on a fishing boat
our backs both sunburned
by the sun of May
we sang a kundiman
while we oared to the spot
where pebbles shimmered
like scattered ornaments

“quick. we must hurry.”
you spoke with enthusiasm
as the sun, as we saw it,
slowly nearing
the islands adjacent to ours

but how could i? when your torso
rendered me weak in the hands
you were god-like with firm shoulders
and you reminded me of Maka-andog
whose body akin to boulders

sat on a rattan chair, my little self once posed a question to my late great-grandmother with dementia
“why was i named after a saint?”

“francis, that is to protect you from the threat of carbines and tanks that the hapons toy against us, filipinos.” she spoke like i’ve been warned.

then i remembered my half-japanese friend whose brain akin to a monggo bean.

i did not believe her.

how could i believe when my friend couldn’t learn my mother tongue?

fifteen years later, i learned that my late great-grandmother used to cover her visage with thick talcum, pretending as geisha to trick the makapilis

the makapilis were filipinos who sided with the japanese.
but they were worse.
they would bang your heads with their blood-stained fists if you refuse to speak the whereabouts of a guerilla’s leader.

guised as a geisha, my late great-grandmother would lure a makapili to her home. there, she would cut his throat with a dagger and let the makapili suffer in a pool of blood.

“if you love this country, that is how you cleanse it—eliminate the ones who betray it.” she once told my mother.

often, i think about her.

all along, my late great-grandmother had been warning us—it is not always the outsiders who will hurt you, sometimes it is the ones who reside with you in the same village, same home, or share your blood.

and that would hurt a lot akin to a gunshot piercing through your waist

you must always be prepared for such treachery, like a warrior who is always ready to draw a mighty dagger from her scabbard to expel those who opt to betray her and her land.

your lips are a red gumamela
it shines akin to a morning dew
it would be a waste
if you won’t let them meet
the mouth of the boy
who once told you
that his love
is like a boundless sea;
who once spoke,
facing the Baldicanas,
that he is but in love
with a warrior
who wears armor in a dress

remember when we played bang-sak within the hallowed walls of the kumbento that we used to treat as playground?

we marched our way inside the church but we couldn’t find a spot to hide from the seeker

“this way” you led the way going to a jeepney nestled beside the plaza.

we hid our bodies like members of a guerilla—afraid to be shot dead.

after all, that was what this game was all about—never allow the seeker catch us and shout ‘bang’ straight to our heads

but isn’t this what we are now?—hiding

to never allow their eyes to land on our bodies, both nestled within the pillars of an abandoned nipa hut;

to never allow them say words that serve as guns and shoot us both until we cry blood

nagugma ak sa imo
i remember you once told me this
as we lingered on a riverbank
for the sunset

how can i unlove my mother tongue
when it sounds like a tune
that emanates from your lips

we found repose on a banana leaf that you plucked from its tree that was beside a kamalig

i was busy savoring a coconut juice while you were busy murdering another fruit with a dagger

“someday, i’d buy us a house with high ceiling, tall windows, and a garden with your favorite flowers.” you spoke while you stared straight at a kubo that housed your childhood.

i’d like to tell you i could hide and live with you in a cave if this country is already breathing black

a home is a home only when i’m with you.

just tell me how much you like me to smile so i can keep smiling at you with warmth until you melt.

tell me about the type of songs you listen and the films you watch so we can earmark a day or two to revel in their magic together.

tell me of the days you are free so i can synchronize mine then we can be together again.

tell me of the things you hate, so we can make a team to steer clear of them and share in our mutual disdain.

tell me that you love the sky as well, stretched above like a vast azure dome, so we can both lie on the grass until sunset.

just tell me how much you like me and in turn, i shall speak the depth of my enduring affection for you, a sentiment that has blossomed ever since you first spoke my name.