Before the second episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) concluded on March 21, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
A bistro in Manila feeds the dream.
First meal, regret on a platter.
Growing old in the city, feasting
on makeshift happiness, has left you
starving—your mouth
watering, saliva thick,
overflowing on your tongue,
like a pourable sarsa of bagoong balayan.
As you keep on dining
at the table to make more than ends meet.
You crave the taste of home-cooked meals and
hear your stomach murmuring, honking louder
than the sizzling screams of greasy roads,
as though it reminds you of your hunger
for the memories that you dispose of
like spoiled cooking materials
thrown into trash cans.
You made a fool of yourself;
for still missing the oven-like warmth
of your hometown, but you can’t admit it.
Pride has become a lump in your throat
that you can’t vomit,
even after choking yourself with a plastic fork.
A bistro in Manila feeds the dream.
Second meal, yearning as the main course
You were barely yourself when your father
taught you the way to satisfy hunger: mag-sakol.
Sakol, he told you, is eating with bare hands.
He reminded you that Batangueños enjoy food best
when they grab a mound of rice and viand
and shove it into their mouths.
Yet, the city sucks the things that made you, you,
as if it is removing the fatty marrow
from bulalo bones. Like bones,
you are hollow on the inside—
empty, bare,
and somehow, you know
no makeshift happiness can tenderize
your heart that has become rigid.
Your tongue no longer speaks of gigil,
your mind no longer believes that lomi can add
years to your life, you prefer a cup of matcha
over kapeng barako, until your body no longer
remembers how it feels
to be cradled in Batangas’ comfort.
A bistro in Manila feeds your dream.
The starvation of home leaves you wanting
until your stomach eats itself;
devours you whole, barely breathing
Written by Christian Patulot
