From Chicago to Manila
By Monica Pedraja
These three pieces came from the Drawstring workshop, Writing Workshop for "Non-Writers." For years I've been wanting to do something relating to my identity and collective memories of growing up in Manila and the suburbs of Chicago. As a photographer, I automatically assumed it would be in that medium, but it never felt right. This workshop gave me an outlet to discover, 1. I actually like writing, and dare I say, think I'm kinda good at it, and 2. This project needs to be a combination of words and images. I plan to continue writing and hope to build a collection, weave in imagery, and make it into a book.
110 Fuentebella
It’s 10:15 pm and I’m walking down a quiet Milwaukee Ave.
There’s the blinking glow of neon lights from Puebla Restaurant
I’m back in Manila.
We would always land late at night
Racing past the other tired passengers to be first at customs
Sleepy and disoriented, I tried to catch up to my mom
Come on! Come on! Hurry up!
I left my jacket on the plane. We didn’t go back.
We got 12th place.
Next was the game “Which Balikbayan box is ours”
One after the other,
round and round they would pass,
cardboard boxes filled with Crest toothpaste and peanut M&Ms
Written in thick black sharpie
SORIANO
CORPORAL
DEZA
DUMADAUG
Ayán, the one with the white rope
By the time we meet my uncle it’s 1:03 a.m.
I sit in the back and stare out the window
Their Ilongo voices fade as we fly through the empty streets
I’m greeted by the strangely comforting sounds of the Jeepney mufflers,
the rows of late night vendors sleeping under fluorescent bulbs,
and the blinking glow of the Panasonic sign.
HONKHONKHONKHONKHONK HONK HONK
I wake up and stare at the white stucco walls and a tall, gray gate.
Diding pushes the storm door open and rushes
Her flip flops patter on the driveway.
Good ebening, Mikah!
Under the moonlight, the garden glistens and breezes hello.
I walk inside and slowly crawl up the stairs
into the faded pink bedroom that was once solely my mom’s
and now I’ve taken part custody.
I plop onto the bed, too tired to brush my teeth.
I unfold the bedsheet and let it slowly fall and wrap itself around me.
Below, I can hear the water pump and cats meow.
The whirring of the fan cradles me back to sleep.
I am home.
Untitled
my grandpa was a sugar twist donut
one strand of dough
swirls and swirls of a life
six months in the suburbs of chicago
six months in manila
six months with his daughter
six months with his cousins
six months raising his granddaughter
six months working at our pharmacy
one month overlap with his wife
church filled with white faces and brown walls
church filled with brown faces and white columns
sunday brunch at old country buffet
sunday merienda at lola dee’s
unsolved mysteries on the blue la-z-boy
chicago bulls finals on the wooden rocking chair
fragmented english
fluent ilongo
long walks down barnhill drive
long walks around the mega mall
snowball fights in december
tickle fights in july
thermal onesies every winter day
shorts and a tank every day
a swirled history
of mixed worlds and mixed languages
bulls championship hats and aviators
temper tantrums and belly laughs
all for the moment to share an after school snack
Evening Programming
3:30. Jeopardy.
My grandpa would watch ceremoniously.
He’d sit on the blue la-z-boy,
Rocking back and forth, shouting answers.
I pretended to do my homework,
but really dreaming of making it to the kids tournament one day.
4:00. Back to back episodes of Full House reruns.
Lying on my stomach on top of my Little Mermaid sleeping bag
I watched DJ, Stephanie and Michelle fight over who was loved more.
I laughed to myself, looked to my side and wished for a sibling.
5:30. More news.
Mikah, set the table!
Placemat
Placemat
Placemat
Fork
Fork
Fork
Spoon
Spoon
Spoon
I move around the table,
the exhaust fan whirs,
the frying pan sizzles,
and grandpa’s slippers shuffle
6:30. Wheel of Fortune.
Mom’s home from work.
Pork adobo and white rice.
Brief exchanges of everyone’s day,
Interrupted with one of us shouting an answer at the tv,
rice falling from our mouths.
8:00. Disney Channel Original Movie, probably Brink.
My grandpa rocks back and forth on the la-z-boy, falling asleep.
My mom calls her patients, planning her next day.
I’m lying on the couch, lost in another world, skating with Erik Von Detten.
