The sun was beginning to set, casting golden light across the rolling hills of Antipolo. Everything looked softer, gentler—like the world itself was sighing in preparation for the new year. From the kitchen window, Danielle watched as her father finished stringing the last of the colorful star-shaped lanterns along the white fence. Her mother was barefoot in the backyard, slicing rice cakes with focused determination while muttering about a neighbor who still hadn't returned her clay pot.
Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of garlic, sugar, and wood smoke. On the stove, a pot threatened to boil over. Leo, in a polka-dotted dress chosen specifically for the occasion, twirled barefoot across the tiled floor, singing an off-key version of "Firework" by Katy Perry.
Danielle leaned on the kitchen doorway, a dish towel over one shoulder, cooling coffee in her hand. This is peace, she told herself. Or close enough.
But peace in the Philippines—especially on New Year's Eve—was a strange kind of calm. It came wrapped in rituals, superstition, and an undercurrent of chaos. Firecrackers had already begun popping in the neighborhood. Somewhere close by, a sparkler hissed, followed by a child's delighted squeal and a dog barking in protest.
"Only round food this year, right?" her mother shouted from the kitchen table. "No milkfish! It has to be round for prosperity!"
Danielle smiled to herself. Of course. Circular fruits, round coins, sticky rice cakes in perfect little mounds. The entire dining table was overflowing: fried bananas, roast pork belly, sticky rice in banana leaves, twelve round fruits arranged in a shallow basket, and small bowls filled with coins meant to bring fortune.
Someone had even tucked grapes into Leo's dress pocket "for luck."
Her company phone buzzed quietly on the counter. No missed calls—just a backlog of unread emails from Horizon, most of which she'd ignored since the 29th. She tapped the screen idly, her thumb brushing over a photo Allyza had sent: Rian and Leo running barefoot across the grass, faces flushed with joy.
She turned the phone face down.
This isn't Europe. This isn't work. This is just New Year's in Antipolo, she reminded herself.
But there was something off tonight. Beneath the warmth of the house, beneath the comfort of tradition, something inside her chest stirred. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was too many things left unsaid—between her and Allyza, between her and Axel. Even the late-night call she hadn't returned still echoed in her memory.
Her father stepped in from the yard, wiping sweat from his brow. "Dinner's almost ready. Leo wants to light a firework later."
Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Only safe ones, okay?"
As night fell, their little home glowed. From the garden, the city lights below blinked to life, a sea of warm golden windows and distant flashes of early fireworks. Neighbors yelled greetings. Laughter rolled in waves.
Leo clung to her mother's leg, bouncing with excitement.
"Can I stay up until midnight?" she asked, eyes wide.
Danielle smiled. "If you can keep your eyes open, you can stay up."
And so the hours passed—clinking glasses, the sound of rice frying, sparklers crackling in the yard, music humming through the windows. The neighborhood came alive with celebration. Coins were shaken in bowls. Doors were opened to welcome luck. Everyone jumped at the stroke of midnight to "grow taller," even if it never worked.
Danielle stood just outside the kitchen, wine glass in hand, Leo now fast asleep in her arms. On her left wrist, a red beaded bracelet her mother had insisted she wear "to ward off envy." On her right, the sleek company-issued watch—silver, cold, and unblinking in the firework light.
Boom.
The sky lit up.
Boom.
"Happy New Year!" someone shouted in the distance.
Boom.
She closed her eyes and kissed her daughter's forehead.
"Welcome, 2025," she whispered.
The sky was still lit with streaks of gold and red when Danielle settled Leo on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket. Her cheeks still carried the warmth of the firecrackers, her lips stained with sweet rice cake.
The house had quieted down, the neighbors' fireworks fading into sporadic cracks. Somewhere in the distance, a karaoke machine started belting out a warbled version of "My Heart Will Go On."
Her phone buzzed. It was the company-issued one, the same one she tried not to get too attached to—but the name on the screen made her pause.
AXEL. Calling.
She stared for a second longer than necessary before answering. "Hello?" she said, cautiously.
There was nothing at first. No voice. Just the faint background noise—wind, maybe, and a rustle of leaves or fabric. A long pause, then what sounded like a breath being held too long.
"Axel?" she tried again, a little firmer this time.
Still no reply. But she didn't hang up. She could tell he was there, just… not speaking. The silence stretched. She was about to speak again when his voice came, low and tentative: "Happy New Year." The line went dead. Danielle stared at the phone, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid.
Next day…
The salubong had passed, the fireworks turned to ashes, and the city settled back into its usual hum. At the Antipolo home, the Reyes family was deep into the motions of spring cleaning—an unspoken tradition to greet the new year with less baggage and more clarity. The windows were open, music was playing softly in the background, and there was a scent of vinegar, dish soap, and fresh citrus in the air.
Danielle was outside, sweeping by the front gate. She wore one of Axel's old oversized shirts and shorts that had seen better days, hair in a bun, a faint smudge of dust on her cheek. The rhythmic scrape of the walis tingting was meditative—until a small voice broke through the morning quiet.
"Ate, para po sa mga bata," said the tiny boy, his round face serious under the weight of a Santa hat still stubbornly clinging to the holiday. He held out a clear plastic bag with candies and small toys.
Dan blinked, surprised, then softened. "Leo!" she called into the house. "May nagbigay ng regalo!"
Leo came barreling out, still barefoot and holding a half-peeled dalandan. She gasped with glee as she took the bag from the boy, thanking him with a shy smile. The boy scampered away, continuing his delivery route.
Dan's smile lingered—until she noticed other neighbors starting to trickle outside. Curious eyes landed on her, as if the act of her sweeping her own gate suddenly made her more… reachable. One by one, women from nearby homes gravitated toward her.
"Uy, Danielle, ikaw na ba talaga yan? Ang payat mo na."
"Dati kang sa site engineer, 'di ba? Pero bakit parang hindi ka lumalabas?"
"Yung asawa mo ba yung laging wala? Foreign-looking 'no?"
The comments came like drizzle—light, almost harmless, but insistent. They spoke with polite smiles, but Dan could feel the tension buried beneath their words. That constant undercurrent of comparison. Curiosity edged with judgment.
She nodded where appropriate, smiled thinly, kept her answers short. She tried. God, she tried. This is normal. This is community. Just breathe.
But her gut twisted as she recognized the shift in tone—how admiration turned into suspicion in the span of two follow-up questions. The backhanded compliments. The pauses. The too-long looks at Leo.
She felt her throat tighten.
"Excuse me po muna, papakainin ko lang si Leo." Dan's voice was light, almost airy. She gave them a small nod before gently steering Leo back inside.
The moment the gate clicked shut behind her, her shoulders dropped. She didn't realize how tense she'd become until her spine ached from holding it all in.
Inside, she sank into the nearest chair. Leo plopped down beside her, opening her bag of treats with joy.
Dan watched her for a while, trying to ground herself in that joy. You've survived worse. You've been through war zones in boardrooms, you've worked construction through typhoons. This? This is just noise.
But still, it stung. She had grown some immunity to being watched, yes—but immunity didn't mean invulnerability. Especially not to the subtle kind of cruelty that came with smiles.
She breathed in, then out. "Kape nga." Maybe with enough caffeine, she could rebuild the wall around her peace again. Stronger this time.
Danielle closed the gate behind her, heart still lightly thumping—not from exertion, but from the effort of smiling through half-meant compliments and barely veiled stares. Leo skipped ahead into the house with her small gift bag in hand, blissfully unaware of the undercurrent her mother had picked up on.
Dan set the broom aside, leaned against the doorframe, and exhaled. You'd think I'd be used to this by now.
Her phone buzzed on the windowsill.
ALLYZA UY (CALLING)
She blinked in surprise. "Uy," she muttered, swiping to answer. "Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year to you too, bruha," Allyza said, wind in her voice, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance. "Guess where I am?"
Dan raised a brow. "Some villa in Palawan?"
"Morocco, bitch."
Dan almost dropped the phone. "HUH?"
"We took a detour after Spain. Family tradition daw. Honestly, I just wanted a tan and some time with Rian. But we're flying back tonight. Thought I'd call before I enter airplane mode."
Dan laughed. "Jetsetter ka talaga. Meanwhile ako, na-ambush ng kapitbahay habang nagwawalis."
"Oh no. Did they do the passive-aggressive 'ang ganda ng bahay mo ha'?"
"Worse. 'Ay, ikaw pala yan, engineer ka diba? Sayang, ang talino mo pa naman.'"
Allyza hissed. "Deadma. They're irrelevant."
"Trying," Dan muttered, then caught herself. "Anyway, welcome home soon. Leo says thanks again for the gift, by the way."
"Tell her Rian picked it. He even added the sticker sheet. Kinikilig siya, by the way."
Dan snorted. "Baka may playdate na naman yan."
"Better clear your January. I'll call again when we land. And Dan?" Allyza's voice softened. "Keep your head up. You're more than what they think. You always have been."
Dan's throat tightened unexpectedly. "Safe flight, Lyz."
"See you soon, bruha."
Click.
Dan stared at the silent phone. She didn't realize how much she needed that call until now. There was still dust on the floor, laundry in the basket, and leftover fears in her chest—but for a fleeting second, someone reminded her of who she really was beneath all that.
Not immune yet, she thought, but maybe getting there.
Danielle slipped the phone into her shorts pocket and finally pushed open the screen door. The living room was half lit with morning sunlight, and the scent of garlic rice and brewed coffee lingered in the air. Inside, her mother was neatly folding shirts into a duffel bag, while her father secured a box with packing tape, the kind reused from balikbayan boxes, already soft around the edges.
"Heading out early?" she asked, setting her mug down on the table.
Her mom looked up with a tired smile. "Mabigat pa traffic mamaya. Sayang oras. We'll get home before sunset if we leave before noon."
Dan nodded. She looked over at Leo, who was still playing with the sticker sheet from Rian's gift. "Bitin si Leo sa lola at lolo time," she said softly.
Her father shrugged without looking at her. "You know where to find us."
There was no bitterness in his voice, just the same quiet distance that had settled between them since Dan moved to Antipolo. Not cold, just... respectful space.
She crossed the room, kneeling next to Leo. "Hey, baby. Lolo and Lola are going home na."
Leo's small face scrunched up. "Can I go too?"
Dan chuckled. "We'll visit soon. Maybe next weekend."
Leo nodded slowly, then went back to placing a sticker of a rabbit onto the corner of her notebook.
Dan stood again and turned toward her parents. Her voice came out steadier than expected. "Thanks for coming. For the help. For everything."
Her mom gave her a longer look this time, one that said I see you trying. She didn't say it out loud, but the nod she gave was enough.
Outside, the neighborhood was still alive with remnants of firecrackers and half-hung banderitas. Inside, the house felt a little too quiet again.
Dan exhaled. She wasn't ready for the silence, but she welcomed it anyway.
She had just begun to build immunity.
Later that day, like clockwork, Danielle logged back into work.
The house was quiet again—too quiet, in fact. After lunch and a quick goodbye hug from Leo to her grandparents, her parents had finally headed back to Bulacan. Danielle had seen them off with a careful mix of gratitude and relief. She appreciated their presence, of course, but there was always something heavy about having them here—something that reminded her of all the things she was juggling in silence.
Now, with Leo napping upstairs and the sun dipping low in the sky, she settled in at her usual spot at the dining table, her laptop screen glowing in the dim room. Slack notifications blinked like stubborn fireflies, a gentle reminder that her work—like her responsibilities—never really stopped. She took a long sip of cold coffee from a forgotten mug, squared her shoulders, and began reviewing the offshore team's resolution logs.
No fireworks. No confetti. Just keyboards clacking, and her quiet determination pressing forward.
She hadn't built immunity to everything yet, but she was getting there. Day by day.