Last night I read a piece by Carlos Bulosan. The anthology containing his work states he’s the first and most important Filipino-American writer. The excerpt came from his book, On Becoming Filipino.

I wish I could describe his voice in my head as I read. I wonder if others heard the accents from the dialogue, as well as the narrative. I wonder if they could feel the longing for the two main characters – who lived along the West Coast in the WWII era – to become American.

It’s not that I internalized the piece; it’s that the piece exhumed and awoke something already within me, gently poking to make sure it’s still alive.

Reading that excerpt sort of messed with my head. I’m still trying to process it all.