We all have internal and external factors that drive our existence in life. There are so many times that I have flashes of memories that seem arbitrary in the moment, but hold so much weight to where I am going. I wrote this short excerpt moving through the grief of losing my Lola. Growing up, I knew her from her cooking, and her quietness. The relationship between my mother and my grandmother was filled with strife and sorrow, as the migration from the Philippines to the U.S. and the life that she left behind held memories and scars and they echoed throughout her entire life and my mother’s. Although I know that I carry the intergenerational trauma passed down to me, it has shaped me in so many ways that I would not recognize myself without it. They have become portals into awareness, wounds that reveal truths and even though violence has touched our family, it fails to define us. Banana Lumpia is a Filipino snack/dessert also called Turon, Bananas rolled in a spring roll wrapper, fried till the wrapper is crisp and coated with caramelized brown sugar. It is my absolute favorite….. Here you go Lola, here is Banana Lumpia…..
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it looks so peaceful out here today, you would love it.
Today a bird landed near my foot and I looked down to watch it, stopping me in the middle of my stupor. That bird, twitching its head at me and cooing so softly, encapsulated my world if only for a second.
Sometimes, when I awake in those moments, the language of my small heart becomes louder inside of me, and I feel more of me. I feel that ripple fleetingly, on days when rain’s pitter patter swells so loudly, my soul almost dampens and thuds alongside it proudly. Vibrating and visceral, I feel like laughing and smiling, and I can let myself. In that sweet rain, with that bird, connecting back to the earth.
Then a phone rings, car passes, dog barks and I am tethered once again. But those moments, those moments are everything. With those transitive moments I am returned, briefly, to my center. The bird takes flight, and here I am again Lola. With you, in the in between.
As I am sure you can surmise it is unbearably hot today and last night my power went out and thankfully it came back on today. No food was spoiled and yet when the lights tinkered back on and the air conditioner roared to life I almost felt a welling up inside myself surging and wanting to feel that sensation of quietness again. In discomfort, I left and went to class.
But here I am, among the trees and its rustling leaves and if I close my eyes it almost sounds like Laguna and I can almost hear you. With that, I am trying to make pancit again; chopping the carrots, onions, scallions and cabbage and smelling the sweet steaming pork, air rising and coating the air in salt, noodles sizzling alongside.
Every time that I hear a shuffle of slippers and Tita’s speaking Tagalog in the supermarket I feel tingles around memories I thought I didn’t have.
I want you to know that I’m here and I don’t care either that we never could understand each other fully. Can you still hear me?
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Banana Lumpia follows my inner dialogue of emotional echoes in how mundane objects and new settings can evoke feelings of grief and the confronting of my own inner consciousness and memory. Following the death of my Lola (Grandmother in Tagalog), transitive moments in between the hustle and bustle of life hold a mirror to the undercurrent of my emotions that carry a dull heartbeat and remind me of who I have become since. How can the simple beauty of small moments remind us of our love, loss and return us to joy? Is grief the final medium through which love communicates? Is it arrogant to grieve so loudly it echoes? As though the answer lives within me, the grapple of my loss and trauma embodies the ache of a blooming flower, becoming the seed of a new awareness of how life’s simple moments can transform our perception of what is profound and help us heal.