To which my mother’s family thinks they are advising, “huwag yan, hindi ginagamit yun,”
“yun,” referring to my father’s family tongue as if it isn’t a proper noun, as if it isn’t worthy of a name.
To which my tito adamantly
lowering his voice in the way that is supposed to imply assertion because he is the he and he is the elder which are all assumptions I despise:
states, “Tagalog, ‘to yung opicial language sa Pinas. Yung lolo mo galing sa Batangas, Yung lola mo galing sa Bulacan, lahat namin Tagalog,
lahat namin Manilenyo.”
To which I respond: pisting yawa talaga each syllable firing more force than the pistons in my impatient leaded mouth:
gusto kong mosulti Binisaya,
this is my birthright in my broken pronunciation skittering across accents pressing within me, regret burning from the realization of lost years my lola’s voice scolding, gahi, Nana, gahi
dili ko taga Manila because I feel more close to the sea. I see my lola and her sisters, those three loud, proud Marias, and I beam:
Keana Aguila Labra (they/she) is a published, Best of Net nominated Cebuana-Tagalog Filipinx poet, reviewer, and editor in diaspora residing on stolen Ohlone Tamyen land. They hope to foster a creative safe space for under-resourced and underrepresented communities with their online magazine, Marias at Sampaguitas. They're the author of two books of poetry: Natalie (Nightingale & Sparrow, 2020) and No Saints (Lazy Adventurer Press, 2020.)