Covenant
Mason Y.
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The story was born during my grandfather’s last summer. If he recovered, he said, we should all visit his childhood home in Ilocos, Philippines. So he could have his goodbye. Traveling there the following summer, I found out that the land would sink from rising stormwaters within a decade, unprotected by a government still crippled by Spanish exploitation. We held a prayer service for the migrants who fled to America in hopes of safety. I thought about how quickly we cling to our faith, a remnant, however beautiful, of colonization. I published “Covenant” in The Los Angeles Review as its only youth-authored piece in 20 years. The title alludes to the promise God makes after flooding the world, and the disjointed dialogue blends into the narrative as if recalled from memory. It’s a story about climate diaspora, colonialism, and harboring faith while still searching for something to believe in.
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Creativity is confrontation. I carry thoughts that are oftentimes too painful or too confusing to bring to the front of my mind. They feel like physical weight. Thinking of them feels like burning. For me, creativity is writing them down, allowing them to tell a story, and letting them go.
