February 9, 2016To the Red Fire MonkeyJonel Abellanosa

Ama*, papa’s mom who loved me more than anyone,

Blamed the year I was born—1968—her ethnic

Chinese biases answering why unruliness ruled our home.

Disciplining me was possible when she’s not around,

Every now and then belt coiled round papa’s hand. Her

Firstborn, papa’s elder brother, tied my wrist to the

Grillwork after I instigated my younger cousin to

Hose the floor with our piss. Uncle must have known

It was a mistake when Ama arrived home. What he did

Jerked the dragon in grandma’s heart and she fumed,

Knifing her eldest son’s authority with scary scolds. “Your

Love for that monkey is spoiling him!”—I remember

My uncle’s words as he argued. My grades began to

Nosedive, report cards decorated with red numbers

Of failing marks, papa and mom like patrons of the

Principal’s office. Nicknamed “Monkey,” I skipped

Quizzes, classes. Forward ten years or so and I was a

Red as shiver junkie smoking for decades, my life like

Siesta hours of childhood that seldom knew silence.

This year, 2016, how many children, born of red and fire,

Unleashing monkey business as homage to you? How

Vicious can playfulness be? Red and Fire seem

Worse enough. Add Monkey to the mix and all

Expectations fly out the window like banana peels,

Your year guaranteed with the funniest brow raisers,

Zaniest behaviors as cure-all for conformists