He was going to be late; he thought. Leon grabbed his school uniform and hurriedly wore it. It was a two-hour ride from his house to the university, and there was only one and a half hour remaining before his first class. He was going to rush ahead to catch the UV van that would bring him to the train station, but his stomach churned.

He went to their kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The chillness that he associated with opening it was gone. There was no light that appeared, and the food inside was visibly less than what they were in the last three weeks. For weeks now, there had been a recurring power rotation in the entire country.

Leon came from a middle to upper class family. While they do not own large corporations, mansions, or villas, they were relatively well-off than most Filipinos. Until a week ago, they had no problem with basic supplies, like food and electricity. But now, even they had to bear the nation-wide electricity rotation and food limit that each person can buy in groceries.

They were many people who asked why such drastic measures were needed, and for weeks, the government had stayed silent. However, the president had announced yesterday that he was finally going to discuss the reason at a press conference.

He took two slices of bread and a roll of cheese and sat at the dining table. While he ate, he opened his phone and checked the notifications tab, hoping that the signal in the Wi-Fi will have at least one signal bar. But, as expected, there was no internet. He sighed.

Instead, Leon opened an offline game. He was already late, so he figured he will just go to class in the second period. Even though the internet was gone, he can still enjoy the video games he had played before. Although in a limited matter since electricity was now limited. After an hour, he checked the clock and took off from their house.

He rode the train from the Light Rail Train-1 system of Metro Manila. It had already been cramped three weeks ago, but now it was even more full of commuters. Many were standing while it moved with no space between other people, even at the train doors. He felt his sweat dripping from the lack of air, even though the train was supposed to be air-conditioned. There were not enough handrails for anyone, resulting in them to bump each other whenever it stopped.

When he reached the second train station at his university, Raul was surprised to find a sign saying that the operation was delayed until further noticed. The guards were busy assisting and explaining the situation to angry commuters. So, he just walked outside and found that the streets were barricaded. As if to add another layer of protection, there were policemen lined up in the road and the soldiers patrolling the grounds. Crowds gather at the side of the barriers, shouting at the policemen.

“Bring down the price of basic needs!”

“Electricity for all!”

“Bring back the internet!”

“Stabilize the price of oil!”

Raul asked a bystander, “Hey, excuse me. What’s happening?”

“The president will speak there,” said the bystander, pointing to the Rizal Park.

He thanked the man afterwards. His college was still far from here, and there was no available transportation for a moment. He thought he would just have to accept the absent marks on all his subjects this day.

With nothing better to do, he decided he would just listen to the press conference of the president. He, too, was wondering what happened in the last three weeks, that the price of virtually everything rose by ten leaps.

He went towards where the bystander pointed. In the center, the monument of Jose Rizal, the Philippine National hero, and his remains laid there. He was someone many Filipinos idolized — the one who fought the injustices of the colonizers with just a quill and ink. But when Leon had been asked who his most revered national hero was, he picked Andres Bonifacio. Bonifacio was the one who actually fought the Spaniards and gave rise to the revolution, he reasoned.

The park was surrounded by large Philippine flags and hedge bushes that decorated it. On the far side, a fountain adorned with the map of the country at its bottom can be seen. A huge stage was erected in the primary space. In front of it, there were a lot of media outlets who were waiting, with cameras set up already. The perimeter was guarded by soldiers, who, in Leon’s knowledge, must be the Presidential Security Group. There was space allotted for audiences, but when he tried to get there, he was stopped by the police. They said it was reserved for high-ranking officials and invited people.

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Leon settled for a place overlooking the stage. He checked his phone and messaged his college friend to tell his professors that he cannot attend their classes. Thankfully, people can still connect with each other, as cell towers continued to function.

After an hour, President Marsus arrived in the park. Protected by his escorts, he went to the middle of the stage and grabbed the microphone that was prepared beforehand. He said some regards for the plight of the Filipinos and promised he would fix those issues if given sufficient time. Leon already knew the president will say that, for he always did. For him, it sounded like a rehearsed speech that always got repeated. Then, President Marsus announced the root of all those problems–something that shocked almost every Filipinos that day.

“Countrymen, our nation in great peril.

You may find it hard to believe. But, three weeks ago, our country was transported to another world.”

Murmurs echoed across the whole park. People became more restless. Leon too cannot believe it. How can such a thing happen? For the entire country to be transported to another world, what will they do? Will they be safe?

“I know, I know. Some of you might mistake this for a joke. Some might find this as a terrifying time for us. But the government is doing its best to tackle the problems we are facing. But I cannot do it alone. The government cannot do it alone. We can, only if we are together.

That is why I call on the solidarity of the Filipino people. No matter what color your politicians are — red, yellow, pink, or green — we are still Filipinos, and only if we’re together that we can pass these enormous challenges ahead of us.”

The people grew silent, waiting for the next words of the president. President Marsus began explaining that they were trying to establish a peaceful relationship with their new neighboring country. And how they already sent a diplomatic mission to their land.

When the president was finished with his speech, he immediately went back to the presidential car. The convoy was about to leave, but the crowd grew unruly, as if they timed it perfectly. They were heading to the car of President Ferdinand. So police had to force the protesters outside the barriers first. Then something unexpected happened.

A massive explosion erupted. Leon looked at the source of the sound and saw one car escorting the president was in flames, hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. Following the attack, several men, dressed in civilian clothing and armed with heavy caliber weapons, rushed to where the president was located and started firing. Gunshots reverberated through the park, causing the crowd to panic even more. The soldiers guarding the president were quick to react, shooting back at the armed men immediately.

Leon hurriedly moved away from the scene. Or, at least, he tried, but the unorganized mob that littered his surroundings prevented him. People were bumping at him now and then. Amid the chaos, he saw a little girl of almost five, crying, probably got separated from her parents. He forced himself to the waves of people in her direction.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

The girl kept on crying. So, he just tugged her to a safe place and waited for the panicked crowd to dissipate. Leon was just a normal college student; he did not want to involve himself in something like that. In fact, he wanted to get out of there right now. But he cannot do that now. He had to help the girl find her parents; he thought.

After an hour, he finally got the girl to stop crying. He gave him water and calmed her down. “Hello, what’s your name?”

The girl hesitated to at first, but perhaps sensing that he did not have ill intention, she replied, “Bhea.”

“Bhea, do you know where your parents are?”

The girl’s only reply was the shook on her head saying, ‘no.’ Now that he got a good look at her, he noticed the girl was covered with grease and loam, and the outline of her bones was almost visible in her skin. Perhaps it was the work of his prejudice, but if his guess was correct, he knew the situation of the girl and where could he find her parents.

“How about your house? Do you know where your house is?” The girl pointed in the direction where he expected.

It was one of the slum concentrations in the city, the district of San Andres. The houses there were not like one would expect. They were only made up of woods and steel roof plates, with some occasionally using hollow blocks for walls. But they were not built with design or functionality in mind. The materials were often leftovers put together to have a home.

With that, they walked through the streets of San Andres. Beggars, who just like the girl with her, were skinny to where he can see their bones, asking for food when they passed. Leon also noticed the large amount of trash that littered the surroundings, and the smell that paired with them.

After a while, they finally found her house. It was just plywood that was stuck together with nails. There were no signs of electricity, and the only light source was the candle on the table. Her parents were not there yet. The only one in the house was the girl’s older sister.

Leon did not really want to extend his stay any longer, so he immediately said his goodbyes and went on his way home, wondering how he would explain everything to his parents.

After walking for about an hour, the sun had set already. Lights from the distant districts of Manila appeared. Chilling winds of the night hovered around him, but the air was not pleasant; it reeked of smoke and pungent smell. It was a normal occurrence in Manila ­­ — the thick fumes of air pollution.

A shout suddenly called to him. “Help! Please!”

He looked for the source of the voice and found a wounded man. Blood dripped in his arms and tinted his clothes. The man was catching for his breath. It seemed to Leon that the guy in front of him can die at any minute.

“Please, help me.”

He was about to support him, but a flash of realization came into his mind. He remembered his face. The man was with the rebels that attacked the president earlier.

“I won’t hurt you, please. Help me. Take me over there.” The man pointed to an old building in the middle of the slums. After that, he collapsed from exhaustion.

Leon did not know what entered his mind, but he did not want to leave the man to his fate. His intuition told him that whatever waited for him in that building was not something he wanted. But he grabbed the man, laid him on his shoulders, and headed to the building.