2020 June 3, 2:21AM

I published a book yesterday. (Today? Though I’m writing this at 2:21AM.) What began as essays about sex and dating as a gay Filipino immigrant became a memoir of unlearning internalized colonialism and racist love—work that’s ongoing and eternal. If you’d like to read The Groom Will Keep His Name, visit mattortile.com/groom.

It was a whirlwind 24 hours. Given the global pandemic and the rampant police violence at protests decrying police violence, specifically toward Black people, it’s been fraught, finding space for joy alongside the grief and rage. But my friends held me warmly throughout pub day. I received many bouquets of flowers—from Catapult, the magazine team, my group chats, and Alanna, who also sent me slices of pie for breakfast. I got a letter from Rach (she’s been practicing with her typewriter) with a reminder to do something indulgent. 

So I got dressed, as a treat. Bianca sent me dinner by way of one of my favorite restaurants, Bonafini. It was Tita B’s gift, but there was no note on the delivery, so I thought the kitchen staff just sent it over themselves. There was a Sharpie message on the paper bag: “Caro Matt—congrats on your book {just ordered mine} Love, Bonafini”

For my (virtual) launch event, I had a fantastic chat with Bowen, while many of my Vassar and BuzzFeed friends were in attendance. Bowen and I talked about doing away with expectations of Asian American silence, and standing in solidarity with Black folks and the Black Lives Matter movement—and also Lady Gaga’s “Babylon.” 

It’s my favorite track on the album, I think. As much as I love “I’d rather be dry / but at least I’m alive,” there’s something resonant to “battle on / battle for your life,” which I realize is a mondegreen. She actually says “babble on.” My brain wanted her to tell me, I suppose, to keep fighting.

Through a book giveaway-fundraiser, Groom readers raised $345 (which I’ll be matching for a doubled total of $690; nice) for Reclaim The Block, the Brooklyn Community Bail Fund, and Frontline Feeders Philippines. The former two have asked that we redirect funds, as they’re rightly overwhelmed with donations. In the morning, I’ll find some other orgs to support, smaller ones like Asian American Organizing Project; if you have suggestions for Asian-led groups doing work in solidarity with Black organizers, let me know. I’ve also drafted emails to send New York reps, urging them to repeal Section 50-A. I took Wednesday off from work, so I’ll try calling too. 

Overall, on a personal level, I had a wonderful day. But June 2 began with a tearful phone call with my stepfather at about 1:30 in the morning. I wanted to tell him and my mother that it was Groom’s pub day, that the day she promised she’d live to see was finally here. But I couldn’t speak to her. 

No one can, my stepfather said. She has now consistently been unable to speak. What we assume is the brain tumor has taken away my mother’s greatest gift: her speech, her expression, her eloquence. The bedrock of our relationship as parent and child has always been communication. But now, we don’t get to babble on, as it were.

My last conversation with her happened a little over a week ago. I was telling her about how nervous I am about the book, how much I love her, how sad I am that I can’t be with her because of the pandemic. Her speech was slow, slurred. She could only say three words: I love you.

This year, the June 2 that we got was not the June 2 I’d hoped for my book—my book about disentangling an anti-Black colonial mentality, about the loves and losses of my life, about my mother. However, as Ashley told me on our phone call this morning: “The timing is not perfect,” she assured me, “but it’s a perfect book for the times.”

Battle on.