the phases of the moon: {m}33’s call for submissions
words by jo alvarado, jen co, paco reina, noelle bustria, and ardyel lim // video by ayana mora
this past year, our talented literary team cfs teamed up to produce a dynamic, mult-part spoken weird piece for our theme, babae(x). calling upon the imagery of the moon and its many phases, they explore the various cycles of introspection that accompany the nuances, complexities, and intersections of gender and identity. scroll below to get the full transcript of their beautiful piece!
babae(x) cfs
full moon
where does the mind find solace when words are not enough?
is it in the void of space?
that eerie black sky devoid of life- devoid of feeling?
that’s what some may say but
it is in this wholeness I find peace
when that full moon comes into bloom it is
so warm and comforting,
so subdued and gentle
an oddly cold, yet warm embrace
that I chase
every night
looking up at my window
it takes 29 days for the moon to orbit the Earth
only appearing in fractions of its full self
its beauty lying in its impermanence
i love you because
every single night you’re there for me
i feel your warm caress under the pale moonlight
holding me,
i want to remember this feeling for all the days I live
i want to ingrain this memory in my brain so that when I’m old and frail I can go back to it and
feel that warmth, once again,
i miss your touch but
nowadays I’ve forgotten the feeling
of that embrace
i’ve forgotten to look up,
maybe it’s because I’m changing
and I don’t recognize the way I was before,
i’m constantly searching for my own starlight so that I myself can shine fully
but now I’m waning— waiting to be whole again
waning
waning.
i am ever changing,
inconsistent by definition.
what to do on days when I do not recognize who I see in the mirror
what to do when those days are most days
-to be many things is to be nothing at all-
waning,
ever chasing
chasing the sun pulling farther and farther away
going full speed ahead just to get a glimpse of that light that burn
you know the moon
has no light of its own volition
just that of the sun bouncing off of its skin
and so I see myself
waning
the mess I’ve made the glow I’ve left behind
and I wonder if I’m any different
if any of this is truly mine
waning
feigning
because how can i be loved wholly if nothing ever feels the same
--you tell me that you know me, and i wonder if there is anything consistent here to be known--
waning
dwindling, diminishing, shrinking,
configuring myself to each new phase
indecision, pulling and pushing the tides away
they tell me i am inconsistent
they tell me i don’t put in enough effort
they tell me i’ve changed
always always
always i’ve changed
but you know i did not choose this
to be valued based on my ability to be measured
to stay the same
to be understood
i did not choose this and it is not fair
that i would be valued on consistency
buzzwords, ratings
easy to describe and easy to contain
in orbit for your viewing pleasure
waning
waiting
and yes
ever changing.
blood moon
where do words flutter when they have escaped the security of breath?
do they take shelter in the corners of basement back thoughts?
do they diffuse into the comforting blanket of expired air?
do they cling onto the minuscule stretch marks of our lips?
i hope mine hibernate in the coldest places of your soul and warm your heart when I am not there.
i want to embrace you so hard and so tight that your skin feels naked without my hugs.
i want to fight every bed monster to the death, and celebrate each sweet dream with you as if i earned a purple heart for to stripping the nightmares from your imagination.
i am yelling in a room where my only company is a radiant silence,
a reminder that my love letters have always been interrupted by self-criticism,
by biting insecurities and clamoring anger that shushes every symphony that I hope will commence the musical of my life.
my name means heavenly, and yet i am falling
and falling
and gravitating
and descending,
collapsing into the earth.
but strangers do not see that.
rather, they see sunsets: pomegranate stains kissing a skyline.
the same stains that drip from my fingertips after pulling apart every fiber within me, hoping that you see the constellations. Hoping you are starstruck with my achievements.
and isn’t that a woman’s paradox? to bleed beautifully. to be a sunset for others. to be blood moon mothers.
radiant silence, I am praying that the red shadows of the blood moon hibernate in the coldest places of my soul and warm my heart when sunsets are not there.
eclipse (babae ka, hindi babae ka lang)
babae Ka, Hindi Babae Ka Lang
nang dahil sayo
naisilang kaming lahat
naisilang ang isang buong henerasyon
naisilang ang buong pagkatao
naisilang ang aming mga pangarap
babae ka, Hindi Babae Ka Lang
nang dahil sayo
naitatama mo ang mga mali
naiwawasto mo ang mga maling sinasabi
natutugunan mo ang pagkukulang
kaya babae!
huwag kang matakot, mangamba, o mahiya
dahil sayo, naaaninag namin ang kagandahan ng buwan at araw
araw, araw araw ka naming nakikita
buwan, buwan buwan kayong dinadatnan
teka teka parang may mali...
hindi lang ang kanyang kasarian sa baba ang magsasabi kung siya ay dadatnan
kaya babae!
ikaw ay malakas, hindi lang maganda.
hindi ka lang Maria Clara ng nakaraan
ikaw ang modernong Maria Clara ng Perlas ng Silanganan
siyam na buwan sa iyong sinapupunan
dinala mo ang isang sanggol na walang muwang
kaya babae!
kahit hindi mo kayang magluwal ng sanggol
pakatatandaan mo
na ikaw ay babae, kahit ano pang sabihin ng iba.
kaya babae!
mabuhay ka!
malakas ka!
maganda ka!
new moon
the moon refuses to give up the day
and i think
that we can all learn from that--
and understand
that nothing is ephemeral,
always cycling forward,
revolutions in space,
until our stories become a great and glittering constellation in the sky.
and there is hope,
i think,
in the way the moon
knows that it is beautiful even in its absence,
the way it understands,
that progress is a cycle,
the way it learns
how to make itself whole again,
hopeful and bright and new.
simple as the first of everything that mattered.
a new renaissance begins,
just like it always does.
i look up
and see the love spell cast over us
derived from the fluorescence
of our ancestors’ celestial lives--
my mother,
and her mother,
and her mother before that,
and before that,
and so on--
each blinking star a fragment of this ongoing legacy,
epithets engraved,
their past conversations written above our heads.
their voices echo
from the beginning of the universe
to me
and i will carry it as far as i can go,
writing this narrative until my pen runs dry,
singing their hallelujahs until my throat grows raw,
and it will continue on
til the end of the earth.
and the story
goes on
and on
and on.