I have been writing poetry and short stories since elementary school. My teacher would assign us to do one limerick and I would create over 20. Another teacher would assign a short story and I would write two. I wrote letters to my sister. In high school, I didn't pass notes--I passed 10-page letters to classmates. I kept a journal since I was 15. I have over 85 journals with an average of 200 pages each.
I wrote for the West Wind newspaper in junior high and then the school paper advisor convinced me to be an editor for the literary mag The Zephyr. I later wrote for the Vallejo Sr. High paper and wrote an editorial that won me accolades from the school principal, and literally saved my high school newspaper's editor's ass by clearing up the mess that a local city paper reporter created by making a non-event into a huge one.
I read in several cafes in Chico. My poetry has been part of a Muticultural Humanities and Fine Arts Club's art exhibit. I read my work on the college radio station and on the community radio station. I won a first cash prize for best essay with my poem "Anxiety Closet." I have been editor of the English Department's Watershed literary magazine. Later, I was published in two issues of Watershed. I have been in various Chico zines including Thrust Magazine edited by R. Eirik Ott, The Mask edited by Cristina Croooks, and CSUC's Women's Center's lit mag Her Own Voice. R. Eirik Ott brought a new type of poetry to the scene. He hosted Word Core open mics. I brought down the house with my poem "My American Tongue, My Ilokano Tastebuds" at one of his readings.
When I went back home to Vallejo, CA, I complained to a friend that I missed having a "community." I meant like-minded people who were into the arts. My friend Jacqui who was a Filipino community activist thought I meant "Filipino American community." Next thing I know I was reading to over 50 people mainly pillars of the Vallejo Filipino community--they were politicians, business people, reverends, etc. The theme was "Silent Truth." That was the title of the event. Being true to my artistic vision I stuck to the theme and read poems with taboo subject matter, especially to the Filipino community. I didn't get booed. Worse, no one said anything about my work. A few days later, I was walking along the Vallejo marina when a member of that audience, a man I remember being introduced as the senior board member of the Filipino American Social Services, looked at me like I was dirt.
I was dating a punk pinoy poet named Rupert at the time. Together we organized another poetry event. It took forever just to get a flyer approved with the Vallejo Unified School District. My friend and artist Ryan Omega created a wonderful drawing, but for some reason, they disapproved the picture. I ended up not using the drawing and created another flyer with just text. The poetry reading met with a modicum success. I did not get the the young people interested. I ended up with older people trying so hard to be hip. I was hoping that I would get submissions for my zine Pocketful of Misfits, but I didn't get enough quality submissions that met with my editorial ideas. I wanted a zine that would be a voice for the displaced youth--the type that had something to say, but would not go to a newspaper or lit mag normally. I wanted to create something revolutionary--something radical. Something anti-establishment. I ended up with abstract death/suicide poems. And yeah, the older folks trying to sound hip or funny. Yeah, I saw some gems, and I thought well, "maybe." Then I lost the nerve. And when I mustered the nerve again, I lost the money.
I began reading at Booklover's Haven in Vallejo, CA. It was the only sanctuary for poets that wree not part of the arts cliques or circles that seem to deter new blood or anything away from the norm. It was quiet and supportive place. Then I read In Company Wolves Cafe in Benicia, CA. This place was filled with gay punk kids who pretended not to have money. My gay male friend Bobby swore up and down that he heard me yelling obscenities at the top of my lungs into the mic. I don't remember doing such a thing. Then again, I have selective memory.
I read at an Asian American/Pacific Islander open mic in Oakland, CA. No one signed up to read for the open mic. I was a newbie from a different city. I was scared. The hostess said to read as long as I want. I felt so strange. I read almost everything from my stack of papers. When the featured poet finally showed up, I felt like I read more work than he did. It was truly mortifying experience. I did not want him to think I was invading on his turf. He was a queer pinoy poet/performer/writer, and I didn't want to diss him. But somehow I felt like I did him wrong.
Benicia's Roasting Company, Boadecia's Bookstore's Open Dyke Myke, Justice League's pin@y spokenword, etc. Alas, I finally read at my first poetry slam at the Erotic Poetry Slam in Berkeley. I read first as the sacrificial poet. I must've scored the lowest. I knew the women would show cleavage for days. I did the opposite. I wore exactly what a male poet would wear--the same shit he normally wears on any average day: t-shirt and jeans. I spent my entire life dealing with this friggen idea of being compared and contrasted to the talents and beauty of other girls as a pinay. There I was at a poetry slam, and I felt the same thing--this friggen beauty contest mentality. I thought I had the far sexiest poem, the far most challenging to perform piece. Yet, I scored very low. The audience disappointed me--they were far too predictable. I read them too well.
On Feb. 21 this year on my 32nd birthday, I read at Listen & Be Heard for the second time--the first time at Rafael's bar though. They changed location from the Fetterly Playhouse. The audience showed their love. It was warm and supportive. The men's work surprised me with their depth and compassion. Even when they flowed with their freestyle, they had a message beyond saying ho's and bitches and gangbanging. It was about love and observations of life. And I loved them for it--kuyas, salamat. Martha Cinader was impressed with my reading she said that we needed to give me a "title." She and Lecrecia were already hosting the show--there were already enough hosts. She was thinking about it. So, now you're looking at the new house poet for Listen & Be Heard at Vallejo. Rap stars put Vallejo on the map. Jaime Kennedy thought he put slam poets on the map side by side with Vallejo. Nah, I'm going for the big time. Yeah, Oprah...
I wish I could wish something for my mom on Oprah. But there would be nothing Oprah can do for my mom. My mother needs her soul to be cleansed. That's on my mom--no one else can do that for her. My mother is very devout and religious born-again Christian, but she's not in touch with her soul. My Piscean nature could sense this from her. It's like in spite of all her praying, she's still very broken and barely hanging on a thread. It's sorta like having a person go through mediation practice--they are soo focused on how they breathe that they forget the whole point of the meditation and that's to just BE.
You have enough, you are enough...just be...
