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hysterialyywrites · 1 year

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the sun never sets on the amihan

— one.

My favorite thing about the Amihan tickets—and this is the part everyone sees, whether you’re taking the trip or not—is the way it disappears into the access gate’s ticket slot with a puff of gold dust.

A light ring echoes in my ear, not unlike the sounds the cash register makes at the local department store. I make sure to pay extra attention to the way the dust lingers around the slot when I cross the turnstiles, catching a whiff of petrichor in the air. Still on brand.

As I pass the gates and grab my ticket on the other side, the sounds of the late afternoon rush hour die down and disappear behind me as I look up to see an emptier and cleaner Katipunan station. People who’ve taken the trip say there’s a certain glow and brightness that permeates the scene—or perhaps the senses, like a filter—and it’s like you see the world in sunset.

Despite being underground, there’s patches and streams of soft afternoon sunlight that flood into the station, and you can only wonder where the windows are until you realize it doesn’t really matter. Everything is tinted in a warm, pale orange glow, which stands in complete opposition to the way the stations transform when you slot in a Habagat ticket instead: blue, somber, mellow. But the Habagat trains stopped running three years ago.

As I make my way downstairs to the platform, I see a number of people standing around the entrance markers scattered across the length of it, sure I can count the number of passengers on both hands. I make my way over to an empty marker to the far left of the platform, taking in the soft breeze and the smell of rain, and for a split second I’m convinced I’m dreaming.

As I wait for the train, my peripheral vision catches a lone silhouette to my immediate right. For a while I internally grapple with whether or not to make eye contact with this stranger. Eventually I relent, seeing as how there aren’t many fellow passengers about to board the Amihan. And people could use the little extra kindness. Especially here.

So I nod and send a small smile to the stranger, noticing the way he lets out a shaky breath with an accompanying wipe of his hands down the side of his smart trousers. I note the way his shoes and watch shine and the way he styles his hair with wax and the neat way he carries himself and I think about how this may be the only time I’ll ever be sharing a commute with someone like him.

“First time on the Amihan too, I’m guessing?” He greets, after a nod and a smile in return.

I give his character the benefit of the doubt when I don’t detect malice or mockery in his voice, though I’m sure any semblance of pride is stripped away when you’re about to take a supposedly humbling, life-changing trip. Getting an Amihan ticket does that to you.

“Yes,” I reply. But not really. Caught off-guard by the attempt at small talk and unsure of what to say to someone who’s obviously here with the hopes of finding answers (or at least a direction to an answer) to some personal, deep-rooted issues, I turn back to the tracks in front of me, feeling a little exposed.

“How long have you had to wait for your ticket?” He continues, obviously antsy. I don’t blame him.

“Around two weeks maybe.” I pause, wondering if I want to continue this conversation. I figured I might. “You?”

“Same.”

“You didn’t choose the Express option?”

He chuckles. “Is that how you see me?”

Shit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he interjects, shaking his head. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

I scramble to think of anything to say before he mercifully does it for me.

“I wasn’t in any hurry, if you know what I’m saying,” he starts. “It’s a little nerve-wracking, thinking of where this might take me. Some problems just aren’t easy to face, y’know?”

I nod, pursing my lips in understanding.

“Actually, after I submitted the form, I thought they’d cancel my request. I started doubting myself, wondering if I really was ready to…” He pauses, raises his hands to gesticulate. “To… confront that I needed to confront. Like I thought they’d sense my hesitation somehow. ‘Coz a lot of people don’t get these tickets y’know? And I thought that was because they—the DOTMT I mean—could sense the smallest ounce of fear in the decision. But I realize no one’s ever truly not afraid when they make these kinds of decisions, right? Well, fuck, I don’t actually know the criteria or how they think people are ready to take the trip but the point is—I wouldn’t complain if they made me wait a month or two or maybe even a year before they decided I was ready.”

He falls silent, thinking. I look at him properly and realize he’s probably not much older than me. Apparently not all that different from me either. When he doesn’t continue, I do.

“Well, the fact that you’re here now means that you are, even if you’re still scared.”

He turns to look at me and I find an unexpected expression of gratitude in the way he smiles at me, so small and vulnerable, before he realizes he’s showing a little too much for a first encounter and picks himself up again. “Thanks,” he says with a slight nod. “That… means a lot. Sorry, I was rambling.”

I smile back, small and vulnerable in my own way. “It’s okay.”

And as I stand there waiting for the train to come, I think about how nice it is that I get to share in this somewhat intimate space with a stranger on even grounds. We’re not here because of money, like how it would usually go. We’re here because of time. And that’s something that everyone has, which makes it the Amihan’s perfect currency, accessible to all. That is, if the DOTMT decides you’re ready to spend all that time on this trip.

We mostly kept to ourselves after that, and it’s minutes before I pick up the change in pressure in the air. The train is close.

“Oh that feels nice,” the stranger remarks. I look to my right to see him closing his eyes, basking in the cooler, lighter air. “Feels hopeful, doesn’t it?”

I was about to agree when the scent of petrichor thins out briefly before coming back as sea salt, and the breeze picks up as the Amihan rolls by in all its red-coated grandeur, gold dust drifting across the tracks, spilling onto the platform. From the front facade of the train, a painting of a beautiful woman—abstracted and made unique by her artist’s style—comes to life, traveling along the bold red surface of the length of the train, opening doors and welcoming us in.

When she stops at our door, she looks at me with a sad smile as I enter. She knows. And she closes her eyes and places her hand over her heart as if to apologize.

— two.

A year after they pulled the Habagat from operations, the Department of Time and Magical Transformations announced that they’d use the now abandoned Habagat trains for the Amihan, repurposing it to “take people to the future instead of the past.” After a year of stripping and recasting charms and another year of magic fitting and test runs, the Amihan was ready to run, and has been running for almost a year now.

The stranger and I part ways once we step foot inside the train, mutually understanding each other’s needs to process our own journeys separately. The moment I settle into my seat, still trying to wrap my head around how the train looks when it’s not filled to the brim by commuters trying to get home in time for dinner, I look out the window across from me and appreciate the way the sunset cast the whole of Metro Manila in a soft orange glow. It’s a sight much preferred compared to the Habagat’s 3 AM late night view: cold, desolate, lonely. Hopeless.

I sit in silence for a few minutes, my eyes closed, my mind wandering (sometimes to places I’d rather not revisit), until I hear a voice somewhere above me.

“May I sit with you?”

I look up to see a man staring down at me expectantly yet kindly, suddenly feeling my heart clench. He awaits my affirmation yet poses no pressure of judgement if I don’t.

Were we in the regular LRT 2 line, I’d have questioned his need to ask to sit with me when it’s a first-come-first-serve world. But maybe it’s the way the crows feet around his eyes crinkle to life when he smiles, or the way his skin stretches around his face when he speaks, or the way he holds his posture as he leans forward ever so slightly, looking for company, not at all unlike someone I knew, that I figured the company might do me—or rather, the both of us—some good. I keep my eyes on the floor in front of me.

“Sure, of course.”

I unconsciously scoot to the side to make room when there is virtually no need to, given the amount of free space around the train. But I like to think it a consolation to myself that it’s an act of my express desire to let him know that I very much welcome his company, if it helps me take my mind off of certain things for a while.

“You’re new here.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve been here…”

“A while yes,” he finishes with a small smile.

I choose my next words carefully. “May I ask… how long…?”

He laughs, and the sound echoes across the passenger car. A few people turn to look with varying levels of amused, relieved, or annoyed. Out of the corner of my eye, he shrugs, resigned. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to.” He gestures to the windows across from us. “The sun never sets on the Amihan. I’m sure you knew that. And the watches are useless too.”

I nod and purse my lips, looking down at my own. 5:46 PM. The second hand hovering still. “And time works differently for everyone on board.”

Some people have sworn they spent only fifteen minutes on the Amihan only to arrive at their destinations six months later, while some have said they spent what felt like two hours on board only to come back thirty minutes after they boarded. People have stopped trying to figure it out.

“You working?” The man asks.

“I am.”

“Good thing they let you leave indefinitely for this trip.”

I chuckle, remembering. “My boss said she’d give me a Christmas bonus if I come back before December.”

“She’s a kind heart, that one. Do you like your job?”

“It’s okay. I like seeing the people though. Makes me look forward to coming to the office every day.”

“That’s good. It’s hard to find a good job to settle in.” His face turns a little sad at the thought, but he shakes his head. “Your family know about this trip?”

I change the subject. “Do you not like yours? Your job I mean.”

“Oh… I did.” He’s quiet for a moment, twiddling his thumbs. A familiar habit. “They had to let me go though, when I told them about this trip.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I’m aware that different companies have different policies when it comes to trips like this, so I find it unfortunate that this man had to choose between his job and his journey.

“Ah, don’t be,” he says lightheartedly. “I understand why. And good thing they did too. I’m still on this train after all. Wouldn’t do well for the business.”

“And you needed this trip,” I said without thinking. “I mean, just like everyone else here, I think.”

He smiles. “You’re right. We all need this trip.”

We fall into a comfortable silence after, perhaps thinking. The painting of the woman from the outside is now making her rounds inside, greeting passengers with a comforting smile, blowing tears away with gold dust. I find myself entranced with the way she fixes the shawl of a sleeping elderly woman to my far left, her fingers pinched, moving in an upwards motion, never leaving the walls, yet the shawl hiking itself up nicely above the lady’s shoulders, tucking her in.

When she comes close to us, she looks to me with a sad smile once more, placing her hand over her heart, her head bowed. She turns to the man next to me and bows to him as well, hand still over heart, before she blows a kiss to the both of us goodbye.

This surprises me. I almost look at him. My eyes now glossing over the dirt on my shoes, I ask. “You’ve been to the…?”

“Ah, and I assume you have,” he says somberly. “No, but I have lost someone. To the Habagat.”

My mouth drops open slightly, unsure of what to say, of how to approach the subject. I settle on the default answer, feeling stupid and at the same time vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “No, I’m sorry. With the way she looked at you”—he gestures to the painting of the woman on the passenger car beyond us—“it must’ve been hard.”

I stay quiet for a moment. “When you said you assumed I have… how did you know?”

He gives me a knowing smile. “Well, I have been on this train for a while. Perhaps much longer than I’d like to admit. You end up talking to people, noticing a few things, finding patterns. Especially when a certain lady likes to circle the cars like clockwork.”

I look over to the passenger car to our right, Amihan drifting slowly and steadily across the walls, her eyes ever soft and gentle.

“Do you think it’s the DOTMT’s way of apologizing?” I ask, the bitterness in my voice slightly seeping through.

The man scoffs, takes my bitterness in stride. “Maybe. As if it solves anything.”

It’s silent again before the man continues.

“But sometimes… sometimes I like to think that it’s Amihan apologizing, not the DOTMT. She’s done nothing wrong, yet she still feels the need to apologize for her brother’s or her lover’s or whatever legend you’ve read… but my point is, she still feels the need to apologize for her counterpart’s actions, and the genuine look on her face when she does… there’s just something comforting in believing in that, even if it isn’t real.”

I did find brief solace at the gesture when she first did it to me outside the train. “I think I understand what you mean,” I reply. “But in the end… it’s not really the Habagat’s fault, is it? Because the people who stayed behind decided to stay behind,” I say, my voice hard. “But the Habagat always gave them the option to come back. It was just a matter of willpower.”

I look up at the man, his face tight with constrained irritation. My eyes widen, my regret palpable. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—I was just trying to be objective and—it wasn’t the right thing to say at all, and I—”

“No,” the man says sternly, clutching his hands together tightly. He takes a deep breath. “No, no, you’re… you’re right.”

Silence. He looks down at the floor. I wait—no, hope—for him to speak. And to my relief, he does.

“It’s true that people do come back on the Habagat. But you’re probably the only person on this train I’ve talked to who doesn’t blame the magic. Which I find surprising, considering you yourself have been on the train.”

Hoping to stall this conversation for as long as I can, I ask him first. “May I ask… who you’ve lost to the Habagat?”

The man sighs. This is not the first time he’s had this conversation.

“My daughter.”

I keep quiet, listening.

“Her mother and I… it was good while she was growing up. We were a happy family, no problem too big for us to handle, but… things just changed. Maybe it was the bills, the increasing rent. The taxes. The tuition. The fact that I’ve been laid off more times than I’d like to admit. And suddenly it was one too many fights, one too many late night shifts, trying not to lose another job. Couldn’t see how that was affecting our little girl.”

There was no show nor dramatics of any kind. He’s numbed himself to it, probably still figuring out how to deal with it.

“She was in her second year of college when she took the trip.”

He looks up at me, and I take a peek at his expression. Tired, somber, still grieving. “That willpower you talked about… I have no right to wish that she had enough of that to come back, but…”

He falls silent once more, and I keep my eyes on him. The crows feet. The ley lines across his skin. The twiddling thumbs. The kindness when he approached me. The reason why he approached me. The reason why I agreed.

“The Habagat… was meant for good things, I feel like,” I start.

The man ducks his head, looking at his hands. He’s listening.

“The idea of bringing people to their most important memories when they were facing a roadblock in their life was supposed to be a good idea… Because, well, I think there’s merit in remembering the good things and using those to remind you of why you should keep going, right? There’s this saying my dad always threw around: Ang hindi lumingon sa pinanggalingan, hindi makakarating sa paroroonan.”

But there’s harm in dwelling. Some people chose to stay in memories. The disappearances weren’t as frequent at first to cause a stir, but the threat was there.

“When my mom brought up the idea, I was heavily against it. My dad… had just gone then. A heart problem. But she wanted to see him again. Even if it was just a memory.”

I pause after hearing my voice crack. I take deep breaths.

“We were… so close to the doors.” Against my will, I start crying. But I will it to hold back. “It was my high school graduation. I didn’t want to leave but I knew we had to. I knew we couldn’t stay. But my mom looked so happy.”

I remember it vividly. The memory cloaked in blue, like I was watching it unfold from under the ocean ripples, the sunlight breaking through the surface. You moved slow in a memory, like how you’d move in a dream. That made it much harder to run back to the doors.

I remember Habagat from the surface of his blue train, beckoning for me to come back, his face stricken with grief. The humidity was thick and uncomfortable, the sweat making my toga stick to my skin.

“I had to make a decision. With or without my mother.”

I eventually let the tears spill. The man hands me his handkerchief. In the next few seconds, I feel gold dust on my cheeks, and I remember the silver that held me all those years ago, on my way home alone from the memory.

When I calm down, we don’t attempt to make conversation. I appreciate the man’s effort to maintain the silence for as long as necessary. I look out the window. Still, Metro Manila’s golden. Still, I’m on this train, waiting for my stop.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask, breaking the silence that has stretched on for who knows how long.

The man next to me smiles. “Don’t we all?”

I smile in return, feeble and tired. “Of course.”

He sighs. “But I’m not sure if she’ll want to see me again.”

“Your wife?”

He nods.

“She will,” I reassure him.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. But you have to believe she will. Otherwise, you won’t ever get off this train.”

He’s quiet, processing my words. For some reason, I have the confidence to continue, not caring about whether or not he wants me to.

“All you have now are each other. I’d want to make it work, if I were you. If I were her. If I still had the chance. Grieving alone… I don’t recommend it.”

Silence still. And he nods, turning towards me with an endearing smile. “Thank you.”

The train rumbles on with a low, rhythmic sound.

“You still do. Have a chance I mean,” the man says.

I shake my head, incredulous. I fail to find any sense in his words. He continues, perhaps as unapologetically as I did.

“This may be a bit of a selfish reasoning but… you can still say what you want to say to the people most dear to you… even if they’re not around anymore.”

I look at him, bewildered.

“You just need to let it out. Accept things as they are, no matter how unfair. You haven’t spoken about your past much to others, have you? Haven’t given yourself time to process?”

I look down at my shoes, staring intently.

“Thank you,” I say after a while.

“No, thank you.”

We take one long look at each other, and I like to think we’re allowing ourselves one last chance to see our loved ones and bid them one final goodbye.

“It’s time,” the man remarks, nodding. “I’ll be getting off soon, I think.”

Amihan floats over on the wall across from us, sending the man a knowing smile.

“It’s been good talking to you,” I say. I hand him back his handkerchief.

He shakes his head. “Keep it,” he says. “Something to remember an old man by.” Then he takes one of my hands, holds it in both of his. “I wish you well. Truly.”

And he walks off, Amihan following closely behind him. I look back at the sunset and wait patiently for my stop, trusting the Amihan to take me where I need to go.

— three.

I don’t recall how long I’ve actually been on the train.

When I get off, Amihan sends me away with gold dust on my cheeks and the smell of rain in the air. I pull out my phone and watch as the time and days speed by, not unlike the way the reels in a slot machine would spin. Eventually it shows me the winning combination, starting with the date, then the hour, then the minute. I smile to myself.

After a few taps and scrolls, I put the phone to my ear. She picks up after four rings.

“Hello?”

“Do I get my Christmas bonus?” I ask playfully.

“Oh my god, you’re back!” My boss greets cheerfully. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, well… I’ve realized a few things,” I respond sheepishly.

“Like? Oh, is it okay if I ask? You don’t have to—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassure her. I clutch the handkerchief still in my hand. “I um… I wanted to ask if… you’re still doing those Friday night team dinners?”

“Yes! Oh, will you be joining us this week? Everyone would love to have you there! They’re always asking me about you, y’know?”

Her excitement is endearing. Heartwarming. Not at all ingenuine and something I’ll have to get used to. “Maybe not this week, since I’ll have to settle down for a while, get back to the things I missed but… count me in for next week?”

“Oh absolutely!” She beams, before settling into a more relaxed tone. “We’d love to have you there. We’re always here if you need anything, we’ve told you that, right?”

“Yes, yes you have… and um, I also wanted to ask you… you mentioned going to therapy before, right? I was wondering… if we could talk about that more? Maybe over coffee?”

“Of course! And um…” She pauses a bit before continuing. She says the next few words cautiously. “I’ll actually have you know that my therapist specializes in processing Habagat trauma.”

I pause, caught slightly off guard. I try to imagine what this conversation would look like if she was in front of me. If she locks eyes with me. Serious. Careful. Empathetic.

“She’ll help you out,” she reassures me with a soft lilt in voice. “And I’ll be here too, if you need additional support.”

I smile gratefully, but not without a little bit of fear. I forget she doesn’t see me. The air is cooler, lighter. I feel like I’m floating. I still see the world in sunset.

“I’d like that.”

written: november 28, 2022 revised: december 13, 2022

from banaag: stories of alternate manilas

#short story #fantasy #urban fantasy #philippines #manila #trains #magic #amihan #habagat

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iris-sistibly · 6 months

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Thoughts about some fan theories about the highly anticipated Encantadia Chronicles: Sang'gre

WHO IS DEIA?

I guess this is the number one question the fans are asking right now. But one thing is for sure, Cassandra and Deia are NOT one and the same. This has already been confirmed by Suzette Doctolero herself, the character of Cassandra hasn't been introduced yet and the actress who's gonna play her remains a mystery.

Here are some other fan theories about Sang'gre Deia:

That Sang'gre Deia is the daughter of Ybrahim and Ariana

-No, I don't think so. Ybrahim and Ariana had some sort of connection because Amihan's soul was inside the latter's body. However, their relationship NEVER developed and Ybrahim only found out about the whole sarkosi thing in the final episode when Ariana was killed for the second time thus freeing Amihan's soul. Without Amihan inside her body, Ybrahim would never even bat an eye on Ariana. The best thing that could happen with these two is to have a cordial or civil relationship (due to Ariana's friendship with Lira).

2. Deia is the daughter of Cassandra

-I have a 50/50 opinion about this. Cassandra was born after the war between the sang'gres and Hagorn's forces and Lira was seen holding baby Cassandra along with Danaya, Alena and Pirena with their own babies. It was implied in the finale that the little girl in blue was Cassandra playing at the beach with Flamarra, Adamus and Terra. Meaning to say that she's around the same age as the other sang'gres, which means Cassandra is too young to have a daughter around Deia's age (unless her growth was magically sped up to make her older).

But the more I think about it...

What if the writers purposely left out some details and the girl in blue was actually Deia? And that scene was actually before Cassandra's birth? I saw Angel Guardian's photo with Ms Iza Calzado who played the original version of Amihan on her instagram account and apparently, Sang'gre Deia was actually named after Iza's daughter Deia Amihan. Are they giving hints of Deia being Amihan's second daughter? IMO this actually makes more sense than Deia being Amihan's great granddaughter.

ADAMUS IS TERRA'S LOVE INTEREST, AND THEY'RE TRYING TO RECREATE ANOTHER YBRAMIHAN LOVE STORY

I'm not a hypocrite, I support Ybramihan, Daemyra, Helaemond and Jonerys and yes, they're all related by blood (but I don't fucking support that shit in real life, I know the difference between fantasy and reality okay?).

This is highly unlikely. SD has made it clear that they're not trying to recreate the Ybramihan love team. Speaking of which, I just find it funny that there are people who are calling out the YA ship for being incest when nobody gave a fuck about it in 2016. Armeo and Raquim are first degree cousins (according to Etheria 2006, King Armeo's namesake, Prince Armeo was the brother of King Meno who died long before the war against Etheria), which makes Ybrahim and Amihan second cousins. Emre CHOSE Ybrahim to father Amihan's heir, and to top all that, they're not humans.

I have a theory about this:

If you're a Percy Jackson fan and you have read all PJO books, you know that the demigods' godly parents are all related which makes them in a way related as well. BUT, they are allowed to date other demigods as long as their partners aren't born from the same godly parent (otherwise, they would be dating their own sibling) so it doesn't matter if their godly parents are siblings, cousins, etc. Maybe, the same thing applies to engkantados. Perhaps they are allowed to date or marry someone from their family as long as it's not an immediate or a first degree family member. Again, this is just my own theory.

IS ARMEA GOING TO EXIST IN THE SEQUEL?

SD did not give a direct answer, but if you ask me my answer is no. Adamus is the Armea of this version of Encantadia. Alena has already moved on from Ybrahim although they maintained a cordial relationship with each other. Besides, I don't think Alena would want to bypass Lira once more by having her own heir to the Lirean throne. Lira is the rightful heir to the throne and Alena would be happy to pass the crown to her one day. Cassandra is already named crown princess of Sapiro and King Ybrahim's heir by Cassiopeia herself, so for me, as much as I love Armea in Pag-ibig Hanggang Wakas, there's no need for an Armea in this version.

There are so many crazy theories out there but these are the ones that really caught my attention. Btw, these are all from Suzette Doctolero's X page and she has been reposting and answering some fan questions and theories, feel free to check them out.

#encantadiatopic #sang'gre #suzette doctolero #iza calzado #kylie padilla #ruru madrid #gabbi garcia #angel guardian #bianca umali #kelvin miranda #amihan #ybrahim #alena #deia #terra #mikee quintos #lira #cassandra #ybramihan

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