Tag: Prescilla Dorado

Afya

Play by , , | March 4, 2012

Editor’s Note: In celebration of International Women’s Month, Dagmay is featuring a series of monologues about the status of women in Davao. These are creative works based on interviews with real women.

Character:

Afya: 18 year-old attractive woman. Wears hijab and loose clothes.

Setting: Inside a bedroom with an electric fan.

(A male voice is overheard) “Afya ha, dito ka lang talaga yan sa bahay. Hindi na maglabas muna. Basta, bantay ka lang talaga kapag makita na naman kita yan sa labas kasama yun si Tarhatta! Afya ha?”

(No one answers. Then Afya enters and slams the door.)

(male voiceover): “Afya?! Afya! Tai babuy Ini! Afya!”

AFYA: (shouting) Owai ba Ama! Hindi lagi ako mag labas-labas uy!

(muttering to self) Sige na lang balik-balik uy. Hindi lagi ako maglabas ba. Hindi lagi uy. Kahit gud gusto ko gud magpunta doon sa kaibigan ko kay manood kami nitong No Other Woman ba. Kinuha ko pa naman ito sa pwesto ni Ina kahapon sa palengke. Buti na lang kay nag- alis si Ina kay mag sambahayang siya nung tanghali na yun. Ako na lang muna gipabantay niya kaya yun, nakuha ko tong DVD. Gidugo man gud ako nun ba. Hindi pa talaga sana yun siya maniwala. Saka na siya naniwala nung nakita niya na nalapsan ako. Pero pag wala ako giregla nun, ngek! Pilitin ako mag sambahayang ba!

Continue reading Afya

To Mama

Poetry by | December 25, 2011

You look upset today Mama.
And I know why.
Do you want to hop on a time machine?
To get an abortion? A ligation?
Or a mere adoption if you feel forgiving?
 
Your brows, like two itchy bristly
black caterpillars writhed and met
as you tried to burn a hole
through my report card with your glare
and set me aflame.
 
But then you didn’t like the poem
I wrote for you as appeasement
For it used such apt metaphor
for your black-dyed hair that sparkles with dandruff
that outshines the star-sprinkled night.

You shouted at me, Mama, and I comforted myself
with the thought of your head
your sparkly flaked head shaking vigorously,
showering down bits of fake snow on the floor.
And you won’t have anyone to sweep after your mess,
but yourself, Mama.

—-
Prescilla Dorado studies writing at UP Mindanao.