Week 17 and 18 (January 25 - 31, February 1-7, 2015)

For the past two weeks I've been finding ways on how I can better care for myself amidst school work and the entire process of being "in transition."

​There's not much I want to say, except to share a poem I wrote for class.

WHERE I LIVED

I live on a small mountain.
Every day,
I walk down the cemented hill with my backpack
and one other bag. Sometimes it’s a large suitcase.
I reach the bottom of the hill and I am already sweating
especially on the skin between my nose and mouth.
I am waiting for a tricycle.
A mosquito tries to land on the skin showing
between my tights and my sandals.
A white butterfly floats on the bushed plants
of the neighbor’s garden.
Forever and the tricycle arrives. Sometimes I have to ride in
the back when it’s full. The seat is uneven and I don’t have
much space so the metal
protrudes against the bone of my butt and
it hurts but I endure because the ride is quick.
I hold on to the rail of the roof so I won’t fall off.
I see the reflection of my face in the side mirror,
fair skin in contrast to the browns of the others.
The wind blows in my face.
Across from us a truck passes with carpenters in the back.
I cannot pull out my umbrella to hide my face and so
they holler.
I look away and pretend they don’t matter and I don’t care.
I reach the gasoline station. I finger for eight pesos and pay.
I strap my backpack in front of me and hurl my
suitcase up the overpass across the highway to the other
side to get my ride. I have to walk fast so the snatchers
won’t slice my bag. I see vendors blocking the way.
Why do they walk so slow?
I try to overtake the teenagers in white tops
and black bottoms chatting or texting with their phones.
The sound of cars below me and the buses overspeeding
and honking. The sight of a pile of cars and buses squished
together because there is no line. The smell of smoke and dust
preventing me from breathing fully.
I walk as fast as I can to get to the other side,
and I’ve not even gotten to my ride yet.
I work, I go home and I do it all over again.
Every day, for five years.

Regina De Vera 
January 19, 2016

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I do marvel at the life I have now in spite of its waves. There comes a moment in one's life when one is presented the opportunity to choose between the life one has been born with and the life that fits who you truly are and I grabbed that opportunity. So here I am, planting the seeds for new anchors.