[Translations made from Tagalog]:
To which my mother’s family 
thinks they are advising,
“You don’t need that
You’re not going to use it,”

“it,” referring to 
my father’s family tongue
as if it isn’t a 
proper noun,
as if it isn’t worthy 
of a
name.

To which my uncle
adamantly

lowering his voice
in the way that is 
supposed to imply 
assertion because he
is the he
and he is the 
elder
which are all  
assumptions I
despise:

states,
“Tagalog, 
This is the official language
Of the Philippines.
Your grandfather is
From Batangas,
Your grandmother is
From Bulacan,
We are
Tagalog,
We are
Manilenyo.”

[Translations from this point on made from Cebuano or Binisaya:]
To which I respond:
Fuck you
each syllable firing more
force than the pistons 
in my impatient 
leaded mouth:

I want to speak Cebuano.

in my broken pronunciation
skittering across accents
pressing within me,
regret burning from the
realization of lost years
my grandmother’s voice scolding,
Speak harder, Nana, speak rougher

I am not
from
Manila
because
I feel more close
to the sea.
I see my grandmother
and her sisters,
those three
loud, proud Marias, 
and I beam:

I am Cebuano,
And my language is

beautiful.
Keana Aguila Labra (they/she) is a published, Best of Net nominated Cebuana-Tagalog Filipinx poet, reviewer, and editor in diaspora residing on stolen Ohlone Tamyen land. They hope to foster a creative safe space for under-resourced and underrepresented communities with their online magazine, Marias at Sampaguitas. They're the author of two books of poetry: Natalie (Nightingale & Sparrow, 2020) and No Saints (Lazy Adventurer Press, 2020.)
header image:  Brett Jordan via Unsplash