Work Text:
They say I’m everywhere now—
Billboards, magazine covers, LED screens along EDSA.
Every day, someone tags me in photos I didn’t know were taken—walking out of a shoot, sipping overpriced coffee, fixing my sunglasses.
Sabi nila, sikat na raw ako. Na I’m living the dream. Na I have everything.
Minsan nga, pati ako napapaniwala. Lalo na kapag may camera. Kapag may makeup. Kapag naka-heels. Kapag may sumisigaw ng “Miss Stacey, smile po!”
Today was one of those days.
Call time: 6 AM.
First shoot: skincare ad.
Kailangan glowing kahit two hours lang tulog ko.
Second: magazine cover.
Tatlong outfit changes, dalawang locations, isang hairstylist na natulugan ko.
After lunch: online media interview.
“What’s your skincare secret?”
“What’s your next project?”
“What are your plans after this?”
Smile lang. Smile, nod, konting tawa.
Scripted pero natural. Model behavior, duh.
By 4 PM, nakaupo na ako sa van.
Makeup half-melted.
Phone at 14% kahit hindi ko naman ginamit.
32 unread messages sa GC, lahat may “urgent” sa umpisa.
Tumawag si Mommy. Hindi ko nasagot.
Tumawag ulit. Hindi ko pa rin nasagot.
Pagod na pagod na ako. Pero may isa pa.
Tapos may awarding party pa raw after. Mandatory attendance, sabi ni Ms. MQ.
Last brand endorsement for the day.
Luxury perfume. Glam look. Black dress, red lips, waves ang hair.
I was booked at a penthouse suite in BGC—maliwanag, maingay, puro “You look so good!”
Mga kilay na hindi gumagalaw. Mga ngiting sanay sa camera.
Pinapila ako for the photo wall.
Tumayo ako sa harap, hawak ’yung bote ng pabango.
Pose. Smile. Turn. Side glance. Chin up. Done.
Pinalakpakan pa ako ng PR team.
“You nailed it as always, Stacey.”
Ngumiti ako. Sanay na. Pagod na.
“Thank you po sa inyo. Ang ganda ng setup, grabe.”
After that, dinner. Buffet. Fancy.
Pero wala na akong gana.
Ang sakit na ng paa ko sa heels.
“Miss Stacey, pababa na po tayo for the awarding?”
“Sure po! Tara, let’s go!”
Kinuha ko lang ‘yung bag ko. Retouch ng konting lipstick. Ready na ulit.
Pagdating sa ballroom, ang daming camera.
Red carpet. Media. Champagne.
Yung mga host, ang lakas ng boses.
Nakangiti ako habang iniikot ng manager ko.
“Siya po ‘yung nag-campaign with Binibini Perfume.”
Smile. Kamay. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”
May nagtanong, “How do you stay so confident, Stacey?”
Sabi ko, “Sleep! Or at least, trying to!”
Nagkatawanan. Picture ulit.
Then they called my name.
“Iconic Personality of the Year: Ms. Stacey Sevilleja!”
Nagulat ako. Super unexpected.
Lakasan ng palakpakan.
Kinuha ko ‘yung plake. Bulaklak.
Nag-speech ng impromptu:
“Hi everyone, thank you so much! I honestly didn’t expect this, pero super grateful ako.
To my team, my fans, and everyone who continues to believe in me—kahit nakakapagod—thank you.
This is for all the women who just keep going.
Kaya natin ’to. Thank you!”
Smile. Wave. Camera flashes.
Sa loob ko: buti na lang tapos na.
“Ma’am Stacey, pakuha ko na po ‘yung car niyo?”
Sabi ni Kuya Nelson, my ever-trusted marshal.
“Yes please, thank you!”
I got in the car barefoot.
Tossed the heels and plaque onto the passenger seat, along with the flowers I forgot to hold properly.
I started the engine. Full makeup. Hair still in curls. Smile still hanging somewhere on my face.
Sikip ng dress, grabe. Pero keri. Konting tiis.
Pero sa rearview mirror, mukha na akong pagod.
Hindi sad. Hindi galit. Just… drained.
The streets were quiet, but not empty.
People still out. Lights still flashing.
Couples crossing the road. A group of girls laughing by a milk tea shop.
Someone on a motorbike singing under their helmet.
It’s funny how the world keeps moving after a night like that.
It reminded me of that evening on my balcony.
Back when you said, “One day, mahal, you’ll be too busy for sunsets.”
I told you, “Excuse me. Ang sunset ang maghihintay sa akin.”
You laughed. “Luh. Sino ka naman dyan.”
But you smiled like you believed me.
I still chase them, you know.
Even now.
I looked at the time. Tried to convert it to Canada time. Failed.
Math is ugh anyway.
I sat at the stoplight, staring at the numbers on my phone, trying to remember what day it is on your side.
If you’re in rehearsals.
If you had a show today.
If you’re tired too.
Sometimes I imagine what your day looks like—
You, in a thick jacket, coffee in hand, walking a cold street with music in your ears and scripts in your bag.
You always said the cold made you feel alive.
I hated it.
You loved it.
I wondered if you’re smiling today.
If someone brought you flowers at the stage door.
If your phone’s still on airplane mode to focus.
If that’s why I haven’t heard from you.
A honk behind me snapped me out of it.
The light had turned green.
I drove the rest of the way home without thinking.
Just muscle memory. Right turn here. U-turn there.
Familiar roads under unfamiliar skies.
When I got to the building, I parked in my usual slot.
Grabbed the heels, flowers, plaque.
Didn’t bother fixing my hair.
Didn’t care if anyone saw me in a gown, arms full like some pageant contestant.
Elevator ride up was quiet.
Just me, my reflection, and the sound of heels knocking in my bag.
Pagpasok ko ng unit, I locked the door, dropped everything on the couch, and stood still.
Just one second.
Then I sighed. Loud enough to echo in the silence.
Because no one sees the parts of me that aren’t lit properly.
’Yung ’di nahahagip ng camera.
’Yung hindi natatakpan ng makeup.
I peeled off the lashes.
Wiped the lipstick with the back of my hand.
Didn’t even reach for micellar water.
Hindi na kaya ng energy.
I sat on the floor, back to the couch, gown still on, legs stretched out.
Everything felt still.
And in my head, I ask you the same thing I always do—in traffic, on the carpet, under the lights, and now, in the dark:
Can you feel me still?
I opened the fridge.
Wala kundi half a lemon and a yogurt na expired na.
Aasarin mo na naman ako niyan.
You always made sure I ate before a shoot.
“Babe, model ka pero ’di ka kailangang mahimatay sa gutom, okay?”
Then you’d hand me coffee with soy milk and a sandwich—no crust, extra cheese, kasi yun gusto ko.
And when I was too nervous to walk into set, you’d take my hand.
“You’ve got this, mahal. You’re Stacey Sevilleja.”
Then you’d kiss my cheek. I’d roll my eyes—just to hide how much I needed to hear it.
Now, it’s just my voice.
And it doesn’t sound as sure as yours.
I miss being your passenger princess.
You, in your hoodie and tinted glasses, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for mine.
“Want music or me?”
You always asked.
And I always chose you.
I opened Instagram.
Tried not to. But my fingers found their way there.
First thing on my feed—reposted by three outlets already:
“Jhoanna Robles makes history as the first Filipina to lead a world tour of Dear Evan Hansen.”
Photo from curtain call.
You, center stage, confetti all around. That same shy smile laced with pride.
I double-tapped before I could stop myself.
Then stared.
The caption from your co-star:
“She’s not just talented. She also has the biggest heart. We love you, Jho!”
My throat tightened.
Proud. So proud. Always have been.
You almost didn’t audition.
Didn’t think you had the voice, the accent.
You loved Zoe—the quiet girl with big grief and a bigger heart—but Broadway? A Filipina? A lead?
It felt impossible.
But I kept pushing you.
“Babe, if they hear you, yun na yun! ’Di ka na nila makakalimutan.”
You sent in your tape. Waited. Prayed.
When the callback came, you cried so hard I had to reschedule my magazine shoot.
It wasn’t instant.
There were rejections. Visa delays. Baka hanggang dito lang ako moments.
But you got there.
Because you fought.
Then I saw it—an old post from months ago.
Your name on a marquee. Spotlight on your face. Captioned with something you would say:
“And every time the lights dim and the first piano note hits, I remember what Stacey once told me:
‘Malay mo, maging favorite kang character ng isang tao sa story.’”
I smiled. That was mine.
I remember saying it during your fourth audition, when you were pacing, panicking.
Because you are. You’re my favorite, Jhoanna.
But God, I miss you.
Pagkahiga ko sa kama, tahimik na.
Lights off. Curtains drawn.
Aircon humming.
Two months.
Dalawang buwan simula nung umalis ka.
Magkayakap pa tayo nung gabi na ‘yon.
Ilang buwan na rin akong hindi umiiyak.
Promise.
Hindi sa shoot. Hindi sa kotse. Hindi sa condo.
Ganda ko naman para umiyak, ‘di ba?
Pero bukas rest day ko.
Walang shoot. Walang call time. Walang event.
So okay lang siguro.
Okay lang siguro kung mamaga mata ko.
At ayun na nga.
Parang lahat sabay-sabay dumating.
The fatigue.
The award I didn’t think I’d win.
The silence after a long day.
The thought that we’re really doing it—living our dreams.
Pero ang layo mo.
Ang layo ko.
I curled up on my side, blanket up to my chin.
Tumagilid ako, staring at nothing.
Starting to drift—but still hugging your pillow, the one that kinda still smells like you, kahit ilang palit na ng punda.
Siguro kasi tinuluan mo na ‘to ng laway.
Then my phone buzzed.
I reached for it, half-asleep, heart wide awake.
A message from you:
Mahal, good mornight!
Last show na namin next week—double effort and rehearsal, kaya hindi na kita natawagan.
I’m sure you did so well today.
Malapit na. Pauwi na ako.
Kwentuhan mo ko, ha? Sumbong mo sakin lahat ng nagpapa-init ng ulo mo ok? Aawayin ko sila!!
I love you. Hindi ka nawawala sa isip ko.
I didn’t reply. Not yet.
I just smiled, hugged the pillow tighter, and whispered, “Good mornight.”
Hahaha. Hay, Jhoanna, gawa-gawa ka nanaman.
And this time, I let myself fall asleep smiling.
Thinking... paulit-ulit man ang mga araw, paulit-ulit ko rin namang pinipiling ikaw.
If this is the universe saying ‘masyado na kayong magkasama, pause muna,’ okay lang.
Sa isip ko, sa panaginip ko, sa pagitan ng work at ng katahimikan—ikaw pa rin.