Random Shots

A Stranger In Ilocos Norte

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the sprawling estate where the grand celebration of Ferdinand Marcos’ birthday was well underway. As the sleek white SUV rolled to a stop, Imee Marcos stared out the tinted window, her gaze hard as stone. She should’ve felt at home—this was Ilocos Norte, her province, her bloodline’s legacy. But the unease that had been gnawing at her all morning had only deepened as they neared the venue. There was something different in the air today, something cold and hostile that she couldn’t quite name.

Stepping out of the car, she adjusted her maroon blazer under that is her white blouse too and scanned the crowd. There were people everywhere—locals, politicians, businessmen—celebrating the legacy of her father, but not one person looked her way. Not one person approached her. A bitter feeling settled in her chest as she began walking toward the entrance, her heels clicking sharply against the stone path.

At the entrance, a young man in an organizer’s uniform stood blocking the way. He looked her up and down, an unfamiliar face in her hometown. "Ma’am, do you have an invitation?" he asked, his voice impersonal, almost dismissive.

Imee’s lips tightened into a thin line. An invitation? Did he not know who she was? The eldest daughter of Ferdinand Marcos, the Senator of the Republic? "I don’t need an invitation," she said, her voice steely. "I’m Imee Marcos. This is my father’s event."

The man hesitated for a moment, his eyes widening briefly at the mention of her name, but then his expression hardened again. "I’m sorry, ma’am, but the list is very strict. No invitation, no entry."

She felt a cold wave of disbelief wash over her. This was deliberate. She knew it was. The organizers—her cousins’ people—were trying to humiliate her, to strip her of her authority in the very place where her name once held so much weight. She clenched her jaw, keeping her emotions in check.

"Who is in charge here?" she demanded, her patience fraying.

Before the young man could answer, another organizer, an older woman who seemed more senior, approached. Her face was tight with discomfort, but her tone was firm. "I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re following strict protocols. We have a program set in place, and we can’t make last-minute changes. Unfortunately, we’re unable to accommodate additional speakers at this time."

Imee’s breath caught in her throat. Additional speakers? She wasn’t some random guest; she was the daughter of the man being honored. Her name was synonymous with this province, her legacy intertwined with every inch of this land. And now they were telling her she couldn’t speak at her own father’s event?

Her voice was ice-cold. "Do you realize who I am?"

The older woman’s eyes flickered, but her stance remained firm. "We’re aware, ma’am. But the schedule has been finalized, and we can’t make any changes. I’m truly sorry, but you’re not on the program."

Imee stared at her, incredulous. They were barring her from speaking in Ilocos Norte, in her father’s honor. The cold dread in her chest had morphed into a burning rage, her body rigid with indignation.

The woman shifted nervously under her gaze but didn’t back down. “It’s been a hectic day with the governor’s office and various organizations involved. This is how things have been planned. You’re welcome to stay and enjoy the program, but as far as speaking on stage, I’m afraid we can’t allow that.”

Imee’s jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crack. This was beyond disrespect. This was a calculated attempt to erase her from the legacy she had spent her entire life protecting. Her son is the governor, isn't it fishy? Hindi ito kagagawan nga anak niya.