"Tonight felt like Brasil."

Tonight felt like Brasil. 

The sky looked like Brasil.

It smelt of campfires, sunburned skin and fried cheese.

But I could only hear traffic, and not even the right kind of traffic

which drives on dirt roads, or over three foot high speed bumps

that would flip over any poor driver

who preferred texting to driving.

Tonight felt like Brasil.

Now, mind you, I haven't been to Brasil for five years. I don't know if it still feels the same. It might've changed. And that was only one part of Brasil. One small, yet incredibly detailed part of Brasil that has not left me. That cannot leave me. That will not leave me. I have found home there. 

But Brasil might not have affected me if it didn't first remind me of the Philippines.

The plane landed. We got our luggage. We slid into a pickup truck; I'd never felt more at home. I was stunned: how can I feel at home when I've never before been here? How can I feel at home when I hadn't showered for seventeen hours? How can I feel at home? How can Brasil remind me the Philippines?- another home which my mind's eye can only see with blurred vision. Sitting in the pickup truck I was almost upset that I felt like I was in the Philippines? What does the Philippines have in common with Brasil?

The orange street lights. The dirt roads. The dark, sunkissed skin. The concrete walls, gated with rusted metal and protected by electrified barbed wire. The stray dogs. The street vendors. 

I haven't been to the Philippines since I was in first grade, and I hardly remember that trip. I remember the previous trip and during that trip I was barely four. 

And here I am, sitting in my room, wondering what my next destination will feel like. 

If it would care to feel like New York City or Montreal. 

Maybe one day I won't feel like a native. I'll just be a native.

truck ride- 032409

"are you ready? let's go! there's no room in the front," he said. "ride in the back."

"yes, ma'am! yes, sir!" i was hesitant no more (aHA!) here we go.

i jumped in, sat down, and smiled and laughed.

packin' ten people in.

no seatbelts, lots'a gas.

flashing cameras, bumpy roads.

starry night, flowing hair.

passing cars- so illegal!

"don't fall!" she screams.

"oh, i won't!" i gleam.

say a thankful prayer as them street lights turn on.

wave your arms around like the foreigner you are, or want to be.

hug your legs to your chest and masquerade the whole town.

move without moving, defining memories entirely worth consuming.

so daily, not productive in the least.

so daily? why not?! break down, have fun! throw your weight around!

drive through dirt roads and paved.

relax! you're in good hands, salvation’s holding your oncoming grave.

what’s that? hold up! shut up! lay down.

can’t stop. why stop? y'a got'a inhale, exhale- breathe deeply, grip quickly.

say one more plea, say one more prayer.

it's almost over, close your eyes- mm! dream a little dream! my little dearie, let go.

we're slowing down.

no seatbelts, less gas.

flashing cameras, soft grass.

starry night, frizzy hair.

parked cars, you’re safe- you've been safe. very legal.

"don't fall!" i joke.

"oh, i might!" she croaks.

"there's no room in the back," he says, "get in front, this time. no truck bed."

i laughed. "chick's lyin' dead."

"am not!" she chokes. "your sanity's most broke!"

"yes ma'am," i agree. i salute. "but i'd do it all again, most gleefully."

shall we repeat?