Isabela Nicole

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By:Nicole Manzana

4916 Lowry Road,
Union City, California

Like a womyn
Greed stripped my home bare
Confined material memories of family photographs, furniture, into recycled boxes
I still hear the chilling sounds of ripping tape
Heavy weight
Boxes dropped
From the UHAUL
Left dusting away in my Uncle’s garage floor

Every living soul removed from inside of her
Each packed crowded in a home exceeding maximum occupancy
Seven people in a house built for four

From time to time I Google my address
Checking the status
Click on the first few blue links
Each popping up
Pornographic images of a vacated home
Strangers scrolling through each page

    Oooo a wide-open living room
    If the size of 1 Bathroom ain’t enough, she has .5 more
    Cozy bedrooms
    A kitchen to cook hot food..ooo steamy

Sickened by the strangers
Whose eyes enter private spaces
Who will never understand the life of my family
the people once there
I see it different

the front door thirsts for WD40
each rusty creak does not make me cringe
rather joyed for someone has arrived
followed by sounds of uncut canine nails pacing on the wood floor towards the door
Buttercup cries in joy with a nonstop wag
My mom enters exhausted from 10 hours of work
One arm wrapped with her lunch pal bag
Calling me down
“How was school today?”
Requesting a warm embrace
Running back up stairs
Stoves set high
The aroma of her warm cooking
More distinct on the second floor
As it hits my face
My father in front of the bathroom mirror over the sink
Singing his renditions of popular songs like
Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”
“Every night in my dreams I see you
    You see me ohhh I see you too!”
As he finishes moisturizing his body
Slicking his hair back like The Fonz
Before he puts on his nursing uniform
Concealing fear of mental patients not staying calm
I cannot forget about my brother Monz
Surrounding his small room
With themes of music
Posters
waking up to
Tupac
Aaliyah
John Coltrane
When not at work
He picks up his trombone
I can hear his
Melodious tone
Fresh produced beats
Prepared with personal rhymes
penetrating through my bedroom walls
as l lay in my covers taking the beauty
the warmth of it all

Now if strangers want the truth
Google does not have the answer
Sq ft dimensions
photographs
Prices

Will never be enough…

I
     My family

                  We are the only link

The heavy WD40 needed door slammed tight to insure its closed
Buttercup barking
Buttercup and the sound of her claws from her paws ready to approach you with a nonstop wag
Dishes clanking together on the dry racket after being washed that you can hear to the second floor
Cooking
The dryer ring ending its cycle
Pops watching basketball 
Pops watching “The Predator” for the millionth time on TNT
Mom watching Oprah
The bathroom fan is so loud
Monz and mines foot steps running really fast up the stairs
The sound of the shoe closet closed after my pops comes home from wherever
Monz making a beat
Monz playing a brass instrument
Monz playing the piano downstairs
Monz making a rap
Mom having a morning conversation with fam/friends in the morning before work 
Ma laughing on the phone
Ma sounding like she’s choking as she brushes her tongue over the sink 
Ma “ooootooosing” me and Monz
The the faucet being shut off
The tap of the toothbrushes to dry off
Pa singing in the shower in his version of popular songs
Pa singing in front of the mirror as he slicks back his hair
Ma and Pa flirting with their distinct laughs
Monz banging and yelling with Street Fighter
The spirit downstairs tapping the wood floor
The spirit that likes to touch my door knob
The creaky echoey sound the house makes in the high ceiling stairway in the middle of the night
Jazz
Hip Hop
Karoake
The morning news
Pa’s hilarious gibberish
Pa’s silly threats to make Buttercup “Pulutan”
Mom yelling for me and Monz to come down to eat
Watching food network
Marvin’s alarm system beep, followed by Buttercup barking because she recognizes it 
Marvin’s heavy knock on the door
Waking up to my dad saying good morning and calling me by my nickname “aboodooboodoo”  in his goofy voice excessively
Waking up to my pops counting my fingers one by one in tagalog to “make sure they’re all still there” like I was still a baby
Mom demanding the rest of the fam to do chores as she is running late for work
Monz opening my door to do the hilarious annoying sibling room visits to say something exciting or a sarcastic joke/insult
Everyones snores as I’m pulling an all nighter in the wee hours of the night
Birds chirping around the start between 4-5 in the morning
The sounds of children playing outside
The Ice Cream truck penetrating through to my walls
Sometimes Delaine Eastin or Pioneer’s school bell
Cars passing by Lowry road
The sounds of forks and spoons gathering rice and meat on the plate 
My constant thoughts as I lay on the bed of my own room
A warm silence 
Closing the front door behind you 

Last night concludes my youth. I slept in my house in Union City and my room for the very last time. 20 years full of memories in a space lost to the corrupt system of America. To only intensify how this move sucks is that my Lolo passed away two days before and my father has to help move and take a flight to the Philippines tonight. It’s been hard for me to focus on school because everything that I read goes back to my concern of the people that I love. I feel selfish stuffing my face in reading and writing to meet deadlines and when I go back home to help what I can do, it’s a bit depressing.

This system is crushing one of my worlds…

I’ve said this many times, but my father has never been “FIRED,” but laid off and had to be let go. He made cars, computers, fixed telephone lines, took care of your elders, flipped your burgers, delivered your mail, sold your art, painted your homes, and now takes care of the people marginalized in the society at mental institution. Separated by his parents for 13-15 years only to come home to their deaths. I don’t think I can do that… He told me before he left to the Philippines right before we went to Berkeley that you have to learn how to have a poker face as a piece of advice. Yet, as the wrinkles of his face become defined, the bags under his eyes start to bulge, and his body starts to pain I can see the truth. As he’s gone for the homeland, I hope he regains his strength and is filled with love from the family he barely gets to see.

My Lolo gets buried on the 10th, we are officially out of UC on the 11th. Maybe it’s just a new beginning… I guess I’ll have to reunite with and meet all of my grandparents in the next lifetime. Mahal kita lahat…

My fight continues…