Random Shots

Panganay [2]

BURDENS OF BLOOD

The next morning, the sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, pale shadows across the floor. Imee lay on the cold marble, her head pounding from the aftermath of her tears. She hadn't moved from the spot she’d collapsed in the night before, too weighed down by the emotional storm that had torn through her. Her body ached, not from any physical strain, but from the relentless burden that gnawed at her soul.

"Get up, Imee," she whispered to herself, voice hoarse from the night’s sobbing. "Tama na." But even as she said the words, they felt hollow, empty. "Kaya mo 'to, nakaya mong pabagsakin kayo ng tatlong dekada"

Slowly, she pushed herself off the floor, her movements sluggish as though gravity had somehow become heavier. Her hands found the edge of the sofa and she pulled herself up, forcing her mind to focus on the day ahead. There was no time to wallow; not in her position. Too many eyes, too many people waiting for her to crack. But that didn’t stop the lingering thoughts from swirling in her mind.

The Marcos Legacy.

Imee moved through her house, preparing for the day with robotic precision. The Marcos name was more than just a surname—it was a crown of thorns. From the moment they were born, it was drummed into their heads that they were not like other families. They were destined for greatness, for power, and that power came with sacrifices—sacrifices that had weighed heavily on Imee for as long as she could remember.

Every success, every failure, every moment in the spotlight carried the weight of their father’s legacy. The regime. The exile. The return. And now, her brother’s presidency. In her mind, Bongbong’s actions were not just about politics. They were about loyalty, about family. Yet last night, as he sat behind that desk, he felt more distant than ever before.

She didn’t have the luxury of a partner like him, someone to lean on, someone to share the weight. Her life was her own, her decisions made in the harsh silence of her own mind. She had always been the strong one, the sister who never wavered, never broke. But last night, facing her brother, she realized something she had been avoiding for years.

She was tired.

_

As she dressed in her signature formal attire, a sharp black-red blouse with crisp white slacks, her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She glanced at it, not really wanting to deal with anything more today. But the name on the screen stopped her in her tracks.

Irene.

For a moment, Imee’s heart softened. Irene her sister had always been different, her path less tangled with politics. They had their own share of disagreements, but it was never like the fights with Bongbong. Irene was level-headed, more detached, someone Imee could turn to when things felt too overwhelming. Maybe she could find some solace there, some thread of familial connection that wasn’t frayed beyond repair.

She answered the call, her voice betraying the exhaustion she felt. “Irene.”

“Manang,” Irene’s voice was calm, as it usually was. But there was something in her tone, a softness, a concern that Imee hadn’t heard in years. “I heard what happened last night.”

Imee sighed, sinking into the chair by the window. Of course Irene knew. Word always traveled fast in their world. “It was bound to happen.”

There was silence on the other end, the kind that spoke more than words. Irene knew better than to offer empty reassurances. “Are you okay?”