{"product_id":"we-belongisbn-9780593112205","title":"We Belong","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn extraordinarily beautiful novel-in-verse, this important debut weaves a dramatic immigrant story together with Pilipino mythology to create something wholly new.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStella and Luna know that their mama, Elsie, came from the Philippines when she was a child, but they don't know much else. So one night they ask her to tell them her story. As they get ready for bed, their mama spins two tales: that of her youth as a strong-willed middle child and immigrant; and that of the young life of Mayari, the mythical daughter of a god. Both are tales of sisterhood and motherhood, and of the difficult experience of trying to fit into a new culture, and having to fight for a home and acceptance. Glorious and layered, this is a portrait of family and strength for the ages.★ \"Sometimes raw and traumatic, other times hopeful and inspiring, Elsie’s bedtime story rings true, encapsulating the heart of Pilipino culture. A beautiful and poignant tale of immigration fused with Tagalog myth.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"Deeply poignant . . . Infusing the heart of Pinoy culture into a moving, accessible bedtime narrative, this “story of outsiders” will resonate with anyone who has felt estranged in the place they call home.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Deceptively gentle verse novel punctuated with rounded, friendly illustrations . . . This book packs a lot into spacious, spare lines, and it would work well in conversations about family, immigration, Pilipino history, and world mythology.\" —\u003ci\u003eBCCB\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Showcases not only the very tight bonds of Filipino families but also their perseverance . . . The book’s strength lies in Everman's ability to weave a plot that incorporates Filipino mythology with a personal immigration story.\" —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Everman’s poetry is indeed music to the ear, replete with rich language and vivid imagery . . . This book should find a place in libraries committed to providing diverse books for all students so they can know they belong.\" —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Connection\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Simply beautiful. The kind of book that holds you close and won’t let go.” —Erin Entrada Kelly, winner of the Newbery Medal for \u003ci\u003eHello, Universe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Written in poignant and at times ethereal free verse, \u003ci\u003eWe Belong\u003c\/i\u003e is at once beautiful and sad, comforting and disturbing, and as tender and fierce as the love with which it is told.” —Marilyn Hilton, winner of the APALA Award for \u003ci\u003eFull Cicada Moon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"A beautiful, intertwined story of searching for a home away from home, told as two tales. Heart-wrenching, engaging, and full of hope.\" —K. S. Villoso, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Wolf of Oren-Yaro\u003c\/i\u003eCookie Hiponia was born in the Philippines and immigrated to America when she was nine years old. As the mother of children born into two cultures, Cookie had spent years searching for books that reflect her family’s experience. When she couldn’t find such a book, she heeded Toni Morrison and wrote the book she wanted to read with her daughters. \u003ci\u003eWe Belong\u003c\/i\u003e is that book, a semi-autobiographical middle grade novel-in-verse about the Pilipino American immigrant experience that weaves in Tagalog cosmic mythology. Cookie lives in Seattle with her family.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cp\u003eMama, tell us a story\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor as long as I can remember,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echildren in my family have asked this\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof every mother in my family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mama, tell us a story.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTonight, as they do every night,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy children ask it of me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSome mothers, daughters, and sisters\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esew, paint, or cook their stories;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy mothers and I sing ours. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMama, tell us a story.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSure, Stella, just a sec, okay? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLuna. Hey Luna moonbeam, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehave you brushed your teeth?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI did, Mama. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou always say cleanliness is next to godliness,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eand my teeth are next to godliness.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMmm. Minty godliness. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkay, no more comics. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLights down. Let’s get tucked in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAw! Just one more p—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLuna.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eFiiine.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThank you. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMama, a story? Please?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst let’s make sure \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou have everything you need \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor your field trip tomorrow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDaddy already signed \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003ethe permission slip last week. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI just need to bring a sack lunch.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRemember to put on plenty of sunscreen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand wear your hat the whole time.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eUgh, I hate sticky sunscreen! \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWon’t I just get super brown and look like you?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAbsolutely not. You’re pale like Daddy, and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe gets freckles just going up the driveway for the mail.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithout sunscreen, you’ll get crispy like lechón! \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMaamaa! Don’t bite my arm! \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen wear sunscreen!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOkay already! Now a story! \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eStory! Story! Story! Story! Story!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll right, all right! Sheesh! \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat story do you want to hear, my hearts? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShall I tell you the one about \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe moon, the sun, and the star?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOr shall I tell you the one about \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe poet, her brother, and her sister?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo, Mama. Tell us your story.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery story I tell you is my story, anak. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTonight, I will tell you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMayari’s heavenly family story,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe story of outsiders \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho had to work four times harder\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan everyone else to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is very like my family’s story, our own mythology. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo tonight, I will also tell you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy Aguila family story,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe story of immigrants\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho had to work four times harder\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan everyone else to dream the American dream.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen I hear Mayari’s story, it is like listening to my own,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike reading a story that anyone who looks like me \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknows by heart. Mayari and I share a name—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWait. Mama, your name is Elsie, not Mayari.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust as my story is not exactly like Mayari’s story,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy name is not exactly like Mayari’s name,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut we share our one true name: Buan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI don’t get it. That’s your middle name, not your real name.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh, my heart, what’s real is not always what’s true.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBuan made it her life’s work to reflect light;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI think it must be my life’s work to reflect love.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou see, a great love is like a light\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat shines through in loves that come after.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is reflected in the great love\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebetween me and my sister,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebetween the two of you,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebetween all sisters.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd my first story begins with that great love,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebetween Mayari and her sister, Tala.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI will tell you their story as Mayari would tell it, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom the beginning of everything. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLittle Star\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen my sister, Tala, was born, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy heart found its other half.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My baby,” I said, reaching for her hand \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand gently rocking her cradle.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Could you sing my lullaby to her, sinag? Mayari?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003easked my mother, who was cleaning after dinner. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe were all drowsy, getting ready for bedtime.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sang to my baby the lullaby that Nanay had been \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esinging to me forever.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKislap, kislap bituin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAno bang ‘yong gawain\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSa ibabaw ng mundo\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eParang hiyas na bato\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKislap, kislap bituin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAno bang ‘yong gawain\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala has been my dearest love for lifetimes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI have loved others, reached for other lights in the \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edarkness, but none compare to my little star.  \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala . . .\u003ci\u003eTA-laaah\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy sweetest\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy brightest\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy heart\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy song\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe bridge between our big brother and me,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebetween day and night, between light and dark. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBetween worlds\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere twinkles a little star.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala . . .\u003ci\u003eTA-laaah\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Simple Kind of Life\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy days took shape around making Tala’s eyes sparkle,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emaking her wonder at the magic of stones and leaves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was my job to keep Tala happy \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhile my family worked \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand I was so good at it, her whole face shone \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen she smiled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe sang before she talked; danced before she walked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe grew in those fields together, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esun-kissed and content.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery morning at dawn, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eour family would go out to the fields:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay carrying his bolo over his shoulder,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay carrying Tala liwanag, our starshine,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKuya Apolaki, our eldest, carrying our lunch basket.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll I carried were the flowers I picked, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe stones and feathers I gathered,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe songs in my heart,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eall of it for Tala.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKuya would lay out our banig \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eunder the shade of a langka tree.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay would place Tala on it, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmile at her and kiss her head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay would ruffle my hair and \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etickle Tala until she giggled,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethen the three of them would walk off \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto the rows of crops nearby.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI taught Tala the name of \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eevery plant around our little house\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe way Nanay taught me and Kuya. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay sang the world to life for us, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estarting with a song describing our bahay kubo\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eour palm hut—surrounded by Earth’s bounty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBahay kubo, kahit munti\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eang halaman doon ay sari-sari\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSingkamas at talong, sigarilyas at mani\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSitaw, bataw, patani\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKundol, patola, upo’t kalabasa\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAt saka meron pang labanos mustasa\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSibuyas, kamatis, bawang at luya\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSa paligid-ligid nito’y panay na linga\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the sun was highest in the sky,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay, Nanay, and Kuya would come back to our banig\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith fresh fruit to go with our lunch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay would take Tala onto her lap \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto snuggle and nurse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay would lay out our meal leftovers \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewrapped in banana leaves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKuya and I would eat our lunch quickly \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso we could play.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes we would stay close to the banig,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epick up branches and play-fight, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epretending to be warriors.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay would laugh and show us \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehow to hold our sticks properly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala would stop nursing and clap in delight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes we would go to where Tatay set up the traps\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto catch tikling birds so they wouldn’t eat our crops.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe would imitate how the birds dodged the bamboo \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esticks, stepping in, out, through, like graceful dancers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMuch too soon, we would stop what we were doing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto rest our bodies while the sun did its hardest work.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala would already be asleep in Tatay’s arms.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay would call me and Kuya back to the banig.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe would race to reach her and throw our arms around \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher waist. She’d plant a kiss atop each of our heads and say, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Amoy araw kayo\u003ci\u003e.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You smell like the sun,”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike sweat and dirt,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike laughter and childhood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the sun started its climb back down to earth,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI would look across the horizon, over the fields, and see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay, Nanay, and Kuya walking toward us\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith the vegetables we would cook for dinner.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTala would ask for someone new to pick her up,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher chubby fingers reaching toward the purpling sky \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhile I gathered our things to put into the basket\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso Kuya could roll up the banig to carry it home.  \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe walked back to our bahay kubo, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eretracing the morning’s steps,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estopping by the river to wash off the day’s toil,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esplash away the lingering heat on our skin, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eget fresh water,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emaybe catch a fish or two if we got lucky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur evening meal, like lunch, was often \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust vegetables and rice, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eflavored with what little meat or fish \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewe could get that day,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut Nanay made everything taste like food for the gods.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay would rub his belly and exclaim, “Sarap!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter dinner, Nanay and I cleaned up \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhile Tala swung in her duyan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay and Kuya rolled out the banig and spread out \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecotton blankets on top, making a comfortable place \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor us to sleep, side by side, in our one-room hut.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay would take Tala out of her cradle \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso she could nurse for bedtime.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen Nanay would sing us all to sleep, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas she did every night. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was a small life, but it was our life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe found magical beauty in the ordinary.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd we were happy. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut as in all faerie tales, we would learn\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eall magic comes with a price.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSunrise, Sunset\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe days of our life were long, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut the years would be short.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur mother’s years—how could we know?—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewere getting shorter and shorter. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne long day, Nanay could not get out of bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was counting out her last breaths,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike she used to sort stones from grains of rice . . .  \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the suffocating silence, our mother called out, “Bathala!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She must be dying,” said Kuya, tears at his eyes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She calls for God.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She calls for me,” Tatay said. “I am Bathala.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe knelt by her side and took her hand in his. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn that long day, our parents told us \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho we truly were, what life we had lived.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You are the children of Heaven,” Tatay said, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“but you are also the children of Earth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“made of starlight, laughter, sweat, and dirt;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emade of the love between two people \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom different worlds.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was sunset on the last day of that life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was time for nothing else but truth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I am your father,” Tatay said, “but also\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe father of all. I am Bathala Maykapal.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“People call my name when they need to feel safe, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen they feel lost.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“When I fell in love with your mother, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI decided to live on Earth,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto live a human life of ordinary magic \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enot found in Heaven.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay may have sung the world to life for us, but\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay had created the world for her to sing about.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And it was your mother’s song,” Tatay continued,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“that drew me to the river on the day we met . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFull of Grace\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the day he met the love of his life—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nineteen short years ago today,” Tatay recalled,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmiling weakly at Nanay, his dying beloved—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala Maykapal, Great Creator God,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas walking around the world of his creation \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edisguised as a humble water buffalo bull.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala the kalabaw was splashing, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehappy in a mud puddle, when he heard singing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was soft and sad, but hopeful. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe ambled toward the sweet song\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand discovered a maiden in the river, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esurrounded by the inky darkness of her hair. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was as lovely as her voice,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso lovely that upon seeing her, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala the bull gasped, a sound so human \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat the maiden looked up, startled, afraid,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand froze at the sight of the carabao,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea gentle beast, but a beast nonetheless. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala felt shame and guilt\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor disturbing her peaceful bath,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor making her afraid of him, of what he might do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala the bull turned around, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalked back into the forest,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand disappeared into thin air, leaving Earth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe following day, he returned, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethis time in his human form, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto seek the maiden at the river. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala the bull must have really scared her, for\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe did not return to the river that day, nor the next.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBathala the man returned every day, hopeful, humbled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the seventh day, his heart soared when he saw her \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalking toward the river with other women from the \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003evillage, carrying full baskets of clothing to be washed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“K-kumusta?” he greeted her quietly \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eonce he had caught up to her. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe turned her head in his direction and nodded silently.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mabigat ba ’yan?” he asked, hoping \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe’d agree it was heavy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn answer, she handed him the basket \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand smiled, cheeks pink, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhich emboldened Bathala \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eenough to ask her name.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dalisay,” she replied, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etucking a strand of hair behind her ear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDalisay . . .\u003ci\u003eDA-lee-sigh\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDalisay. Pure. Perfect.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dalisay,” he said softly. It was almost like praying.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eII.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe days of their life together were long, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efull of ordinary beauty and a love that kept growing, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeven after so many years.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTheirs was a great love built of a thousand tiny touches.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne of my earliest memories, out in the fields:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay dipped his cup into the bucket of fresh water \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand offered it to Nanay first, making her smile.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay touched Tatay’s cheek, making him smile back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay took the cup from him and took a small sip,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethen turned the cup a half-turn and offered it back\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto Tatay, who drank without taking his eyes off \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis beloved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA smile shared. A moment. It was like watching \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea red hibiscus bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs they both began to look older, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay would pluck the gray hairs out of Tatay’s ears\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand trim his bushy eyebrows, teasing him,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What sorcery, gray hair! \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMakes you look older but more handsome.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDid she allow his sorcery, his deception? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDid she know then that he was God? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the long day of our mother’s death, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eour father brought his beloved a bowl of chicken broth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand held it gently to her lips so she could take a small sip.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA drop of blood escaped from Nanay’s mouth, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea bloom of red death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTatay wiped her mouth with a clean rag, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecradling her head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll day long he had insisted on staying at her side \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand caring for her, leaving us, their children, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto fetch, cook, clean, worry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOutside, night was drawing the curtains closed \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso we could say goodbye. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Long Goodbye\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dalisay,” Tatay said softly, “mahal ko,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit is time for me to take you home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I am already home,” Nanay said, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmiling weakly at Tatay, her beloved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You must take them. Take your children.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKuya Apolaki, Tala, and I were no longer children,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut we did not know how to be anywhere \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eother than where we were, touching Earth,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esinging of what we saw and had in our mother’s world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNanay asked for us to gather around her, then,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand she gently laid a hand on each of our cheeks in turn, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etracing her fingers over our faces like she used to do \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto calm us when we were babies, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enow for the last time. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Your hair has really grown out,” Nanay said to me, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmiling as she brushed my long hair away from my eyes, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etucking the strands behind my ear, lovingly, deliberately. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer eyes were clear for the first time in weeks; \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher gaze burned. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe called me her “beam of light” so I would heed her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Listen well, Mayari sinag. Watch over them. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll of them.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nanay,” I whispered, “huwag po. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePlease don’t send us away.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI clutched her hand to my face, desperate to hold on,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand she tried to pull it away, gently first, then firmly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tama na!” she rasped. A sputtering cough, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea red bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Your father will look after you now; \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe will give you a home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou must go. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTake your rightful place at his side.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shook my head and begged her for more time. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWeeping, desperate, I snatched at her hand again. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nanay! Please!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe snatched her hand back and slapped my face. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I said ‘Enough!’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That will sting long after I am dead,” she spat out, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe last bit of fire in her body sparking in her eyes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen those embers went cold, and she turned her back. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Leave me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMama, why are you so quiet? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMama. Are you okay?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m okay, Luna. I just . . . I just remembered . . . something . . . \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow could she send her kids away like that? \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou said she sang to them and loved them.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo how could she hurt Mayari and order her to leave?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMayari must have thought, “You’re not my mother.”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOnly bad mothers hurt their kids. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOnly a bad mother would do what Dalisay did.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eRight, Mama? Mama?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMama, why aren’t you saying anything? \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes even good people, good mothers,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edo things they never thought they could do\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebecause they’re worried, because they’re scared.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes even good people, good mothers,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eget so scared, they forget who they’re supposed to be.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhy I Was So Quiet\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI couldn’t tell Stella and Luna why.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBest I could do was remember.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor me then, for all of us now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey say having a child \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eis like having your heart \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalk around outside your body. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey also say \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyour heart is a muscle \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe size of your fist.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI am four years old \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen my mother teaches me this, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen she shows me that her heart \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eis not only the size but also \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe shape of a fist.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd her heart beats outside her body.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouldn’t have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalked home from preschool \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith a new friend \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einstead of waiting for Kuya Nes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouldn’t have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egone over to my friend’s house, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust across the street, to play \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith her dolls from Hong Kong.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouldn’t have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emade excuses for \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy stupidity\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy ignorance\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy forgetfulness.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heart beats with a rhythm of regret.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShouldn’t have. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThump thump.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShouldn’t have. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThump thump. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShouldn’t have.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut she can’t hear the beating of my heart. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe is preparing me for the beating of my life. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe once sang me lullabies; now she hisses my name. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“\u003ci\u003eElsaleta.\u003c\/i\u003eHow could you do this to me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother orders me to strip off my uniform.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heart beats faster, louder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI feel it will burst through my thin kamiseta. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo sorry. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThump thump. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo confused.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThump thump.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo scared.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother wraps her fist with my father’s leather belt\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike she is Muhammad Ali before the Thrilla in Manila. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSnap!\u003c\/i\u003eI claw the floor, and I am thankful \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit’s not the brass belt buckle striking my flesh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSnap!\u003c\/i\u003eI keep crawling, but her reach is long, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eaided by my father’s complicit leather silence. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSnap!\u003c\/i\u003eI finally manage to crawl into a corner \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand put my arms over my head. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe throws aside the belt \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand makes her hand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto the shape of a heart.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer fists beat \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy arms, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy shoulders, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy exposed legs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen she drags me from my corner \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand beats on my back, like it is a drum.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hear someone sobbing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe it is me. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen it is over, my mother has to go lie down. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy grandmother comes downstairs from her apartment, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewraps a towel around me without looking at my face. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is a yellow towel dotted with tiny baby-blue flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLola Lusing silently \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edries my sweat, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewipes my blood, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etends my wounds. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe next time I see my mother, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI don’t recognize the darkness in her eyes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGone is the woman I called Mommy, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho sang the world to life for me,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhose heart was not shaped like a fist. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis woman who woke from her nap\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eis all sharp edges, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehard to wrap my arms around. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI do anyway, even as I think, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You are not my mother.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother would have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebeen just as worried and angry, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut she could not have done this to me. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother would have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echosen to teach me \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehow to protect myself from harm \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einstead of teaching me \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had to protect myself from her. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother would have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esounded more convincing \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen she said “I am sorry.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI search for my mother, still. Not \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe mother of my birth, but \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe mother of my heart, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe mother of my longing-to-belong heart,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe mother who would make me feel safe enough \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto be in the world. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI search for her in the story of Dalisay, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emother of three demigods,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho drove her child Mayari away \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas any mother would have\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eif she thought she could save her daughter \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efrom death and human pain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI search for her in every mother in books \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand TV and movies and games.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m disappointed to find the same mother, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho doesn’t make me feel safe, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho doesn’t make me feel accepted, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho doesn’t make me feel I belong.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Rocky Pond Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304843170021,"sku":"NP9780593112205","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593112205.jpg?v=1730758613","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/we-belongisbn-9780593112205","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}