American Filipina

In the Meadows of Dan, there is a cabin where our families converge every few years.   Before the mothers arrive, the cousins come a day early to air out the rooms and take stock of the groceries.     Last bite of sea bass - untouched at Uchi, Houston The families must be fed after the long drive.   One summer, d inner consisted of turkey burgers, red quinoa, and pan seared sweet potato chips.   The children ate chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.   The last portion of quinoa was offered to me and I was asked to finish what remained.   I felt full immediately when I saw the last bite.   It is as if a cultural genetic code was embedded in me to not eat it.    My husband observed the same behavior with my brother.   My brother explained that he thought it had something to do with being polite and allowing the guest to have the last bite.   If the guest refused the last bite,   we would wrap the morsel in a baggie and place it in the refrigerator.

My brother and mom in the old Chevy van at the beach It is that time of year again that we plan the family vacation.  My husband tried to persuade me to "road trip it" from Texas to Virginia and my heart sank.  He romanticized the notion with childhood memories of meandering through small towns and enjoying the countryside of America.  When he was growing up, he recalled there was no need for hotel reservations or extensive planning.  If there was no place to sleep, his family would simply pitch a tent at the nearest national park. His story did not convince me.  My memories were far too different.  Imagine a van from the 80's - a beige Chevy, an empty shell with no seats, no windows, or seat belts.  We had a mattress in the back, five kids, grandma, and "the bucket".  Eventually dad outfitted the van with chairs when he could afford them, but not in the early days.  I recall weekend trips to Galveston.  My brother was charged with sitting on the cooler so

Letters were always signed Mario'Nor Mario + Leonor In spite of whatever takes place in history it is always the love stories that prevail timeless.  As if the emotion was first struck in the heart, we remember the weight of the longing.  Even when you console a relative with failing memory that her loved one has passed, the mind regards only they are away for a moment "at the grocery store" or "in town" for a visit.  The mind forgets only the current pain of old age as we ourselves fade from this world, we still protect ourselves.  For she remembered only him. "I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweet heart." We look into the eyes of ourselves See the abyss of memories The soul caught those few moments That defined our time Spent on this earth In this world to experience. We stand tall and silent, waiting Dignified for the moment That slips into another hand of the clock That measures meaningless Because the love w