Finally, Hope

"Okay, what do we say? Sa gobyernong tapat—"

"Angat buhay lahat!"

Mayumi clapped while Joaquin's eyebrows furrowed. "Sorry, I think I mispronounced that. I emphasized the 'g' again, didn't I? It's 'angat', right, like the 'ng' sound in banco, so 'angat buhay lahat'—"

"You're doing fine, Joaquin," Mayumi said, grinning at him. "No one's going to notice little things like that, anyway."

Joaquin shook his head. "But I do want to get it right," he said, blue eyes clouding over. He was wearing a bright pink KN95 mask and a matching shirt with the words 'Sama-sama nating sugpuin ang kanser ng lipunan' on the front, and on the back, 'Oncologists for Leni-Kiko'. Mayumi was wearing the same shirt.

Mayumi laughed. "Believe me, as long as people hear you speaking Tagalog, they will already find you adorable." She took his hand, interlacing his fingers with his. "Thank you again for agreeing to spend our free Saturday at the rally today."

He smiled down at her as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles on her skin. "We're spending our free Saturday fighting for the good of our country. I think there's no better way to spend the day than that."

Her eyes softened at that. Our country. He had been back in the Philippines for only a few months, and yet it already felt like he had never left. His initial plan of only staying in the US for a few months to get his papers in order was extended when the lockdown started, first by a month, then two, then six, until he ended up staying there for two whole years. Because of all the delays, they knew it would take a long time for him to rightfully call the Philippines home, and yet here he was, fighting for her nation like it was also his own.

The group in the table beside them, doctors who were all also wearing pink shirts, stood up. Mayumi checked her watch. Its strap was a bright pink, of course, specially chosen for the occasion. "It's ten minutes to the assembly time. Let's start heading to the lobby?"

Joaquin nodded. He put away their trays then they put on their caps and gathered their things. They stepped out of the restaurant and crossed over to main building of The M— C—, one of the largest private hospitals in the metro, where the assembly for the solidarity walk for health care workers was going to be held. From there, health care workers would be marching to Emerald Avenue, where the rally for their chosen candidate for the elections was going to be held.

It was Mayumi's first time to join in a political rally before. She had been invited before to participate in some of them back home in Iloilo after she had won the regional pageant, and some friends back in her pre-medical college days were also active in them, but she had never participated in one before.

But today was different, she knew. There was something else in the air these days. It was different from the burning anger she felt after she had returned to the country, hopeful to apply what she had learned, only to witness all the injustices her patients had to face. It was also not like the dark despair that fell upon her during each surge of the pandemic, when she had to watch helpless as so many of the people she knew—patients, colleagues, loved ones—succumbed to COVID-19.

She couldn't define yet what was different, but it compelled her enough to say yes when Sta. Gianna University Hospital called for representatives to the solidarity walk. Joaquin also signed up right away, and she didn't even have to ask.

They arrived at the main hospital lobby, where one of the guards directed them to go to the back parking lot. They followed other people wearing various shades of pink and carrying different placards and props, also walking to the parking lot.