Ignorance

Prologue

"Good morning, Miss Amor."

            "Good morning, Sir Efren!"

            "Good morning, Miss Amor."

            "Magandang umaga po, Sir Elmer!"

            "Amor."

            "Madam."

            It's the routine every morning. Like clockwork, Amor would arrive at her city job at eight in the morning. Each time, she just almost loses a parking spot to that one guy she's always competing with. Each time, her eight-year-old son David would complain about not wanting to go to school, but eventually complying as they neared the vicinity. Each time, she would fetch coffee at cafeteria on the fourth floor. Like clockwork, her life functioned just the way things were. And if it weren't for her impeccable work ethic and insane scheduling, her life might very well be in shambles.

            It's the routine that kept it all going. After leaving her family behind in Talimpao and relocating in Manila with her son, Amor has been maintaining her life on a track she knew would do right by them, by David, and by the people she was serving.

            It certainly isn't behind a desk at a publishing house as a sales distributor, but it was something. The income was good—it paid the bills, paid the mortgage, paid the dues, paid for David's tuition. She's getting by, and if she dares admit, rather comfortably.

She had to admit, though: landing the job in the first place was fate. Graduating with a humanities degree only got one so far, and this is the best case scenario for someone like her. She would have preferred to edit books for a living, but this was good. The company, Buenavista Publishing, was respectable; originally based in New York, it is run by the mogul family of the Buenavistas. They were of legend in Manila, let alone Talimpao, as the clan who built their dynasty from the ground up. And the heir to all of it, Eduardo, ah Eduardo, sure is easy on the eyes. It helps.

Her phone is already ringing as she reaches her desk. She places the teeming cup of coffee on her desk, answering the phone with the other.

"Amor de Jesus, Buenavista publishing. How may I help you?"

"Ang dami mong alam," the voice on the other end retorts. Amor sighs in relief: it's just her best friend Betty Mae, who worked a floor above, at human resources. "Kakarating mo pa lang ba?"

"Oo, ngayon lang," Amor says, consulting her wrist watch quickly. "Anong meron at napatawag ka, aber?"

"Wala naman masyado," Betty Mae says in a leading tone. Amor rolls her eyes. "Chismis lang dito sa HR."

"Anong meron?"

"May bibista raw. Galing sa States. Hulaan mo sino."

Amor doesn't let herself guess. She just swoons in her seat.

---

"Goddamn it, Diego, how many times do I have to tell you?" Eduardo growls.

            Halfway across the world, cousins Eduardo and Diego stand obliquely by the balcony of Buenavista Publishing House at midtown New York, twenty-five storeys off the ground. Eduardo runs his fingers through his hair, the other hand nursing a cigarette between two digits. Diego miserably scratches his head, sighing under his breath.

            This isn't the first time someone's tried to coerce him into leaving work. Which was ironic, but then again Eduardo's entire character is one of paradox. Although born in the Philippines, and raised there until his late teens, Eduardo is a bred New Yorker, and has always dreaded going back to his hometown. He owes it to them for his education, a tad of his upbringing, but in the long-run, it only gave his family problems. So when he made it to New York, and his mother had established a name for themselves, he knew he didn't have to turn back. He had no reason to glance at the life he needed so badly to leave.

            To make things even more complicated, his damn ex-fiancée relocated to Manila six months back, supposedly to attend to family matters in their ancestral province of Talimpao. Little did Eduardo know that, while he was working his ass off, Natalie was too busy shacking with the son of a fast food chain's CEO. The woman must be lurking somewhere in the squalid towns of rundown Philippines, proving time and time again that gold diggers exist. Eduardo shudders at the thought alone. Ugh.

            "I think it will do you good, Eduardo," Diego suggests, voice soft. "Going to the Philippines—for one—will help you forget about Natalie—"

            "Don't bring Nat into this," the other man bursts, stumping the exhausted butt on an ashtray. "I am not going to Manila just to forget her. If anything, it would make things so much worse. I'd rather stay here, and watch over Mama's company."

            With that, Diego scoffs. "Ah, so ngayon ang dami mo nang pake para sa kumpanya? Kasi alam mo nang sure na ipapamana sa'yo, ha? Parang kailan lang di ka magawang kausapin tungkol dito, ngayon on board ka na! Hanep, Eduardo!"

            "I am making up for it, am I not? How about you let go what's happened in the past, and focus on what I'm trying to do now. And what I want to do is not go to the Philippines."

            "What's wrong with the Philippines? It will do you good! Iwan mo muna 'to. Forget all about it! I'm pretty sure kaya na 'to ng mga tao mo. Tutal, sa Pilipinas naman yung secondary branch. You can even look at this as a work holiday, if that would shut you up."

            Eduardo, at a loss for words, sighs instead. "I'm not going there, Diego. You can't convince me to do otherwise."

            Diego groans in exasperation. "Ano bang meron? You don't think you're gonna get your fair share of women there, Eduardo? Hindi mo maiwan yung mga bayaran mo dito? I'm pretty sure marami dun, kung yun lang concern mo—"

            Eduardo spins abruptly, fangs bared and fists ready for a beating. But he stops, nose flaring and eyes livid. He breathes out heavily, and puts his firsts down. "I just don't want to go back there, Diegs," he says somberly. "When Mama and I moved here, we swore never to return to Manila, where they never saw the good in us. And what do they do now? They glorify the Buenavista name because we've brought pride to the Philippines. What does the Philippines know of pride, when the only thing they want to boast is the Filipino blood in the veins of people who might not even care less? I'm sick of it."

            Diego pats his best friend on the back, looking over the expanse of Columbus Circle and the beginnings of southwest Central Park. "Then maybe it's time to make peace with the demons you've left," he consoles. "Besides, the change of scenery will give you time to breathe. And, might I remind you, new water means new fish."

            They're silent for what feels like forever.

The other man concedes, nodding his head in near defeat. "Don't make me regret this, Diegs," he says, already regretting his departure from this concrete jungle he's called home. "I'm guessing naka-plan na lahat? Booked and everything, before my consent?"

            "You know me too well, Ed," Diego responds, chuckling. "We leave next week. Magpaalam ka na sa Mama mo."