learning to ripen

“Everything is gestation and bringing forth.
That alone is living the artist’s life – in understanding as in work.

There is no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like [a] tree…. It comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide.

I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful…”
– Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

i want it now:
to Know.
just,
to Know.

to know what and why
who what where when how
am I doing…

how are you doing?
kumusta ka?

and the truth is I am fine – better than fine -
surviving thriving
making friends and drinking red horse
out til late or
having people over for
more
beer and a smoke
a few
laughs or a bootleg movie.

and the truth is I am well – what else could I be? when
there are weekends with family to
catch up on the years that drowned between
Manila Bay and L.A.
eating napping talking
and
eating again
countering questions on sex
returning auntie’s kisses
receiving another plate of pancit
and listening until the stark light
of bare bulbs flicker on
across the city.

but
you know,
my truth is also
hungry yearning needy impatient
inside tearing ripping clawing
a young bright wanting
frantic desperate heaving
striving trying looking searching for
who what where when
how am I really doing
here.

and the truth is that it was gorgeous today an orange evening clear for miles
and i wondered to myself in that same breath of awe

How am I doing Here?

kumusta ako?
and the truth is 'di ko alam, po.
well, if you really want to know –

the truth is i want. every moment wanting
gasping awake sweating needing
answers to unsolvable questions
addresses to homes unknown or off limits

the truth is i hurt – more than hurt
i am ripped apart by my context and history and location
my fundamental selves at odds
bleeding
should i even be here?

the truth is i am dealing
coping negotiating my own issues
insecurities, identity
coming here to “find myself”
a me i have never seen
though
i am flesh and i exist
fractured and disparate yet sure and undeniable.

knowing that,
the truth is i cry.
weeping gratefully as the bare bulbs burn