Current Mood: full from lunch, though now I am c-c-cold

The Problem: essentially I have no life blah blah blah I don’t do anything yadda yadda

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Okay, this is hardly an original idea but it’s been zonks since I posted last and we’re covering poetry in Creative Writing class at the moment, meaning all I can think about right now, creative-wise, is poetry. Poetry, poetry, poetry! I’m hardly a fan of poetry unless the thing rhymes — what can I say, I’m a child at heart! — but covering Christina Rossetti and Robert Browning in English Literature bred in me an appreciation for poetry as an art form. I’d still avoid writing poetry with a ten foot pole (if I can help it), but I will honestly say that being ‘forced’ to write it by my Creative Writing teacher led to some interesting discoveries.

It turns out… I’m quite okay with poetry. I’m horribly inept at writing it, yes, though I would venture out to say that my skills are passable. If anything else, I like making the ends rhyme. Ha.

Last week we were covering Robert Seatter’s poem called “I Come From”, which was an interesting read. Baffling because it’s a bunch of things clumped together and it took several brain cells to make a narrative out of it, but it was really intriguing and guess what? I’m glad my teacher assigned it for homework. It allowed for self-discovery and therapeutic contemplation, which is always good in my book. I ought to purge every now and again — it leads to a healthy mentality and a peaceful mindset.

Anyway, below is my personalized version of Seatter’s “I Come From” poem. No copyright infringement intended! Or whatever. Does this assignment infringe his creative rights? I honestly don’t know.

I come from nowhere and everywhere,

from an obscure little town to bustling cities,

from one, two bungalows and a rented

apartment, but also a semi-detached house

and, eventually, my mother’s own land.

I come from sickeningly humid air, from noisy

air conditioners, from indolent siestas;

also from pinching breezes, winter snow, and huddling

under Barbie duvets. I come from Harry Potter books

and quiet loud music, sugar fried bananas,

chocolate covered pretzels and NEVER EVER PRUNES.

I come from annual fiestas for patron saints,

from cakes with sweet, sweet icing, colourful puto cheese,

lechon manok and dinuguan (before I knew it was blood stew).

I come from roller school bags, roller blades on rough

cement roads, and eye rolling aplenty…

because I come from hypocrisy and hidden truths,

small-mindedness, personal drama, and essentially “fuck,

I really could not care less.” I come from Deoxyribonucleic acid,

quadratic equations, Ibong Adarna, infuriating computer codes.

What are deadlines? Ha, don’t make me laugh.­

I come from speed reading challenges with a lola who sews,

a small-time politician lolo, a tita in America and

several titos in Manila. I come from responsibility

as a firstborn, sweets hidden in sock drawers,

petty sibling fights because “I said so”; I come from confusion

and understanding, perpetual change and mostly,

mostly I come from all the scenery passing me by.

New Mood: jittery

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