After I fell, before I was saved

I found this. I wrote it for a creative writing class a while ago.

My Lolo always said, “I create my spirit.” His spirit liked sucking on fish eyes steamed with ginger and green onion. It snacked on sugar cubes sandwiched in salty rolls. It went to the Fish Market early on Sunday morning to get the cheapest catch. His spirit described love like an ocean filled with swimming turtles and tiger sharks. It taught me how to say “thank you” in Mandarin and “You’re welcome” in Filipino.

His spirit belonged there, among the thousand Islands, in between the skyscrapers, surrounded by the ocean.

His body died there, among the fish eyes and salty rolls, sitting at his kitchen table. His fish soup was still warm when they found him. He smelled like aftershave and garlic.

Manila liked the smell of garlic. She liked to talk about spirits in garlic smelling kitchens, filled with warmth and superstition. She went to cemeteries on All Souls Day with guitars and picnic baskets filled to the brim with fruit salad and sweet spaghetti.

Now, Manila likes to talk about how Jesus saved her from hell. Before she was saved, Manila lived in a house made out of natural wood and palm leaves. Now, she’s wants what she can’t have. She lives in a skyscraper with twenty eight floors and an Olympic size swimming pool. This is the Manila I know. She’s superstitious and seductive. She’s where my Lolo’s spirit lives. I imagine it roaming around, dancing between the skyscrapers and swimming in pools.

My Lolo always said, “There’s nothing more important than paying respect to the dead.” We paid our respects to the dead. We visited cemeteries on All Souls Day with our picnic baskets filled to the brim with fruit salad and sweet spaghetti.

Now, I don’t have time to pay my respects to the dead. I like to talk about how Jesus won’t save me from hell. Before I fell, my favorite book was the Bible and I knew what I wanted. Now, I want what I can’t have. I live in an apartment in Ohio, with florescent lights and centralized heating.

Ohio doesn’t talk about his dead or the existence of roaming spirits. He likes to talk about his unpredictable mood swings, and his Grandmother’s chicken noodle soup. He worries about his brother who is stationed in Iraq, fighting against terror. He doesn’t like the taste of garlic.

My Lolo always said, “Listen to your elders but never stop asking ‘why?’” I liked hearing him talk. His stories took me far away, to villages in China and to nature reserves in South America.

I heard every word, but I am not sure if I ever listened.

Now, that I’ve fallen I wish that I had.