“I wouldn’t be a very good protestor if I left a damsel in distress now would I?”
“I didn’t know protestors were knights in shining armor now.” Lena quirks a brow, enjoying the way the other woman grins and teases in a way that makes her forget the sweat clinging to places Lena didn’t even know could sweat.
“Well, of course we are! We fight for those in need, have a strong set of morals, and take down bad guys when we can.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
Or: Lena joins a protest (by accident), Kara joins a protest (on purpose), and they still fall in love.
Author’s Note: since today is a “treat yo’ self” day for me, here’s the supercorp philippines uni au that runs constantly on my mind on loop. tbh i consider this fic pretty rough but i wanted to post something before the day ends! so, here’s a rough glimpse of life in metro manila during 2016! title from Anghel by The Juans (thanks to my babe for picking this!!!). translations for everything (including the title) at the bottom 💕
ngiti mo'y 'di ko na makalimutan
Lena may not be the best at speaking the language just yet, but she knows enough to know that the crowd marching the streets are not happy.
“Makibaka!” The front of the group yelled, signs and flags and fists raised under the humid Philippine heat.
Still, the rest of the crowd replied, “Huwag matakot!”
Lena understands the latter half of the chant, but considering her Filipino tutor didn’t really account for protest chants in her vocabulary, she doesn’t really understand what the entire call-and-response is about.
She can see signs—can hear the current president’s name being thrown around every now and then—but she doesn’t understand much of the local news even when she makes an active effort to watch the morning reports.
Which is a shame, really, because then maybe she’d know how to pass through the sea of protestors (boarding school never prepared her for this). But Lena was nothing if not stubborn as hell, so she squared her shoulders, tightened her grip on her backpack, and tried to weave through the crowd of angry, sweaty people.
Trying is as far as she gets, though.
“Marcos! Duterte! Diktador! Tuta!” the crowd chants around her as she finds herself moving forward with the group instead of through them. No one pays much attention to her other than a quick tilt of the head, but that also means that no one tries to make way for her to get through.
She tries the first phrase her Filipino tutor taught her, but her “tao po” is drowned out by the angry chants and yelling.
She marches for a good five minutes before she finally hears someone speak English.
“Oh, hi!” the girl is tall, tan, and blonde. Absolutely gorgeous and not very Filipino-looking, but Lena knows better by now than to guess someone’s nationality in this country. “Are you part of one of the youth organizations?”
Lena sighs in relief at the pretty friendly face. “No, I’m not a part of any organization. I’m not actually supposed to be at this protest.”
“Ooh, secret protesting? Respect,” the woman nods and Lena feels a little bit like she should just go along with it. The woman’s got broad shoulders and a dazzling smile and Lena’s pretty sure she could spend a whole day watching the way the sweat rolls off this woman’s sculpted arms.
But.
Lena’s also sweaty and hot and all around very confused and uncomfortable.
She thinks she can sacrifice this pretty girl’s respect (and gorgeousness) for the cold comfort of her apartment (maybe).
“I meant, actually, I’m not supposed to be part of any of this? I kind of got swept into the crowd when I was trying to pass through to get to my apartment.”
The woman pauses, brows furrowing into a deep cute crinkle before a lopsided smile twists her lips. “Are you telling me that you’ve been marching along this protest for almost fifteen minutes because you haven’t been able to walk your way out?”
Lena huffs and rolls her eyes before she pauses and lets that sentence play again. Smirking, she asks, “You’ve been watching me for fifteen minutes?”
The somehow blushes despite her cheeks already being red from the heat and she laughs awkwardly, very obviously caught. “I mean—not, like, stalkerishly. I was just—I noticed you. Cause, like, you look new. To this whole protesting thing—which I was right! But not like I thought. So. Not a stalker!”
Lena laughs, endeared and a lot less bothered by the heat when it looks so good on this woman. “I’m teasing, but thanks for the assurance. Now, can you help a girl get out of a protest march?”
The woman taps her chin with a hum. “I don’t know… All this teasing’s made me forget my north from my left.”
Lena does her best not to laugh, valiantly schooling her features to jokingly grumble, “Well, if you can’t help me.”
“Woah there, now hold on,” the woman laughs, smile wide as she shakes her head. “I never said anything like that. I wouldn’t be a very good protestor if I left a damsel in distress now would I?”
“I didn’t know protestors were knights in shining armor now.” Lena quirks a brow, enjoying the way the other woman grins and teases in a way that makes her forget the sweat clinging to places Lena didn’t even know could sweat.
“Well, of course we are! We fight for those in need, have a strong set of morals, and take down bad guys when we can.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
They share a laugh as they continue to march forward, comfortable despite the angry yelling all around them (Lena doesn’t bring up getting out again. She thinks she can handle a couple more minutes. They couldn’t be marching that far, right?).
“Oh, what’s this protest about anyways?” Lena asks after another few minutes have passed with the woman joining in the chants every now and then.
“Oh! You don’t—okay, so, like, how much Philippine history do you know?”
“Little to none.” She answers honestly. She’s read one textbook and a half to prepare herself for the move and that was about it.
“Right, okay, so, we're protesting Marcos's burial in, uh, the National Cemetery for Heroes. Normally, that’s the cemetery for, like, military veterans and national heroes and such, but Marcos—yeesh. He’s like, a Grade-A dickhead. Ever heard of Ferdinand Marcos?”
Lena shakes her head—no. At least, not that she remembers. The name sounds familiar, at least.
“Ferdinand Marcos is the country's ex-president that declared martial law, plundered the country into horrible debt that’s still being paid off today, and then was banned from ever returning to the country."
“Yikes.”
“Big yikes. But the new president is friends with the Marcos family—who also did a ton of shit stuff, especially the wife—and so he’s the one who declared that the ex-dictator be buried in Libingan ng mga Bayani.”
Lena was captivated by the way the woman spoke—passionate but casual and warm. She knew so much about the country despite looking a lot more like Lena did than the people she was protesting with, and yet she spoke with such a faint accent that Lena wondered if she grew up here. Wondered if the passion she had came from personal experience. Wondered about her past. Wondered if she could fit into the woman’s future.
A square shadow hanging over her head interrupts her thoughts, and Lena looks up to see the woman holding her protest sign over her head.
The woman simply smiles and shrugs. “For the heat.”
They continue to march on with the crowd for a few more minutes, the woman explaining a few of the chants being shouted and some of the organizations part of the protest. Lena learns that the woman is from the University of the Philippines—all the way in Quezon City. She learns that the woman is a journalism major and was technically attending the protest with some classmates, teachers, and friends. Lena learns that she grew up in California but that her parents used to work in the Philippines before she was born. Lena also learns that she’s been studying in the Philippines since she was in high school. But in the moment, the most important thing Lena learns is that the woman’s been marching for more than forty minutes and that the march is heading towards EDSA station to take a bus into Taguig City.
The woman explains, “It’s around a 40 minute walk.”
"Fuck,” Lena mutters, realizing she’s fucked herself into a corner all because she got distracted by a pretty girl.
“You okay?” the woman asks.
“I don’t think I can walk another 40 minutes.”
“Oh! Oh, right! I’m so sorry,” the woman apologizes, wrapping a strong arm around Lena’s waist and pulling her through the crowd to the other side. “I forgot that’s what you first asked me. I’m so sorry, really. I got dis—anyways! Do you need me to book a Grab?”
Lena blinks at the way a strong, sturdy arm had enveloped her one second and was gone in the next. She doesn’t really understand what just happened. But she isn’t opposed to it happening again.
“At-Miss?” Lena shakes her head, trying to get her bearings. “Ma’am are you okay?”
“Lena,” she finally breathes out after a long, slow minute. “My name’s just Lena.”
“Lena,” the woman repeats, her soft voice somehow audible past the last few protesters at the end of the line. “I’m Kara.” The woman—Kara—lets the word soak in the air before asking, “Are you okay? I didn’t pull you around too hard, did I?”
She bites her tongue from saying anything inappropriate and shakes her head. She barely knows this woman. She can’t just go around flirting with every pretty blonde girl she meets. Even if they have the sweetest smile and biggest heart.
“Good,” Kara sighs, smile flitting back to her lips before she pulls out her phone. “Let me book you a Grab. What address do I put?”
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I can book one for myself.”
“No, let me! I’m the one who forgot to help you even if it was the first thing you asked me for.”
“Kara.” Lena can’t help but smile—the name tastes sweet on her lips. “It’s fine, really. You’ve been kind enough to give me shade and keep me from getting crushed by all the protestors.”
“But—”
“Nope! No buts.” Lena pulls out her phone and makes a couple swipes and taps. “There, see? Grab booked.”
Kara puts down her phone with a roll of her eyes, a smile still quirking her lips despite the dramatic huff she just let out. “Alright, alright. But I’m staying with you until your ride arrives!”
Lena agrees, because she doesn’t actually want this day to end just yet despite knowing that she’ll be redder than a lobster for the next couple days. Spending this time with Kara was worth it.
They sit on a parking curb under the tiny shade of Kara’s protest sign and talk about anything and everything. Lena’s degrees, Kara’s sister, Lena’s latest engineering project, Kara’s last news report, and on and on they go until Lena’s ride arrives with a shrill phone call.
Lena pulls out her phone to see the driver calling and she answers just to hear the driver say the usual “nandito na ako ma’am.”
She stands and sees the orange Toyota Vios waiting by the side of the road. She waves at the driver to let her know she sees him before turning to Kara and ending the call.
“I have to go,” Lena sighs, hitching her bag strap higher on her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you, Kara. Thanks being my protestor in sweaty jeans.”
She’s teasing, but she means it as well. Definitely worth the sunburn she’s pretty sure she has.
“It was my pleasure, Lena.” Kara ducks her head, smile wide as she shrugs.
“I hope this isn’t the last time we meet,” Lena adds, already backing away towards the tiny sedan, knowing the driver can’t wait forever.
Kara looks like she wants to follow her. “I hope not either.”
And then Lena gets into the car, focus divided between the driver’s questions and Kara’s puppy-like stare.
With a sigh, Lena leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. She’ll just have to find an excuse to text Kara something one of these days so she could see her again. Yeah, that was a good plan. A solid plan.
Except.
Except, as Lena drove closer to her apartment and further from Kara, she realized she forgot to ask for one important thing.
Kara’s number.
Well, fuck.
She’s going to need a Plan B.
Translations (roughly done by me):
ngiti mo'y 'di ko na makalimutan - Your smile is something I’ll never forget again
Makibaka! Huwag matakot! - a common political chant used during protests. “Makibaka” means to get ready to fight or stand together to fight. In a number of instances it can also just mean “fight.” “Huwag matakot” means don’t be afraid/scared.
Marcos! Duterte! Diktador! Tuta! - another political chant that was originally “Marcos! Hitler! Diktador! Tuta!” in which ferdinand marcos was compared to hitler, a dictator (hence diktador) and also calling him a “pet” of the USA (tuta means puppy). In this new protest chant (which is real), Duterte replaces hitler to show that he’s just as much of a fascist dictator as the president he wants to bury in the national heroes cemetery.
Tao po - it’s what we say instead of “excuse me.” Although a direct translation would be “i’m a person” or “is there a person/human there?” (used to be asked/said to ensure that when you visit someone’s house or when someone’s visiting, the person who answers is actually human instead of a folk creature (i will not go into detail on that bc i’m a city kid so those stories were rare to me))
Libingan ng mga Bayani - National Cemetery for Heroes
Grab - Uber but not (uber used to exist here but I can’t remember if grab bought them out or they just decided to leave SEA???)
nandito na ako ma’am - I’m here ma’am/I’m here already ma’am
im at moms house. it kinda really sucks. i have such a strong association with you here that i might actually just start sobbing if i take a good look at our seat on the couch. god forbid i sit in it
