Trocadero She likes thinking that she met him at the Eiffel Tower. It had been, after all, just a few meters away across the street, so close that it looked as if you could almost touch it. So close that it looked massive in her phone screen. She was taking selfies at 8 a.m. when it happened. It was still uncrowded when she saw a man, disheveled in his Ville de Paris neon green jumpsuit, walk the path leading to the bench where she was sitting. She was unruffled, until he was

Longing It was during those nights when she couldn’t sleep that Marina usually felt the old familiar longing she’d come to know as a child and teenager. Longing, for her, was experiencing something you thought you loved and was finally yours, only to have it slip or snatched away from your fingers, disappearing from your life before you could enjoy it longer. One was a secluded beach in Antique, at the northern regions of Panay province. Instead of sand, the beach had pebbles

Tourist Uncle Tinio always made it seem like a game, and Rizal Park always seemed like the right place for it. And they were always at Rizal Park. When Carmen came to live with Uncle Tinio and Auntie Fe, they went almost every afternoon, sitting on a different grassy area each time. “People-watching” was Uncle Tinio’s answer, whenever she asked what they were doing. “Look,” Uncle Tinio said one day, puckering his lips as was his way, towards the direction of a woman squintin

Marina There was a certain comfort about waking up to the quiet sight of curtains, sheer and still against the morning sun. Marina always took the soft light of post-dawn as a sign that the day will be gentle to her, that it will be effortless, to her favor and to her liking. A day of kindness, a day sans judgement. This morning was different: the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes wasn’t the immobile delicateness of her hotel curtains. It was Hai, sleeping like a b

Brother It had felt natural, moving to Hue City. Quang Tri was where his parents were, and there was where they would probably be until they die. But what was in Quang Tri for Hai, what was he to do there? Hang around his brother’s shop, do all sorts of repairs for the neighbors the way Binh had been doing for the past four years? Binh was three years younger, and like him, was quiet and preferred working on his own. Unlike Hai, he had an entrepreneurial streak and started a

Immigration She had been in line for more than forty minutes, willing the queue that snaked in two twisty lines to go faster. She had seen the inside of Manila’s NAIA airport, had seen lines like this once or twice in the news. It felt so different, being in the thick of it now. There were metal posts strung with flat ropes that told people where to line up, and for a moment, all she could see were the tops of heads and bodies in colorful clothes mashed up, shoulder-to-should

Hai There was something about routines, no matter how peculiar, that comforted him. It had not occurred to Hai, until Marina pointed it out, how odd his day-to-day habits were. Or how unusual his ‘normal’ day was. Six o’clock in the morning was the magic hour when it both ended and started. Six o’clock was when his shift as night manager at Muong Thanh Hotel ended, and six o’clock was when his day as a “marketing man” at the bus terminal began. Someone had told him that the c

Out of Town “I’m tired of this.” Uncle Anton flicked a careless gaze at the man lying still and unmoving on the floor, as if it was just another piece of furniture. Luis had been unconscious for three hours, and counting. “We should go for the bigger fish. Bigger money.” “But we already have this,” Carmen said, nodding at the pile of Luis’s possessions on their dining table. “This?” Uncle Anton let out a mirthless laugh. He picked up Luis’s iPhone, the latest model, and waved

Strong They took turns choosing their next victim. And in Manila Bay, it was easy: the sunset was spectacular and the coconut trees swayed cooperatively with the breeze, so the vibe was open, carefree. Carmen had never read a guidebook in her life, but she’d concluded that Manila Bay must be top of the list, because all tourists went there. It was the place to take photos, scope out local street food, hang out solo. She herself liked sitting on the breakwater wall, facing the

Twelve Round Fruits We wore polka-dot dresses, my mother and I, every New Year’s eve. She wore one religiously and without fail at the end of every year, the same way she made sure there were twelve round fruits displayed in a fruit bowl as that night’s table centerpiece. I remember the holidays as fraught with food shopping, though there were no new dishes or anything fancy—just the same queso de bola my mother was fond of, a special ham that everyone bought during Christmas