#rinscribes

[kathaireins]

In Plain Sight

Hot air bristles the skin of indifferent students. They are told to look up the sky and tell its story, even if the sight they see is so normal that it doesn’t need to be captured in a sentiment. Little do they know that they will never see this sight again, where the clouds puff up like smoke in the mildest blue background. This is not normal; this can’t happen elsewhere. 

[kathaireins]

[kathaireins]

I want to stop revisiting places that I know all too well. Only God knows how many times my heart had ached for the instances I missed those places more than they missed me.

rinscribes

[kathaireins]

Ang Hiyas Ay Kikinang Muli

Kwintas ng Perlas, bayang Pilipinas Ang iyong hangi’y nagsimulang maaliwalas Puno ka ng pag-asa at puno ka ng yaman Marahil nakita ka bilang isang tudlaan

Kaya, Inang Bayan, kinain ka ng sakim Hinubad sa’yo ng mang-aabuso ang hiyas ng kabutihan At sa iyong kahinaan ay tinurok ang lagim Hanggang sa namuno na ang kasamaan

Musmos pa lamang ay nakita ko na Ang karukhaang nananakit sa iyo, Ina Ang mga panangga ko’y tila paghiwa sa tubig Dahil sino ba naman ang makikinig sa batang maliit?

Sa bawat patak ng dugo ng iyong tauhan Kaakibat ng iyong bumababang kariwasaan Marami ang namiling umalis ng bayan Para mamuhay sa mas mainam na kalagayan

Hindi nila naunawaan na sa iyong pagtitiis Ay nabubuo ang kalakasang ‘di matitibag ng lihis At sa tamang panahon at sa awa ng Diyos Babalik ang kinang ng bansang ipinulbo

Ngayon ay malayo pa ang minimithi Ngunit kita na sa salinlahi ang mistulang pagpupursigi At kung sa katotohanan lang magwawagi Dinedeklara kong tapat, Pilipinas ang sagot sa bayan o sarili.

[kathaireins]

MY WORDS CAN'T DO YOU JUSTICE.

The other day I learned about three new things as I clicked another video about North Korean defectors. Number one, bordering between North Korea and China is a stretch of water named Yalu River; number two, countless North Koreans who sought freedom have died trying to escape through that very river, and there’s you, almost included in that list; and number three, I should never take for granted the plain egg I had for breakfast.

You spoke of how your friend died in front of your own eyes, and how you had to leave her because you couldn’t discern what was dead or alive—the grime on both your bodies was enough to convince you the presence of flies was normal despite being disgusting. You spoke of how you think your mother only married to get you a roof over your head, and how you turned a blind eye to it because this is the only way you can pay for the cost of living. You spoke of long hours working under your pretend-father without receiving anything in return, and how luxurious it must be to have just one plate of egg and rice. Just one. Just for your birthday.    

I can never know how you felt when you first found out you actually left a dead person behind. I can never know how you felt when marriage turned into obscure union. I can never know what euphoria you experienced when you finally escaped your cruel lifestyle, or when you finally managed to taste egg and rice.

I can never know how you felt in all the moments in between the stories you’ve never told.

Often, I wonder if you ever wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I wonder if you have anyone to miss. Often, I am sorry.

I am so sorry I could not do anything but cry. But please know, that if I could, I’d have made my tears a river long enough to bring everyone across to safety a long, long time ago.  

(This is for the man who escaped North Korea three times.)