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Poetry
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It has been two years since I've last seen my grandparents, titas, titos, and cousins. I find myself thinking about them all the time – a longing exacerbated by a constant grapple with my identity as a Filipino-Australian woman.
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Home,
I like to think of you every now and then
It's getting hotter and the sticky air reminds me of you
I would come back if I could
I'd even sit in your traffic all day
Just to get a glimpse of you again.
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Home,
I fear sometimes that you won't welcome me back:
I've lost so many of the things you have gifted to me.
I hope you understand why and I hope you know
that I'm trying, and that I haven't
forgotten it all
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Home, let me come back to you,
I want to sweat all over,
fall asleep to the sound of a fan,
cloth blanket twisted around my legs
air-conditioned breath cooling my skin
wake up to the smell of longanisa and rice
and the call of the taho man
feel the cool wooden stairs under the soles of my feet
run downstairs like I did when I was five
hear the jingle of rosemary beads dangling from the rear-view mirror
stay up late and watch movies with my lolo
get told off by Ma Janet because we've stayed up too late
visit my lola in her little apartment
and eat whatever we want, whenever we want
and teach her new ways of working the iPad
and watch horror movies in bed
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Christmas is coming soon and I think I'll have
a big seafood dinner and a swim in the river
(the shallow end)
but I'd really like to come back to you,
Home,
wander through your market stalls
in search of Christmas presents,
play with the snow-frosted Christmas village
that Ma Janet brings out every year
"I remember how much you love it,"
she said when I last visited.
It was January but she kept them out,
just for me
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Home,
I hope you still think that I belong to you,
I keep up as best as I can
I know how to cook arroz caldo now
I talk about you to all of my friends
And I brave the heat better than anyone I know