Roaches Digest

November 14, 2020

Taken June 8, 2015

On June 8, 2015 I walked up on the roof of my mother’s house in a small coastal city called Dipolog. It was my 25th birthday and I was exhilarated standing in the wind, 3 stories up looking at a lovely sunset and imagining myself walking along the little boardwalk, maybe with a bubble tea in hand. I’d never been to this little city before. My mother moved down to the southern province of Mindanao after my youngest sister’s graduation and subsequent relocation to the USA. An additional plane ride from Metro Manila this Island holds great significance because it is the province of my birth.  I found myself at the very norther area instead of the very southern port city of Zamboanga, the bustling city of my birth and young years. Stepping off the plane and smelling the sea-salt felt more familiar than it should’ve. 

I write about this little experience in a song called Dipolog: 

I know I’ve never been here before this days arrival // but the salty wind that birthed me moves my hair. 

I remember stopping to take this photo of Mother Mary obscured by laundry on the line on my way to the third floor. The truth behind this photo might be something like: the mystical, morthering, courageous moments are sometimes folded into the mundane parts of our lives. 

For me, I didn’t have to look for a folded in Mother Mary, inspiration of the moment was right in front of me. I felt like I was home and at the same time somewhere mysteriously new.  

As the seasons change here (first in Ohio and now in North Carolina) to the colder weather I am always thrown back into the nostalgia of my tropical Philippines childhood. 

 It’s been over a decade since I left the PI for my adult life adventure and I still feel like that tropical girl with no shoes peaks out this time of year. I want to share a song about feeling cold and old and homesick because that’s part of what this time of year always brings up for me.

Dipolog Boardwalk

 I wrote this song on a cold night in December back in 2009 when I was less than 6 months back in Ohio for college. I had one pair of winter socks and one hat to my name. I was sitting on the floor of my dorm room (my roommate was often out with friends giving me ample time to brood and play) and I wrote Roaches Digest. I wasn’t sad to be in Ohio yet I missed my Manila terribly. It was the deep and mysterious tug0-of-war that has happened to me during all these big life changes: the feeling of being two places at once, of being stretched to feel what are often seem like opposing emotions… but they often mix so well don’t they? Who hasn’t cried bitter sweet tears? I’ve cried enough for both of us… 

Last verse of the song goes: 

It’s walkin’ in your house 

and you know exactly where you’re at 

and you’re feeling kind of down 

and your mama sees the frown 

she takes it off your face 

and throws it out the door 

for the roaches to digest 

and your head lays on her chest… 

and you’re home. 

Now I’m pulled back up to the picture of mother Mary folded into laundry lines above. We haven’t all had kind, loving or healthy mothers/maternal experiences (I am thankful to have a best friend of a mother who truly could hold me and love the frown off my face sometimes). But there is a maternal nostalgia I feel for those innocent, playful, tired, sad, etc. times of childhood. I hope regardless of your experiences, that this song can take you somewhere that you feel safe, some place that’s home. 

Until soon, 

Remona Jeannine