Written Karacatures

I'm part of the third generation. Distant, clamoring over cheeseburgers from McDonald's and handheld Pokemon video games. Having my clothes picked up for me, not questioning who the dark-haired and dark-skinned woman not related to me was doing in my house, caring for me, bathing me in hot water, and speaking in a tongue I didn't understand. Her name was Abellina, but I called her Bell, like the Disney princess.

These were my roots and I was like everyone else. Safe, assimilated. At least, until I felt a strong heat causing unfamiliar sweat to drip down my back, hitting me like a sauna. And it was raining. My mom told me we were in the Philippines, in the capital called Manila. Apparently, I was filipino, not like everyone else back home. We were visiting my grandmother, who had an apartment. She was supposed to be rich.

But how rich could someone be with a small apartment in the middle of a congested urban forest? With the unbearable heat and constant pattering of heavy rains outside? With the noise of cars and loud people, all speaking Tagalog? With plastic wrap all over the minimal, carpeted furniture? With the time being in the day when it was supposed to be nighttime at home? But the worst part was the bath. When the dark-skinned and dark-haired women took me into the small bathroom, they made me sit. The tiled floor was cold; it would be better with the hot water. But when they poured the bucket over me, the water was cold. I screamed.

They asked me if I liked animals. Like the Lion King. And then they took me to the zoo once the icicle bath was done. When one of them held my hand, it was warm, but soon sweaty after a few moments in the humid air. I grimaced, but then I saw the first fence. Running to the fence and separating myself from them, my little fingers grabbed the rotting metal. My eyes peered through, hungry, and I found a creature. A brown horse, around my age, I think, because it was small. He met my gaze and trotted towards me. I was so excited, I barely even noticed the multiple little flies flying around his body. By the time I did, I winced and backed away in disgust. And that was when I noticed the smell too, a putrid smell of hay-based feces that surrounded him and his family.

His head drooped upon my reaction, turning around sullenly. But it wasn't for hay, because I could see the outline of his bones beneath his withering, brown hair, like his parents.

A scream, but it wasn't mine. I only screamed when the water was cold.