I leave the door unlocked, I leave the lights on

I used to think I could smell you, everywhere

Making me feel like it was a Sunday morning and I’m waking up next to you, realizing I don’t have to work today.

Knowing I can spend the whole day right here, just like this.

You always smelled like fresh laundry.

Like you drowned your clothes in fabric softener  

And I know it couldn’t  been that pile of freshly cleaned clothes I have in the corner because I’m a forever broke college kid  so drowning clothes in fabric softener is a hell no.

I was pulling a sweatshirt out of my closet, I inhaled and there you were.

It was August 1^st again, your birthday. This was the sweatshirt I wore to bed that night.

I had to turn to the bed to see if maybe you were still sleeping

Maybe you slept over last night

But you weren’t there

And you haven’t been there in months

And I don’t like sleepovers as much as I like sleepovers anymore

Because you form a habit, a pattern

And just when I started feeling comfortable waking up next to you

I lose it. That habit, that pattern, you

 I’m left with an empty bed.

Left with your scent on my pillows, on my sheets

And even though they’ve been through the wash on some nights you were still on them

Like you just stepped out the room

I had to rearrange my room

To shake you out of it

Cause even though we rarely enjoyed sleepovers at my place

My room had you written all over it

I used to avoid sleeping on the side of the bed you slept on

It felt weird

I had a problem of moving around when I slept

I remember telling you I would sleep one way and wake up asking myself how the fuck I came to this place over here.

I was afraid I’d push you off

I never pushed you off

With you, I kept to one place

I realized recently I started moving around like crazy again while I sleep

Seven pillows on the bed when I fall asleep, seven pillows on the floor when I wake up

I guess it’s my body’s way of telling my mind I’ve let you go.

I did my laundry today; it didn’t remind me of you.

Specks of Loveliness

I used to hate my freckles

It made me different

All the kids, all the Filipino kids around me didn’t have freckles

I was made to believe Filipinos weren’t suppose to have freckles

Our pigment's use to the sun

I wanted to be everything Filipino

Like everyone around me

My freckles, made me different

It screamed hapa

Not from here

Not like us

Not like you

I used to want to stay in the sun to get dark so that maybe my freckles would fade away, or blend in with my skin tone

They never did

I still have them

It took me years to accept my freckles

It took me years to accept me  

My grandfather, the root of who I am.

Born on October 20, 1920.

Married my grandmother.

A joke as a kid was he picked her out, took her with him, away from the poor province from where she was from.

She spoke a different dialect but learned to speak his ilocano dialect.

He was a karpintero, a creator, turning ordinary items into useful things.

A karpintero in the military. They took him everywhere.

He had six children.

And like the typical Filipino dream of wanting better for his family he brought them here, Where America’s Day Begins.

His youngest child was a girl.

And at age 66, 13 grandkids deep, on June 26, 1987, his little girl had me.

His greatest creation.  ;)

 

May 11, 2003 was the last time I heard your voice grandpa.

The last time I saw you, I don’t remember.

I don’t have stories with you. Not like grandma.

I have stories with her that could last five life times. Not with you.

But we have poker.

The game we’d play in the garage to pass the time. Sitting on upside down paint buckets.

We have poker.

Poker is more than a card game.

It’s life.

You play the cards you are dealt. You either love it or hate it. Either way you create the best hand you can possible make.

You make sure to keep a straight face as to not give away your faults.    

We turned it into a gamble by evenly distributing a couple pennies from the 5 gallon jar we put all the pennies we found in.

Poker, life, gamble, can’t possible gain something without eventually loosing something in return.

[A lot of my writings go undone, mainly because I can’t find the right words to say. My stories stay unfinished in a notebook and after some time has passed I revisit it to see if I can find a finish line. This is one of those stories. In my head I know what I want to tell you but finding the words to get it across is difficult. I share this because I wanted to dedicate a piece for my grandpa’s 10 year death anniversary. And playing poker with him is a pastime I remember vividly.]

We celebrate the life we have that you made possible.

 

When personal space no longer exists, we family.

Spent the morning of moms day visiting grandma at Our Lady of Peace. It's funny how loud we get every time we check out the cemetery. How many looks we get from other people visiting their deceased fam. But we never gave a fuck. We bring the party where ever we go. And grandma enjoyed the noise we always made. 

Damn you, Buddy.

“Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this,
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
without jumping.
I have realized that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it.
That we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.
That if our hearts
really broke
every time we fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m havin’ a fantastic time.”

—	Buddy Wakefield, We Were Emergencies.

As a youngin I used to rock over sized T-Shirts, sometimes I'd wear 'em backwards, sometimes inside out. Rap duo Kriss Kross were to blame. They may of not made a dent in Hip Hop's life but they did in mine. 
RIP Chris Kelly