One night, I figured out that I could listen to Lea Salonga in the dark before bed, even when my grandparents and aunts slept with me on the seagrass mat in our common room, under a giant mosquito net. If I pressed my ear against the tape recorder’s speaker, I could play “Small Voice” low enough that I wouldn’t disturb them but loud enough that I could hear. I mouthed Lea’s words when she sang and found to my wonder that the direct contact between the speaker and my ear formed a connection between Lea’s voice, my mind, and my mouth, so I felt the eerie sensation that Lea was singing through me, as those wondrous sounds vibrated inside my body. For a moment, it felt as if I was Lea Salonga herself, and that feeling made me want to be her, so much that I wouldn’t mind being a girl if only I were blessed with her voice.

—

The next afternoon, after she had finished her chores and the sun was no longer too punishing, Nanay Coro took me to see relatives on the other side of our village. My grandmother used an umbrella to protect me from the sun, as we left our house and walked down the dirt road that ran through our hamlet of a few hundred people. We passed the town chapel, a couple of sundry stores, and porches where mostly men and a few women whiled the day away playing billiards or cards. Nanay Coro greeted everyone and encouraged me to do the same, though I tried not to be overly enthusiastic so we wouldn’t end up lingering too long.

Our neighbors were used to me by then, not like in other towns, where children and their mothers often ran after me to touch my hair and skin. Still, several women we passed exclaimed, “He’s so white!” when they saw me. I’d learned to take my special place in our village for granted, how I could command attention just by showing up, make people squeal or clap with a cute expression.

One of the houses on our path belonged to Nanang Lita, a distant cousin of my grandmother’s, who had a twelve-year-old son named Jembong. We found him sitting on top of his mother’s cement porch balustrade, in bright blue shorts and a thin, sleeveless shirt, one leg on the railing and another swinging down to the ground, supporting himself with one hand behind him like one of those pinup girls I’d seen in Papa’s magazines.

“Have you found a boyfriend yet?” Nanay Coro teased as we passed.