Book #2

Associations - Philippines

smoke and fresh air.

that's what triggers it most quickly and most often.

the smell of smoke and fresh air.

the smell of many things, really. 

all piled together, disguised as a single connection in my head.

i say it smells like the philippines far too often when i pick up one of many scents

but mostly - 

the dry loft of incense,

the bitter sting of ash,

the distant char of barbeque,

carried on a wind both too dry and too damp.

it is warm rains

and hurricanes

- no, typhoons -

on tin rooves 

and palm-bamboo-wood thatched huts

maybe on stilts!

or, or!

concrete hollow blocks with rebar and cement on the inside.

it's fireflies

and summer nights.

it's vulcanizing rubber

and swimming in the ocean.

bad drivers

and much better fruit

and fish - how sad i am that i can't eat it nowadays -

and coconuts

but oh, that counts as fruit i guess,

unless i wanted to list mango and rambutan and-

it's lola and the last of dad.

it's infected injuries and unclean water

but pumping the well was always so fun.

it's dusty earth and tropical rainforest and muddy rivers and rice paddies.

it's sneaking through a corn field

and knowing the locals.

it's too many cousins

and white funerals.

it's candle-lit pilgrimage

and accidental 5k marathons.

it's not knowing what's going on but wanting to be a part of it.

it's roman catholicism

with remnant superstitions.

it's colonization.

it's star-shaped lanterns.

it's fiestival season.

it's music loud enough to rock houses into the deep of the night.

it's internet cafes

and the pesos used to operate them

and centavos, before those were phased out.

it's small shops with window grates

and yelling out ayoo!

it's hell - it's home.

i mean, what is home but a hell you've become comfortable in?

well, i guess it shouldn't be.

but then why are all things sweeter in hindsight -

if not for you to come back?