There in that new coast, I learned She had not built this dam in me. Even alone, I am flooding at the seams. I am drowning, Mother, it was a new sea. And all I want—God, all I want— is to sail to her warmth through the dark, to find the shore where she still awaits, and pour myself into her hands.

The flawed walkways taught me soon enough, I am made to be agile and nimble. It wasn't too hard to memorize the road. No older than fifteen, I was told I was small by the sidewalk that narrowed. And when September came, Jose Mari Chan would find his way back. Singing in new speakers and old radios notes dancing in the parol workshops which lined that Old Cabuyao Road. Stars are waking up then the light glows.