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26. INT. LUIS’ CAR – A SHORT TIME LATER

Luis drives a nondescript second-hand Lancer, not really going in for style or flash. Truth be told, he’d still be taking public, had that option not become an impossibility as early as the first week Habagat began to air.

Even then, Luis’ celebrity status seemed a foregone conclusion, children and colegialas alike pointing at him in jeeps, buses, or the MRT,[1] shrieking “Habagat!”[2]

The attention was flattering, yes, but highly distracting.

Luis decided he had to get a car when the Mantrade jeep he was on nearly had a collision with a taxi when the jeepney driver actually did a double-take after taking Luis’ 7.50. The driver’s eyes went wide, and he said beneath his breath, awestruck, “Habagat.”

Horns blared, brakes locked, tires squealed, and passengers were rudely jostled into each other.

Luis sank back into his seat, wishing for invisibility.

And, at the moment, Luis thinks he may as well be invisible, for all the acknowledgment Lilith has given to his presence. She has been silent since their sudden departure from the restaurant, and Luis is decidedly uncomfortable, uncertain how to breach this barrier.

Without really thinking about it, he switches the radio on, and “Yellow” is playing.

“Uy,” he says, “I love this song. `Yan yung ringtone ko!”

To which Lilith reacts with still more silence.

Sighing, Luis wants to sing along to his favorite song, but is acutely aware of allowing a noisy, horny cat into the confines of the car, so he contents himself with humming instead.

“Ayaw ni Ms. Joanna sa akin, ‘no?”

Luis is actually surprised at Lilith’s sudden question.

“Huh? Hindi naman. May pagka-overprotective kasi siya kapag career ko yung pinapag-usapan.”

Lilith shakes her head, firm in her belief. “Mali ka on two counts.

“One, hindi lang career mo yung inaalala niya. She cares about you, Luis. Pamilya ka niya.”

Luis is silent for a moment, then, softly, “Ano yung number two?”

Lilith turns in her seat to look at Luis, and he can see the tears on her cheeks, the genuine hurt in her eyes.

“She really does hate me.”

And then she says no more, not for the short, quiet drive to her condominium.

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1 The MRT, in particular, would have been problematic, with the advent of the “HabagatCars,” special MRT cars that were decked out with dozens of flatscreens which ran the previous evening’s Habagat episode on a perpetual loop for the entire day.

On weekends, all five episodes of the previous week would be shown back-to-back on these screens, and many passengers could be observed riding the MRT from one end to the other, to catch as much of the past week’s adventures as possible. [back]

2 A phenomenon industry observers were quick to point out was in part due to Luis being a virtual unknown at the time of Habagat’s ratings-busting premiere.

Luis came into the public consciousness, full-blown, as the larger-than-life defender of Truth, Justice, and the Filipino People, the super-bayani, Habagat.

Unlike Judy Ann Santos playing Krystala, or Angel Locsin playing Darna, Luis was seen as Habagat, as opposed to a celebrity with a pre-existing public persona putting on a costume: “Angel” or “Judai,” characters in and of themselves, removed by any number of degrees from the real people these women actually were, constructs mutually created by the conjunction of industry agendas and public desires.

So, Luis flew his way into Philippine households, and the collective heart of a nation that has always been in need of heroes, as Habagat, the all-powerful champion who embodied the boundless strength and the indomitable will of a people history and circumstance had repeatedly kicked in the teeth.

It was a big responsibility. Massive. And Luis was, daily, both humbled and elated, in the face of that responsibility. [back]

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