You once asked me how it feels to 

live far from home, 

and I told you in Cebu, the first 

words I learned wasn’t maayong buntag—

but amping. 

I didn’t belong here. 

the jeepney signs looked like 

riddles,

the jokes slipped past me in 

another tongue.

Even the rain spoke differently 

as if each drop translated 

something I could never quite 

catch.

After hangouts, when the night 

got too soft for goodbyes,

we’d stand by the curb, watching 

jeeps glitter with their tiny red 

lights. 

Someone would shout

Amping!

And the one leaving would shout it 

back, 

voices tearing through the wind 

until both of us pretended

we didn’t hear the distance opening 

its jaw.

It was supposed to mean 

take care,

but I swear, that night, felt like a 

small salvation. 

Then came the rallies,

the streets rippling with chants, 

the kind of noise that feels holy 

because it demands to be heard.

Sirens clawed the sky open;

boots cracked the pavement.

Someone’s hand caught mine,

and before disappearing into the

rush of bodies,

he hissed,

Amping.

I didn’t run. I froze.

That was the first time I heard 

the word spoken

like a last prayer. 

Later, I learned amping

traces back to Martial Law,

When leaving could mean never 

coming home. 

And then, the earthquake.

The night broke apart like glass.

I ran barefoot, the streets folding,

the city swaying as if it were dizzy 

with its own pulse.

From the dorm window, 

everyone called out,

Amping mo!

The kind of care that didn’t 

need names. 

So you cling to it,

as the earth shivers beneath 

your feet and 

you’re tremors

away from your mother.

Since then, I’ve carried amping 

like a talisman. 

It slips from my mouth 

after every class, after protests, 

after nights that end too soon.

It follows me through

jeepney fumes and

the humid air of Colon

through the gentle ache 

of being somewhere

that never truly becomes yours.

But amping

somehow does.

It stays. 

So now, when I say amping,

to friends, to strangers,

to anyone walking away

I mean it the way Cebu first 

meant it to me

May the world tremble,

and may you still stand.

May you live to be seen again

as find your way home.