We Claim the Soil

p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"strongWe Claim the Soil/strong/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"By To/spanMy uncle, the poet Al Robles, often wrote of the need to ldquo;take back our livesrdquo;.nbsp; He wrote of the lives of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="1"manongs/span, the early Filipino immigrants whose lives of struggle in America allow those of us in the communitynbsp;who write the privilege to do so.nbsp; I seek to write with laughter, fire and spirit--qualities that allowed the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="3"manongs/span to survive American society.nbsp; Part of taking back our lives includes celebrating the life we do have.nbsp; So often we forget ourselves, our creator, our eldersmdash;the land.nbsp; We go after wants that are not only span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="dispensible" data-scaytid="41"dispensible/span, but are, as Henry David Thoreau said, ldquo;Positive hindrances to the elevation of mankindrdquo;.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p I remember my Uncle Al walking across the face of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Manilatown" data-scaytid="45"Manilatown/spanmdash;a wandering poetmdash;breathing the fish and rice smells of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="5"manongs/span, walking with themmdash;every breath a lifetime to cherish, remember and honor.nbsp; Every bowl of rice, every grain was a year, a season, a story to be told again and again.nbsp; The span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="7"manongs/span living in the small rooms of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manilatown" data-scaytid="53"manilatown/span on span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Kearny" data-scaytid="57"Kearny/span Street breathed resistance into the hearts, minds andnbsp;lives of poets and activists who were--what my uncle called--the seeds of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Manilatown" data-scaytid="47"Manilatown/span that were planted long ago.nbsp; The poets were the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="9"manongs/span and the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="11"manongs/span were the poets who stood against the developer, the police, the slumlord.nbsp; The span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="13"manongs/span had much to teach us about struggle but also about community.nbsp; Looking into the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manong’s" data-scaytid="61"manongrsquo;s/span face is to see our reflection in a river.nbsp; The stones in the river hold stories.nbsp; We become wet with the lives, words and poetry of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="15"manongs/span.nbsp; We become drenched in spirit, community and life.nbsp; We become caught in the flow of life, the movement, the direction of our ancestral past.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p At my present job I often think, emthere are no span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="17"manongs/span here/em.nbsp; I work at an apartment complex that houses the affluent, where the anthems to gentrification are sung in hushed tones in the halls, corridors, restrooms, elevators and, of course, the property management office.nbsp; Many residents are young, some elders.nbsp; The lobby smells of eucalyptus one week, pine the nextmdash;shipped in by a aroma/fragrance manufacturer from the great state of Florida./p p nbsp;/p p Therersquo;s a coworker I have whose presence is like fresh air.nbsp; Hersquo;s half-Filipino, half white.nbsp; The Filipino is written in his facemdash;thick features that reveal a Filipino heart.nbsp; Many miss the Filipino written in his skin as he swings his mop and pushes his broom.nbsp; We talk and try to maintain a level of professionalism, which means pretending that anything that resembles who we really are remains beneath the surface.nbsp; We are trained to nod and repeat mantras such as, ldquo;Nice day outsidehellip;isnrsquo;t it?rdquo; and ldquo;Yes sirhellip;Irsquo;ll get to it right awayhellip;no problem, emno problem at all/emrdquo;.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p One of our duties is to raise the American flag each morning at span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="8am" data-scaytid="65"8am/span.nbsp; I carry the flag, tightly folded into a triangle.nbsp; He snaps the flag to a rope and pulls.nbsp; The flag slithers up the pole.nbsp; When it reaches the top, we gaze into the sky.nbsp; We see ravens and crows.nbsp; We hear them cry out.nbsp; We once saw something we thought was a rainbow.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p One day I say, ldquo;We should get a Filipino flagrdquo;.nbsp; ldquo;And do what with it?rdquo; he asks.nbsp; I tell him we should raise it.nbsp; Hersquo;s quiet for a moment, then says, ldquo;Yeah, Irsquo;m down with thatrdquo;.nbsp; We walk back and slip into our jobs, our roles, our routine./p p nbsp;/p p We take back our lives.nbsp; We claim the soil for our ancestors, our elders, our mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers whose stories live and breathe in the landscape of this country.nbsp; We claim the soil of our skin, the soil of our blood, the soil of our poetry, the soil of our journey.nbsp; We claim it for our children.nbsp; We pass it to their hands to plant the seeds of poetry, fire and struggle.nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p My coworker and I will raise the Filipino flag one day.nbsp; But we honor the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="19"manongs/span and span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manangs" data-scaytid="69"manangs/span every day by turning over the soil that covers the landscape of our hearts and minds./p p nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p copy; 2011 span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="RWS" data-scaytid="73"RWS/span/p p nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p nbsp;/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"My uncle, the poet Al Robles, often wrote of the need to ldquo;take back our livesrdquo;.nbsp; He wrote of the lives of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="21"manongs/span, the early Filipino immigrants whose lives of struggle in America allow those of us who write the privilege to do so.nbsp; I seek to write with laughter, fire and spirit, the qualities that allowed the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="23"manongs/span to survive American society.nbsp; Part of taking back our lives includes celebrating the life we do have.nbsp; So often we forget ourselves, our creator, our eldersmdash;the land.nbsp; We go after wants that are not only span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="dispensible" data-scaytid="43"dispensible/span, but are, as Henry David Thoreau said, ldquo;Positive hindrances to the elevation of mankindrdquo;.nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"I remember my Uncle Al walking across the face of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Manilatown" data-scaytid="49"Manilatown/spanmdash;a wandering poetmdash;breathing the fish and rice smells of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="25"manongs/span, walking with themmdash;every breath was a lifetime to cherish, remember and honor.nbsp; Every bowl of rice, every grain was a year, a season, a story to be told again and again.nbsp; The span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="27"manongs/span living in the small rooms of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manilatown" data-scaytid="55"manilatown/span on span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Kearny" data-scaytid="59"Kearny/span Street breathed resistance into the hearts, minds, lives of poets and activists who were, what my uncle called, the seeds of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="Manilatown" data-scaytid="51"Manilatown/span that were planted long ago.nbsp; The poets were the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="29"manongs/span and the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="31"manongs/span were the poets who stood against the developer, the police, the slumlord.nbsp; The span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="33"manongs/span had much to teach us about struggle but also about community.nbsp; Looking into the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manong’s" data-scaytid="63"manongrsquo;s/span face is to see our reflection in a river.nbsp; The stones in the river hold stories.nbsp; We become wet with the lives, words and poetry of the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="35"manongs/span.nbsp; We become drenched in spirit, community and life.nbsp; We become caught in the flow of life, the movement, the direction of our ancestral past.nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"At my span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="presentjob" data-scaytid="77"presentjob/span I often think, there are no span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="37"manongs/span here.nbsp; I work at an apartment complex that houses the affluent, where the anthems to gentrification are sung in hushed tones in the halls, corridors, restrooms, elevators and, of course, the property management office.nbsp; Many residents are young, some elders.nbsp; The lobby smells of eucalyptus one week, pine the nextmdash;shipped in by a aroma/fragrance manufacturer from the great stare of Florida./span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"Therersquo;s a coworker I have whose presence is like fresh air.nbsp; Hersquo;s half-Filipino, half white.nbsp; The Filipino is written in his facemdash;thick features that reveal a Filipino heart.nbsp; Many miss the Filipino written in his skin as he swings his mop and pushes his broom.nbsp; We talk and try to maintain a level of professionalism, which means pretending that anything that resembles who we really are remains beneath the surface.nbsp; We are trained to nod and repeat mantras such as, ldquo;Nice day outsidehellip;isnrsquo;t it?rdquo; and ldquo;Yes sirhellip;Irsquo;ll get to it right awayhellip;no problem, emno problem at all/emrdquo;.nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"One of our duties is to raise the American flag each morning at span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="8am" data-scaytid="67"8am/span.nbsp; I carry the flag, tightly folded into a triangle.nbsp; He snaps the flag to a rope and pulls.nbsp; The flag slithers up the pole.nbsp; When it reaches the top, we gaze into the sky.nbsp; We see ravens and crows.nbsp; We hear them cry out.nbsp; Once we saw a rainbow./span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"One day I say, ldquo;We should get a Filipino flagrdquo;.nbsp; ldquo;And do what with it?rdquo; he asks.nbsp; I tell him we should raise it.nbsp; Hersquo;s quiet for a moment, then says, ldquo;Yeah, Irsquo;m down with thatrdquo;.nbsp; We walk back and slip into our jobs, our roles, our routine./span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"We take back our lives.nbsp; We claim the soil for our ancestors, our elders, our mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers whose stories live and breathe in the landscape of this country.nbsp; We claim the soil of our skin, the soil of our blood, the soil of our poetry, the soil of our journey.nbsp; We claim it for our children.nbsp; We pass it to their hands to plant the seeds of poetry, fire and struggle.nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"My coworker and I will raise the Filipino flag one day.nbsp; But we honor the span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manongs" data-scaytid="39"manongs/span and span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="manangs" data-scaytid="71"manangs/span every day by turning over the soil that covers the landscape of our hearts and minds./span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"copy; 2011 span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="RWS" data-scaytid="75"RWS/span/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p p span _fck_bookmark="1" style="display: none"nbsp;/span/p