#PHILIPPINES 🇵🇭 RAHHHHHH

[silvanel]

I FORGKT ABKUT THIS

PHILIPPINES MENTIOEND 💥💥💥💥💥💥🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭

[panakinthedisco]

MISTY ━━ Joel Miller

summary: it all started at a station stop, a conversation about your beloved country, and somehow, in that moment, joel miller became utterly captivated by you.

author's note: i specifically made this one-shot for my SEA and filipina girlies rahhhhhh🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭!!! we need more representation in this fandom so i had to do it <3 but i hope y'all enjoy this because this is just FLUFF :))

word count: 3k

“The Philippines must be very beautiful.” Joel Miller says to you when you tell him where you’re from. You trembled at the way he said your name — revealing much more of his Southern accent and also his undeniable charm. Even though no one calls your birth name, folks in your country called you by your nickname except your dear Lola back home in Manila. 

It makes you feel beautiful, or perhaps it’s just the lulling motion of this train to New York, the luxury of having nothing to do -– the way you feel on a holiday, you think, though you haven’t been on one since before you left for the United States five years ago. You’re not entirely sure. And now, you’re overwhelmed by the sensations you're experiencing with Joel Miller — thrilling and intense. Yet, in an instant, your Catholic guilt takes over, making you feel ashamed for enjoying his attention.

Religion has always been a central part of your life, ingrained in you by your overbearing mother, who is almost a fanatic. She vigorously enforced her beliefs, and you obeyed dutifully, attending Mass, saying your prayers, and adhering to the teachings of the Church. Your mother’s strict adherence to Catholicism shaped your upbringing, leaving little room for deviation.

But as you reflect, you admit to yourself that you secretly rebelled when you were younger. Those small acts of defiance, hidden from your mother's watchful eyes, were your way of reclaiming some sense of freedom. Now, as you sit on this train, the memories of those rebellions mix with the current thrill, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions.

“It is beautiful,” You said softly, a little like a sigh. The sound of that small exhalation hangs in the dry air between you and Joel like a gauzy mosquito net that you and your cousins slept beneath when you were children while you’re staying over at your grandmother’s house. This was before Lola had air conditioners installed and they could shut out the mosquitoes. You had an urge to tell him that. And then, almost as if he hears your thoughts, Joel asks you what your home is like. 

Smiling, you begin to share your memories. "My grandmother owned a piece of land a few miles away from the city. We had a small family farm there. When I was younger, I used to play around the chicken pens and even feed the goats with my cousins. We'd pick pale yellow mangoes from the trees on the farm and line them up in rows on the grass to ripen in the sunshine."

Joel listens intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest. Encouraged, you continue, "We used to walk barefoot through the muddy rice fields and catch field snails, which we’d eat in the evening. I remember how we’d have competitions to see who could collect the most snails. I was quite competitive about it," you say with a laugh.

You describe how you would go fishing in the rice field ponds and in the swampy shallow waters, reaching down with your bare hands to catch mudfish. "It was always such a thrill to feel the slippery fish wriggle in your grasp," you add.

Your mind drifts back to those carefree days. "We'd also climb the trees and pick guavas and tamarinds, sometimes sneaking a few bites before bringing them back to Lola's kitchen. The smell of her cooking would fill the air, blending with the earthy scent of the countryside. In the evenings, we'd sit outside, listening to the cicadas and telling stories under the stars."

Joel's expression softens as he imagines the scenes you paint with your words. "It sounds like a paradise," he says, his voice low and thoughtful.

"It was," you reply, a touch of wistfulness in your tone. "Those memories are some of the happiest of my life."

Then Joel asks you, “Isn’t it a country of islands? What are the beaches like?” His hazel brown eyes pierce beneath the reading light of the train, filled with curiosity.

You smile, your mind immediately drifting to the many beautiful beaches you’ve visited. "Yes, it is a country of islands," you begin. "The beaches are incredible, each one unique. I've been to quite a few, but my favorite memories are from my mother's hometown on an island in Palawan called Cuyo."

Joel leans in closer, captivated by your words. "Cuyo is a small, quiet place, but it's absolutely stunning. The beaches there are like something out of a postcard—white sand, crystal-clear waters, and vibrant coral reefs just offshore. I always loved going to the beach there. The water is so clear that you can see the fish swimming around your feet."

You pause, reminiscing about the warmth of the sun and the gentle sound of the waves. "When I was a child, I would often go with the fishermen. They’d take their boats out early in the morning, and sometimes I’d tag along. The sea would be calm, and we’d glide over the water, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and orange. They'd teach me how to cast nets and catch fish. It was an amazing experience, being so close to nature and learning from people who had lived off the sea for generations."

Joel's eyes remain fixed on you, his expression soft and engaged. You continue, "During the afternoons, we'd play on the beach, building sandcastles and collecting seashells. The island is surrounded by reefs, so snorkeling was a favorite activity. The underwater world is so colorful and full of life—it's like a hidden paradise."

You share more about the island's charm, the simple yet fulfilling life there. "We'd have picnics on the beach, with freshly caught seafood and tropical fruits. My mother would tell us stories about her own childhood, and we'd sit there, listening as the sun set over the horizon."

The memories flood back, each one more vivid than the last. "I also remember walking along the shore at night, the moonlight reflecting on the water. Sometimes, we'd see bioluminescent plankton, making the waves glow. It felt like magic."

Joel smiles, clearly enchanted by your stories. "It sounds like an incredible place," he says softly.

"It really is," you reply, a warm glow in your heart. "Cuyo and its beaches hold a special place in my memories. It's a place where time seems to slow down, and you can truly appreciate the beauty of nature."

You met Joel at the station stop in Chicago. He smiled at you, and you smiled back. That was all. He found the empty seat beside you. 

And it began with your name. It must have been foreign for Joel to hear a name that is not Americanized. He repeats your name – not like a question, but as though he likes the sound. Joel reaches for your hand, and shakes it, “I’m pleased to meet you.” 

The Amtrak 49 train moves from the Midwest to the East Coast, specifically New York. You opted to take the train to save on airfare, but the truth is, you also wanted a little extra time to unwind during the sixteen-hour journey. You are grateful to have met Joel Miller from Texas, who is also on his way to New York for a visit. It feels like an unexpected windfall, and you are giddy and thrilled to have him to intrigue and engage, just as he intrigues and engages you.

Joel Miller is an enchanting distraction, precisely because he seems equally captivated by you. You savor the minutes like sweets in your mouth. It's been so long since someone has paid you this much attention, and you feel flushed and drunk with it. 

You listen to Joel talk, struggling not to be wide-eyed and open-mouthed, though it’s hard to avoid his hazel brown eyes that make butterflies in your stomach flutter. He listens to you in that same way, as though every word that drops from your lips is candy-coated delicious. Thinking this, you pop a breath mint into your mouth when he isn’t looking. You feel absolutely silly about what you’re doing. 

He is older than her. He must be in his mid-thirties while you’re in the middle of the twenties, quite new to the corporate world and still struggling to keep up with the inflation. He didn’t mention whether he’s married or not but he might have a wife in Texas or in New York. Those thoughts flood into your head and you steal a glance — surprisingly, he’s looking at you too. 

What is he thinking, you think, don’t let him be thinking of you. And then just as quickly, please let him be thinking of me. 

You cannot help allowing yourself this quick sweet rush of happiness like having a man come to call at your house, bringing flowers or candy. Like a date on a weekday evening. Like that certain knowledge that someone yearns to kiss you.

You are wanted. You are beautiful in the eyes of Joel Miller.

As the train continues its journey, the conversation with Joel deepens. He suddenly asks, “Wasn’t there a big revolution in the Philippines in the 80s? The EDSA Revolution? I remember hearing about it on the news. It seemed to captivate the world.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. "Yes, the EDSA Revolution in 1986 was a pivotal moment in our history. My parents were both involved in it. My mother and father fought against the dictatorship. My father was a student activist at a prestigious university, and it was incredibly difficult for him."

Joel's eyes widened with interest, and you continue, "There were times when my father had to hide because of his controversial writings against the president and the government. He told us stories about how he hid in the countryside, constantly looking over his shoulder. It was terrifying for him."

You pause, your thoughts drifting back to the stories your father shared. "But he fought back by writing and eventually took part in the EDSA Revolution. I remember the tears in his eyes when he talked about tasting freedom for the first time. He always said he was doing it for us, for me and my siblings."

Joel is silent for a moment, clearly moved by your story. "Your father is incredibly brave," he says softly. "To stand up against such a regime and fight for what he believed in... that's remarkable."

You smile, a mix of pride and sadness in your eyes. "He is brave. He risked everything for a cause he believed in, for a future he wanted for his children. The EDSA Revolution was a peaceful protest, but it was filled with so much emotion and hope. My father's involvement in it shaped who he is and, in turn, who I am."

Late at night, Joel asks you if you want to get something to eat. The dining car is open. You agreed to his invitation and made way down the aisle. The car is dark and most of the passengers are slumped in sleep, their shapes suggest they are in the most comfortable position possible, given the uncomfortable circumstances. Their heads are buried under coats and sweaters. Every now and then, a snore emitted from an old man. Or a faint cry from a hungry baby in the back of the car. When you stumbled from your step, losing your balance, Joel grabs you and clasps your hand in his to steady you. 

They order cups of coffee and eat crumbly stale chocolate chip cookies out of small carton boxes. You did not remember when you had talked so long or laughed so much. And it is exciting to know that as you both talk, towns and cities rush past in a midnight blur. Both of you are far away from everything. 

Close to four in the morning, you both stumbled down the aisle, back to your seats. You are already sleepy  in a warm, comfortable way. Your eyelids are heavy, like they have been smeared with thick honey, and sure enough, they close stickily. You let your head drop and fall lightly to rest upon his shoulder. 

When Joel reaches over to flick your reading light, you sighed, inhaling his scent. For an instant, you open your eyes but it is completely dark and quiet except for the sound of the train on its tracks. As you exhaled you fell asleep, but not before hearing Joel’s hoarse whisper as he fixed the unruly hair that is covering your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

Joel calls you on your phone, his voice urgent. It’s been a week since your last meeting and he asked for your number  — in which you gave it to him. You were not expecting anything in return and your long conservation is enough for you but at the back of your mind — you wish he’ll call you.

Hearing his voice almost made you stunned. You missed him and his presence. 

“Have lunch with me today?” he says. 

"I..I don't know." You said. It is indeed a bad time because you have a lot of things to do which is babysitting your aunt’s daughter but you looked over to the living room where your aunt is already busy taking care of your niece.

He speaks once again, "I have to see you. I have to show you something."

You looked at your wristwatch. You calculate the number of hours and you realize you can get away. You do have the time. You are heartbeat quickens. You want to see what he has to show you. But even more than that, you want to see him.

You clear your throat. In a low voice, you said, "Where should I meet you, Joel?"

Both of you meet in Central Park. Winter is on its last legs, and the air has a bit of warmth to it. Still, you wished that you were indoors. Your raincoat is very fluffy and lined but it is just warm enough for you.

"It's not raining," Joel says when he sees you.

"But it might." You said. "It might get colder. It might rain. I cannot take any chances."

"Okay."Joel smiles tenderly at you. You let yourself smile back, thinking, how dare he be. How sweet he is. He tells you,"Come on, I have a surprise for you."

You both walked briskly through the park, through the tree-lined paths, until they came to the gates of the Central Park Zoo.

"Here?" You asked him, Joel nods. "I was here yesterday. That's when I saw it."

You’re confused what he meant, "What?"

But Joel  shakes his head,  "You'll love it." He says. And he will not say anything anymore.

Both of you walked in the wet puddles that were once ice and snow. Although the leaves have still to emerge, people in the park are out with their books, perched on benches and big rocks by the pond, their faces to the sun as though they are tanning on a summer day.

You shivered, you cannot help it. Because it is cold, yes, but also because of now.

Joel takes your hand. Maybe because he saw you shiver. You glance at him uncertainly, and once more, catch him looking at you.

"Tell me." 

He squeezes your hand. "Be patient." He says, as if to a child.

At the ticket gate, the attendant warns that because of the cold, not all the animals may be out and about. Joel laughs, and says,

"That's perfectly alright."

Once inside the zoo's gates, Joel walks with more speed. You had to trot to keep up because he would not slow down. He squeezes your hand again and tells you to close your eyes.

You did, and you are not afraid to fall with him leading you. You feel the cool air on your face, the gravel beneath your feet. You hear the seals barking, splashing in their pool.

His grip on your hand is stronger. Although you cannot see, you take steps with confidence.

Both of you stopped. You realized that you are both entering a building.

"Step up, sweetheart," Joel tells you. You hope that you didn’t blush. 

All at once, a heat washes over, a fantastic wet, green heat so heavy, you are forced to draw a breath. You opened your eyes. You are in a jungle of thick ripe foliage. There is nobody else around. You can hear the cries of birds, the thick rustle of leaves and from somewhere, the sound of rain and trickling water. You can see trees, of deep green and black and brown, as you take your steps, you feel the soft ground beneath your feet.

You have never seen anything like this before.

You climb the wooden walkway through this tropical rain forest in the Central Park Zoo. The bridge is overlooking a small waterfall and beside it, there is steam rising from what you know is some hidden vent. Tiny beads of perspiration spring to your skin. You blow the bangs off your forehead. 

At the other end of the bridge, Joel is still standing at the other side of the bridge and he is staring at you. As he wants to take everything about you. And then, your heart fluttered by his soft gaze.

And then, he went to you while your eyes never left his. He takes both of your hands in his, leans in and whispers in your ear, warm breath against your neck. “This is how it is in the Philippines, right? Isn’t this the way it is?” 

You nodded and you know what is coming next. You feel that heat and stop thinking. You closed your eyes as Joel went closer to kiss you. 

Moments later, you answered him, “Yes, this is the way it is.” 

You thought if you haven't met Joel Miller on a train or maybe someday, against all the laws of probability, both of you met in another place or time but it doesn't matter right now. Meeting Joel Miller is a prelude to something wonderful and you felt it at the very beginning. 

That swift, surprising transition from nothing to everything.

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[seeyouinthespring]

FIRST PHILIPPINES GOLD MEDAL RAHHHHHH‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭