after watching Mike de Leon’s Bayaning Third World(1999)
I wish to be a celebrity
the moment I die.
Scholars would rush to my
mother asking for my manuscripts
and she would sell them like
old newspapers to a junk shop
Critics will get published (and paid) just to
look for solutions to their generation’s
problems in pages where I wrote
my adolescences angst.
Film makers would reconstruct my
life based on accounts from teachers
who hated my ideology and past
lovers I killed time with.
Admirers would regret I wasn’t
able to share my writing habits,
or the novels that deprived me sleep,
and the poem that made me cry.
I wish to be gone when this race
turns another simple man into a myth.