My Lola’s mother’s darker lips are the lips I had tried to hide. They were always a painful reminder of the Pinay I loathed inside. “I want your brown and luscious lips,” a friend of mine once said. Upset that they couldn’t be scrubbed pink, I painted them red instead. My Lola’s mother’s darker lips are the lips that I had kept shut. We were commanded to never talk back, “You must obey and always stay put.” When I knew things were wrong I would let it all pass and keep my head down low. It was always easier to not make a scene and just let everything go. My Lola’s mother’s darker lips have started to open up. They’re ready to sing, to scream and shout, to be heard and to disrupt. Our ancestors’ eyes and ears have seen and heard far beyond what was needed. Unlearning centuries of colonization, it’s time to answer the calls left unheeded. My Lola’s mother’s darker lips are now my own to speak with To heal multiple generations of trauma, in Tagalog, Spanish, and English.