooner than later…
Right?
Dreamless nights pass by
Like a raft drifting downstream,
The river, unending.
Still, I rouse myself awake,
I force myself to stand
And stride down the streets with purpose.
Though I feel ashamed that I barely have everything under control,
I know there’s no harm in seeking help.
Enough endless floating,
I’ve had enough of boats capsizing.
For so long, I’ve only watched,
Safe upon the deck of my ship.
I must set my anchor down.
I make my way to a table only two streets down my home.
I immediately wish to go back.
I stare at a line
Even longer than the one skipped before.
I sense the virus lingering in the air,
Over the heads of each body in line,
Prancing,
Gliding,
Seeking perch on a new host.
“Are you sure, Ma’am?”
Kuya Driver asks.
I bite down on the urge to scurry back.
“Yes.”
Boxes are everywhere.
The sun has risen high by now,
The rays prick my nape.
The dense heat suffocates me.
I envy the surface of my face shield
And the wind that touches its cheeks.
Perspiration gathers behind my mask but
I’m
Almost
There.
I reach out my arm
And hand out a bag of vegetables,
Recoiling when skin brushes skin.
The urge to sanitize every 5 seconds proves hard to defeat.
I look up.
It’s her.
Her fingers brush against my palms,
They’re soft, nails shaped with finesse.
The fingers of one who does not wait in lines,
Does not have to venture into rush hour crowds.
Her palms touch my fingers,
Palms hard, dry, and calloused.
Palms estranged to day-offs and weekend spa days,
Palms that know hardship and misfortune.
Behind her, two eyes peek,
“How much longer?” a sweet little voice asks.
“Soon,” I reply
To the little girl hiding behind my legs.
To the little boy through the car window.
Then,
I am looking at a mirror.
In my reflection, I see disapproval,
Confusion,
Repudiation.
But amongst it all...
Understanding.
I see someone willing to do whatever it takes,
Not for herself but for something greater,
Someone smaller…
I see a mother.
We do not part with any words but only with the knowledge that
We're both to wake up tomorrow
to another day, another chance at life.
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