By Filipina Storytellers Little Wing Luna (photos) and TheMitch Meñez (text)
Remember the beach? Remember the long car ride on that hot asphalt road? Your mother in the passenger seat, her left hand on your father’s neck as they quietly stared out into the open road, your brother asleep beside you in the backseat, clutching his Game Boy. And you remember yourself, 6 maybe 7 years old, sleeping off the excitement, staving off the urge to jump out of the car into the ocean’s cool embrace, containing in your small frame the pull of the universe to build a world from sand, gritting your teeth as you taste the barbecue grilling under the sun.
Little Wing Luna drinks like a fish and smokes like a chimney. She shoots, too.
TheMitch Meñez is always away. Never still. Still looking for herself.