Globalization (a poem)

The people of the world
Are merely Rubik’s cubes,
With infinitesmal combinations,
And grids of one color
Grow ever-rarer
As time marches on.

And what am I, but a unique combination
Of several genetic lines.
My mother’s father was a Texan,
His family from across the border.
And her mother? A Spanish lady
From a tree transferred from Basque
To these damned islands.

My father’s parents
Could not be any more different.
Star-crossed lovers in Vigan
A young man, with a squandered inheritance,
His father’s vices ruined him.
And a young woman, a Crisologo,
As opulent as could be.
Their ties in marriage brought them
Down south,
To San Juan.

And now, here I am,
An amalgamation
Of at least four cultures.
Perhaps, an identity crisis is at hand.
It is something I have never thought of
For Philosophy and writing have overtaken me.
Perhaps, one day, I will see
How exactly my family has shaped me.

But for now, I say,
What makes me?
American English,
Spanish swear-words,
Filipino attitudes,
Feng Shui,
A semi-Christian background,
And music from all corners of the world,
I guess.