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[ethosbooks]

from Get Lucky: An Anthology of Philippine and Singapore Writings, edited by Manuelita Contreras-Cabrera, Migs Bravo-Dutt, and Eric Tinsay Valles

[ethosbooks]

Passport

You know nothing. Sadness tastes fierce like salt on your lips that never goes away. It’s sore and dry and tight behind your eyelids because no tears are left. Heartache washes over everything good, because those you love cannot know such pleasures as the taste of cherries or the sight of snowflakes tumbling from the sky. I know you would understand.

For what have you suffered, really? Nothing. You will fly home, perhaps later than you planned. Another one will be issued for a small fee. You will rebook your flight. Nothing: just a small, fleeting inconvenience. And then you will take your children to see more sights, feed them ice cream and waffles and fried chicken, enjoy the city. You will ride bicycles by the lake and shop at the outlets. Maybe, your things will no longer fit in the suitcases you’ve brought. You’ll buy another suitcase or you’ll ask me for a cardboard box to ship to your house in Manila. The 150 dollars this service will cost? Nothing. It is so easy to pay. And then you will fly home, and forget this, like it never happened.

So yes, I am grateful your family came to visit. I am glad you exclaimed during the dinner that I cooked for your family and the family I work for, that your passport needed to be renewed. It was news to me that you are American, just like your cousin, my employer. You can go anywhere in the world, and still return home. Me, I have no choice.

As I washed the dishes that same night, I prayed that somehow, you might have the new passport sent to the house by mail. And then, like magic, like a miracle, it arrived three days later in a large brown envelope. My heart was full of trembling as I felt the hard booklet through the stiff paper.

So I lied to you. I looked you in the eye, and told you nothing had come. The mailbox was empty except for bills. I acted surprised and I sympathized with you as I played with your daughter. And in her eyes, I saw mine. Maybe they had not sent it yet, I said, or perhaps it is lost, in the mail. All that time, it was in my room, beneath my mattress. People will take it. They will change the name. Change the photo. And then my daughter can come. Wasn't I able to come here in just the same way?

Forgive me. I haven’t seen her or my son in ten years.

There is an ocean of difference between you and me; we each live on separate planets that orbit the sun. But you are a mother. You do everything for your children. Me, I left them. I send all my money back. We do what we need to do. I took it. And I’d do it again, as many times as I must, until my babies are here with me, the way yours are with you.

---

From Blood, by Noelle Q. de Jesus

[ethosbooks]

From Me Migrant by Md Mukul Hossine

[ethosbooks]

From A World in Transit by Eric Tinsay Valles

[ethosbooks]

They are our fellow commuters, colleagues and contributors to this country. They construct our highways and flyovers, but we rarely build bridges with them. What is strange about these strangers is in fact our own lack of understanding toward them; people who work with and live among us, foreign and yet familiar in their personal narratives of trials, triumph and everything in between. Some thrive, others simply survive – an attitude that is almost pervasively Singaporean, and what story can be more similar to our own? As this variety of voices relate their experiences of adversity and adventure, we hope you will find moments to connect with in a collection that not only looks at them, but through their eyes.

To view week one’s contents, click here. 

To view all contents for the month, click here.

[humalien]

OXBLOOD TABI PUMPS FROM MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA LINE 1

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