Phebe M. Ferrer

this is how i say important in mother’s tongue with deep vowels flushed cheeks shaky voice

this is my language

every single vowel intonation pause conveys meaning

Mahalaga i care about you you are important to me i love you

Mahalaga understanding why we are here instead of home

Mahalaga parents wanting better lives for my sisters and me

Mahalaga knowing why grandfathers left their families Mahalaga empty seats at the table’s head

Mahalaga growing under strong mothers

Mahalaga because love is costly

Mahalaga a family tree stretched over three continents

Mahalaga leaving always leaving i want to stay

Mahalaga learning to let go of hands i’ve held for so long

Mahalaga understanding why i had to leave

Mahalaga uncertainty

Mahalaga

Phebe M. Ferrer

Mahalaga they tell me the snow welcomes me while others wonder why the snow from winter clings to the spring

Mahalaga everyone around me is pale like the snow

Mahalaga someone else here with skin like davao chocolate

Mahalaga a settler on unceded land

Mahalaga how do i pay my dues to this land its people their stories

Mahalaga because love is an action1

Mahalaga finding i can stand alone not always lonely Mahalaga wanting love

Mahalaga moving again and again and again and

Mahalaga growing up losing wanting leaving so much crying

Mahalaga they told me my skin is like fertile soil where flowers grow and stay and bloom

Mahalaga still unsure of who i am where i am going but surely i am growing

I am descended from wanderlust

Phebe M. Ferrer

Of feet stepping beyond their bounds Of eyes lingering beyond the horizon Of bodies that stretch beyond, away From here

I claim a lineage of yearning Convinced of oceans in our veins Who call us like sirens To doom or salvation We sail on

I inherited seasick blood Not content with standing still I am shaking To contain all Its possibilities

I remember my heritage of movement Learning to walk on water To tread immigration forms Twist my mouth to say about

Because migration is possibility Asking for more is survival

I am reminded that oceans connect Than divide How they extend my fingertips To reach yours

I learned that wanderlust runs in my veins - my mother’s words That my lolo the seafarer went farther Than my father the diplomat ever has

I imagine it began as dinner table words Anak, alam mo ba Ang lawak ng ating mundo Nakita ko lahat Ipapakita ko din sayo

I’ve seen the photos The way lolo held my dad’s hand in Iran Is the way dad held my hand on the plane Trust that this winged cylinder ripping through the sky Will mean stable footing on the other side

There are stories hidden in lolo’s body In the nooks of the photos Of my dad, his brothers, my lola Umalis kami bago nagsimula ang rebolusyon Marami akong nakilala sa barko Una kaming nagkita sa Maynila I search for them in his face In the bisaya I don’t understand

When I place my lolo into revolutions History becomes dinner table tsismis

I settle him into pages Written by pale hands And dye them brown

Sometimes Wanting to leave Feels complicit in Lost mothers Distant fathers Broken families Dead caregivers

All for Escape

Anak, alamin mo Wanderlust cannot sustain you Will not protect you

Mom taught me her tenacity You must fight for yourself Life will not always be kind to you Whether it’s racists or bills or lost friends You hold yourself up

Growing up, Mom hid Tears in her hugs In the sinigang Racism wore her down While I laughed in the playground Unaware

I learned strength looked like silence Looked like stand-in parents Looked like don’t walk in the alley way Looked like fresh sausage rolls on London hills Looked like tightly held hands

Mom, I don’t feel strong enough yet My palms are still soft My heart still too kind

I can’t show you this poem yet

Postscript:

Lolo, When I come back You always tell me to leave

I know you care for me I know I don’t want to stay

You push me into the ocean To save me from choked air Here, I drift without you

So I learn to hold myself like the shore

Post-postscript:

Wanderlust does not exempt me from responsibility.

Calling all settlers on unceded and stolen lands. Did you see the sign declaring ‘time immemorial’? Did you greet your host? Did you say paalam on your way out?

Phebe M. Ferrer (she/her) is a poet living in Vancouver, Canada, on the unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh peoples. Having just finished her Master’s degree, she is currently exploring poetry as a medium of writing and expression. As someone in diaspora, Phebe strives to honour both the joy and pain, resilience and separation, that coexist in diasporic stories through her writing. You can find her growing collection of work at phebemferrer.wordpress.com. Social media handles: @phebses on Instagram and Twitter