There are many places that remind us of love.
Fortunately, but more unfortunately, for us it is the foodcourt.
I love you when you eat streetfood like you are a lapdog choking in a big fishball.
And when I say streetfood what I mean is you smell like the sexy, smoking hot inihaw na hita ng manok, I want to eat you— I mean to eat with you.
And when I say water, what I mean is you give life to my squidballs in my stomach, its ink writes “balut pa putot!”
You are the sinamak of my balut. The asim that makes me kilig every time I take a bite.
You are the gulaman in the middle of a hot noon, you are my water when my days are full of sandstorm.
While lumpia is delicious, your lips are kikiam that makes me starve just seeing it.
You got a chinky eyes that reminds me of siomai. Chinita, don't look at me like that— I am forbidden to see you, but now I could be killed with a stick ng barbecue just to get a glimpse.
Nike would be ignored when you get your kicks with an Adidas in a platter.
You look like a zombie dispatching isaw, ketsup will be drenching like you have been in a hunt. Your face covered with hundred islands.
Although it sounds old but when I say zombie, what I really mean to say is can we dance to Michael Jackson's Thriller while we are eating Betamax?
After food court, I will court you in your house. And I wish I can get your “yes” as how easily you say it when asked if “gusto ka ug isaw?”
