Oh How To Find Silence In The World

Being spotted in the color of skin, why I take care in San Francisco, waiting for the bus to Iowa. They say racial prejudice is strong, Negros and not whites kawawa, and because of this they will revolt. I shiver and shiver from fear and hunger because I just landed from Tokyo. A Negro came into the station— naka-African hairdo; he holds a small whip: it’s scary to look, so I did not look at him. Kumakalansing the metal on the strings of his shoes and he shouts, “Peace, brothers!” Smiled showing white teeth. Looked at me— maybe he laughed at what he saw— a tiny dayuhan, dark and from some lupalog. Upside down my insides went in fright and pulled a cigarette so the redness of my face wouldn’t show. I nahalata that the Whites there too were quiet so quiet, unable to speak in front of that Negro. Only when he left returned the normalcy in the station—others read again, neighbors gossiped again, laughter, the janitor sweeped again. After a while that Negro passed again two white Americanas on each arm, blonde, their beauty with no equal. The janitor stopped sweeping. I thought, “So this is racial prejudice.”