“If you want to be a good writer, you have to know what the bottom looks like,” my godfather told me as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips. Rain was pounding down outside, the humidity disappearing with the strong blast of the A/C. I looked him in the eye and nodded, because after two weeks in the Philippines I knew exactly what he meant…
I can’t speak Tagalog. When I first moved to Canada it only took me three weeks to drop my mother tongue, and adopt English as my own. My parents never corrected me.