Dear God, hello.
Your errant kid who still sits at the back of church pews,
having trouble in the women’s section of your long dining table,
questioning the dress code, trying my best to chew with my mouth shut,
and also wondering if I am legitimate here?
Are my queer friends here too?
While I’m at it, can I also ask?
Is this a personalised course meal, or can we select anything from the menu?
Because my mother keeps on playing with her soup,
silently hoping that the next meal would come
before she scrapes the bowl dry.
All the while, my sister is being berated
for her impetuousness of having steaks
Regardless, i would like to say grace
for having the banquet table constantly filled.
We just ain’t sure if you like us to eat it.
I mean, we sorta developed
a post-traumatic disorder for picking
one of the fruits in your garden.
And because we are not sons,
we are double-shamed for every china piece
that got broken
for being too loud, or for liking something else,
or sometimes for forgetting to say
‘pretty please’ and ‘thank you.’
I even heard one of your boys say we ought to eat the crumbs
that fall from your table.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons why some
of us here have grown extremely meticulous,
trying to prove their worth by
depriving themselves of the joys of dessert.
While others just swallow what is given to them
so that nobody could question their presence—
turning a blind eye from predators who warn girls not to touch
that black forest cake
just so they can secretly pluck
the cherry toppers for themselves.
Still, i thank you for the abundance of fortune cookies
which you made available for each and everyone
who tries to find reason in the chaos that we made for ourselves.
They make up for the rest of the dinner conversation
while we all wait for You
to chime the glass bell.
I would also like to apologise.
I know it’s bad manners to tell you, the host,
these kinds of things.
I was taught to smile and trust that everything will be fine,
that this party is the best, and im sooo fortunate
for securing myself a seat,
but some of your close friends say
You’d appreciate our genuine feedback
Im also sorry for the times when I asked you for something
Only to change my mind
(i.e. my job)
Oftentimes I find myself not too sure
if my tastes have significantly changed,
or was I just influenced with what others are eating.
I don’t find milk as appealing as wine now,
but thank you for being aware of those nights
when i need my chocolate chip cookies
dunked in full-cream milk,
and for those aperitifs best paired
with your hand-painted sunsets.
Thank you for giving me time to chew
before I can fully swallow the magnitude of your presence,
for being invited to your party
despite my introvert tendencies,
and for seating me beside people
who have different ways of looking into things.
Thank you for letting
parts of you be embodied in metaphors
that we guests cannot fully grasp
try as we might.
And for not answering all queries or everything at once,
but assuring us that there is order at the head of the table
even though how far-placed my seat is to you.