There’s pride in sharing
And then there’s bowing down
To lust upon Hollywoodizing mythologies
my kababayan are eager to laud about
It’s easier to hate your own, hate your own, hate your own
Because you wait for the paint to turn to white
So you can appreciate them?
With what? A bigger pocket?
A better dress?
What to you makes a better dress?
One that submits to universal attention?
But they weren’t designed after Western values
They were made for your immediates’ eyes
You twist your tongue to sound like you come
from another village
and pity those who still talk like the previous you
How did you become this?
How did you end up believing
that you could not be proud of local craftboats ’til
the whole sea has gone roaring?
And then so hasty in claiming credit
by skin tone, like falsey thrones, by default association
when you’ve been, in the last two years
trying to not pronounce a name that doesn’t sound right to you
You ignored them. Did you not?
Before they made noise
Before the man with the different hair turned his head
Only when there’s smoke, you run
to the front lines
Greedy for a medal
you did not win
You do not shame them
No. You do not shame them
You are not capable of that
You do not tell them their work would be better made
in the hands of another