The event was grand. As expected, when the President of the Philippines was scheduled to sign a landmark law like the Magna Carta of Filipino Seafarers, all eyes were on the Marcos family. The air was charged with anticipation, reporters eagerly awaiting every word, every gesture, every shared glance. And Imee knew they had to play their parts perfectly, like they always do.
Imee stood by the entrance to the ceremonial hall, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She had arrived early, as she often did, to ensure everything was in order. Her red blouse with a touch of black filipiniana showcasing the sleeve that are painted by mirano from Tacloban an crisp and pristine, barely concealed the weight she was carrying. She saw Bongbong enter, surrounded by aides, his face a mask of calm authority. To the untrained eye, he looked every bit the competent president, composed, prepared. But Imee saw past the facade. She always did.
They hadn’t spoken since that text she sent him. We need to talk. About everything. But Bongbong, true to his nature, had avoided the confrontation. He had sidestepped the issue like it was just another political maneuver, leaving Imee to wrestle with the growing void between them. And today, they would stand side by side, pretending everything was fine. For the sake of the legacy. For the sake of the name.
Imee caught Bongbong’s eye from across the room, and for a split second, their gazes locked. There was tension, thick and unspoken. But then he gave a brief, practiced smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes. Imee returned it with the same level of false warmth. The cameras were already snapping, capturing the illusion of sibling unity.
"Good morning, Manang," Bongbong greeted her as he approached, his voice calm, formal.
"Good morning," Imee replied, her own tone matching his. They exchanged pleasantries that felt more like chess moves than genuine conversation. He offered his hand for a handshake, and she took it, their fingers briefly touching before pulling away. The press would interpret the gesture as a sign of unity, but they both knew the truth. It was nothing more than a performance.
“You’re on time,” Bongbong commented lightly, though Imee could sense the undercurrent of tension. On time was always a reference to how she’d arrive too early to scope things out.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Imee replied, her smile thin, measured. Her words hung in the air, both of them knowing the layers beneath them.
As the ceremony began, they stood shoulder to shoulder while Bongbong addressed the nation. His voice carried over the gathered audience, full of power and conviction, as he spoke of the seafarers who would benefit from this law. Imee, as always, stood poised, nodding at the right moments, clapping when appropriate. She could feel the cameras zoom in on her, the constant scrutiny. To the public, they were a unified front, the two Marcoses steering the ship of governance, symbols of continuity. But standing so close to her brother, she felt the vast gulf between them—wider than it had ever been.
There were moments during Bongbong's speech when she caught his sideward glances. Not once did they make actual eye contact. It was as if he could feel the accusation in her silence, the unspoken anger she had yet to voice. But they carried on, smiling for the cameras, nodding at each other during applause breaks. They were actors in the most public of stages, and the entire country was watching.
As the ceremony ended and the reporters gathered for photos, Bongbong signed the Magna Carta with his sister by his side. The flashbulbs lit up the room, capturing their hands as they briefly touched the document. Their fingers, barely brushing, felt cold against the paper. Imee’s stomach churned.
"You handled it well," Bongbong murmured under his breath as the cameras continued to flash. His voice was low, clipped, almost sarcastic.
"Always," Imee replied with a forced smile, keeping her gaze fixed forward. "We both know how this works." Her voice was equally flat, devoid of warmth. It’s always a performance with us, she thought.
The photographers barked orders for them to stand closer, to angle towards the light, to smile—"More warmth!"—as if they could command the illusion of closeness. Imee hated this part more than anything. She loathed the idea of faking affection, of playing pretend when there was so much unsaid between them. But she did what was asked of her. They both did.
As they posed, Imee could feel Bongbong’s tension, his body stiff beside hers. The fake smiles never wavered, even as the chill between them grew colder.
At the end of the event, as the crowd began to thin and the cameras focused on other angles, Bongbong leaned slightly towards her, just enough for the public to assume they were having a light-hearted sibling exchange. But the words that followed were anything but casual.
“We’ll talk soon, Manang,” he muttered, his voice quiet but heavy.
Imee’s chest tightened. There was a time when that phrase would have been a promise, but now, it felt like a threat. She turned to him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of the brother she used to know, but he had already stepped away, shaking hands with the officials nearby, his attention elsewhere.
As Bongbong made his exit, Imee stayed back, allowing the distance between them to expand again. Her thoughts swirled in her mind as she lingered in the now-empty hall, alone with the aftertaste of their tension. The public had been fooled—at least for now If isn't for their father-the family Marcos, it wouldn’t just be their relationship that shattered. The Marcos name, the legacy they had spent so long protecting, would be exposed in ways they couldn’t afford.
She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders as if to physically shake off the weight. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would be forced to confront the truths they had been avoiding. But until then, they would both continue the performance.
Later that evening, as Imee sat alone in her office, the events of the day replayed in her mind. She stared at the papers in front of her but couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept returning to Bongbong, to the widening chasm between them.
They had managed to keep up appearances for the public, but the distance between them was undeniable. And the worst part was, Imee wasn’t sure how—or even if—it could be repaired.
As she closed her eyes, she thought back to something her father used to say. “Family first. Always.”.
But what did that even mean anymore? What was left of family when politics, ambition, and power had pulled them apart?
At least in public. Warm Smiles trough the fake eyes.
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