Heights Ateneo — The Official Literary and Artistic Publication and Organization of the Ateneo de Manila University

There Are No Walls Here, Only Time

Bea Racoma

In this glass you are whole as womb.

I tell my mother that I will break free of this house so

I can time travel with you along road of sunflower to

Commonwealth Ave. There, we breathe fireworks of

tambutso and make vows to rearview mirrors. Dread

oozes tendrils from the radio but who gives form to

sound waves anyway? I want for once to rejoice: today

is the day our cobweb chests resurrect in each other.

An obsolescence of love is a proclamation. There

is no speaker here. Inside your car the aircon sputters

hellfire. Inside your car repentance wraps around the

wheel like bakunawa redeeming appetite while we

fumble for suggestions of fantasy. Inside your car

Perfect might exist. Please—understand that she

and I are no longer the same. Understand that I know

now the difference between air cupped as sandcastle

bricks and true wild wind. Please: make

me home. This is not proclamation. For once could

you suppress the smoke, suppress the past that claws

its way up through artery and vocal cord, suppress

anything but the rebirth. For once upon a time we

knew what it cost to want and didn’t care. We held

the wanting so much we nailed it to the gallery

wall and expected obedience from the glass.

We didn’t even need an audience. We don’t need one

now. So please admire the glass with me again. We

can take the gray seats to the dining table and take

our place—driver and passenger, driver as

passenger, drivers-passengers both. We don’t need

to leave. Sit with me until we become remains

for the roaches. If we stay long enough we’ll become

paintings on the wall too. Or balete inhabited by magic

and myth even before they’re welcome within its root

encased trunk. Or fire tree devoid of red unless

there’s love. They’d make fire of us in American

fireplace homes. Home is where the hearth is; home

is where the heart is; home is where the earth is.

Unearth this home with me, will you, if not for the

fulfillment of making a home then

for the hope of it. Tell me it’s human to hope.

Tell me we can drive your car to the edge of

hope and dangle our feet over

the day. Tell me there’s still a way to give form to

the sound of this promise:

Halika dito. Payapa na.

Binabati ng HEIGHTS ang mga kontributor ng mga akdang inilathala sa ikalawang Regular na Folio sa Taong Panuruang 2019-2020

RICHELL FLORESJOHN GABATAEMMANUEL LACADINJEROME MAIQUEZREGINA POSADAS
SOLA FIDE RAMOSADRIAN SORIANOSEAN CARBALLOTOKADORMARK CAYANAN
PILAR GONZALEZMARIA LARGABEA RACOMAANDY REYSIO-CRUZCATE ROQUE
ZOFIA AGAMABRIANNA CAYETANORUBY DESCALZOPETE ROXASKERIMA SONACO
KRISTINA VALERAREGINE CABATOCORINNE GARCIACELLINE MERCADOMAHIKA REALISMO
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Heights Vol. 68 No. 1