Random Shots

Panganay [4]

The rising sun cast a soft, golden glow over Malacañang Palace as Imee  stood outside the grand mahogany doors. Manila was just waking up, the distant hum of morning traffic slowly creeping into the air. But the world outside the palace walls couldn’t be further from her mind. Inside, behind those heavy wooden doors, lay the conversation she had been dreading. President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr., her brother, had summoned her. It was inevitable that they would eventually need to talk, especially with the looming 2025 senatorial race. The weight of the Marcos legacy hung over them, but more than that, years of unspoken tension had built up between them—tension that neither had the luxury to avoid any longer.

Imee had chosen her attire carefully, as she always did—an impeccably pressed black-and-red suit, symbolizing both power and defiance. Her heels echoed against the marble floors as she was led down the hallway to Bongbong’s private study. Each step felt heavier than the last. For days, she had rehearsed this conversation in her mind, knowing it would force them to confront not just their political differences, but also the deep-seated fractures within their family.

As the door to Bongbong’s office creaked open, Imee braced herself. Her brother was seated behind his massive wooden desk, bathed in the soft, golden light of the early morning. He looked up, and for a fleeting second, the stern face of the President melted away. In its place was the younger brother she had known—the one who had once laughed with her in these very halls, back when the weight of the Marcos name was still a distant future they had yet to fully understand.

"Ime," Bongbong greeted, his voice heavy with the gravity of their conversation. "Upo ka."

Her gaze met his, unreadable, but her body was stiff with resolve. She slowly took the seat across from him, her face a calm mask, but her mind was a battlefield. “I suppose we do need to talk,” she replied, her tone measured.

The tension between them was palpable, an invisible wall built from years of differing ideals and hidden resentments. For Imee, it wasn’t just about the upcoming elections anymore—it was about standing up for herself and acknowledging that her journey diverged from the one her brother had chosen.

“Ime,” Bongbong began, leaning forward, his voice soft but firm, “I want you on my slate for 2025. You know how critical this election is. The country needs us—you—to keep leading. We have a duty to continue what Dad started. Alam mo na ito ang gusto niya, na ipagpatuloy natin ang kanyang nasimulan.”

His words, though expected, still hit a nerve. Imee had always been the dutiful daughter, the loyal sister, the one who stood by the family. But lately, she had begun questioning if that loyalty had come at too high a price.

“Bong, I've thought about that," she started, her voice calm but laced with a quiet defiance. “But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Bongbong’s eyes darkened as he processed her words.

“Anong ibig mong sabihin?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

Imee met his gaze head-on. “I’m saying I want to run independently this time. Ayoko nang itali ang sarili ko sa administrasyon mo. Not like this.”

Her words hung in the air like a sharp blade between them. Bongbong leaned back in his chair, his frustration barely concealed. “You can’t be serious, Ime. After all we’ve done—after everything our father sacrificed for this country—you’re just going to walk away? Hindi mo pwedeng talikuran ang lahat ng ito.”

“Tatalikuran mo si Dad?”

“This isn’t about turning my back,” she countered, her voice rising slightly. “I’m still a Marcos, but I need to be my own person. I need to do this for me, not for Dad, not for the family. I’ve had enough of playing the game. I’m tired of compromising who I am.”