With the Help of AI technology here's "Ninety Summers Ago" written as a reflective poem, capturing the essence of my journey, memories, and identity as a Filipino Becoming An American:
Ninety Summers AgoNinety summers ago, and still I rise,
With morning light in aging eyes.
The sea before me, calm and wide,
Chateau Du Mer, my soul’s high tide.
I sip my brew, Kapeng Barako bold,
The cup is chipped, the hands are old.
Yet still they write, still they tend,
To stories that refuse to end.
A boy from Barotac, barefoot, free,
Who climbed guava trees in memory.
The eldest child with dreams so wide,
Who crossed an ocean with love as guide.
Becoming American wasn’t a line,
Drawn in a passport, signed in time.
It was laughter in two tongues heard,
It was poems shaped in every word.
It was loving Macrine, my island star,
Raising children from near and far.
It was orchids blooming in foreign clay,
It was prayers said both night and day.
Now love is softer, slow and wise,
In wrinkled hands and misted eyes.
In caregivers who smile and stay,
In old men flirting like it’s May.
At ninety, grief is a gentle guest,
That sits beside me, lets me rest.
And memory is not sharp or clear,
But warm, like voices I still hear.
You cannot kill a cactus, they say—
It blooms through drought, finds its way.
So too, this soul, though bent with years,
Still gardens hope, still dries its tears.
I write to Macrine in the breeze,
To Derek who cured age with leaves.
To every child who seeks their name,
In stories that outlive the flame.
So here I am, both root and wing,
A poet, father, wandering king.
And every line I leave behind,
Is love preserved, a life defined.
Salamat, Ginoo—my final toast,
For the life I lived, the ones I lost.
For ninety summers, vast and true—For the gift of becoming… and becoming you.
Meanwhile, Did You Know that......



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