Chapter Text
The first lesson Adelaida Valderrama—Ada to almost everyone who knows her—learns as a senator is that the decisions people pay the least attention to often shape the ones they remember most.
The public sees what happens on the Senate floor. They watch the election of Senate officers, the committee hearings, and the votes that eventually make the headlines. But they rarely see what comes before.
This morning, the majority caucus takes place behind closed doors.
Around the long conference table sit the senators who had campaigned alongside the newly elected President or had, over the course of the campaign, found themselves aligned with the same reform agenda. Some are returning senators greeting colleagues they have not seen in years. Others, like Adelaida, are attending their first caucus as members of the Senate.
The atmosphere is cordial, though still formal. Conversations overlap as senators shake hands, congratulate one another on the election, and catch up after months on the campaign trail. Their staff remain outside, leaving the room to the senators alone as they decide how the next six years will begin.
Ada takes one of the remaining seats.
For years, she had appeared before many of these men and women as Chairperson of the Commission on Human Rights. Some had questioned her during committee hearings, while others had worked with her on legislative proposals long before she ever considered running for the Senate.
Today, they are no longer resource persons and legislators; they are colleagues.
Across the table sits Arturo Villegas, a folder open before him. In public, he is Senator Villegas. Behind closed doors, to the colleagues who have known him for years, he is simply Art.
Unlike several of the others, Art does not spend much time working the room. He greets colleagues as they approach, exchanges a few words, and occasionally allows himself a brief smile before returning to the folder in front of him. Even amidst the small talk, there is a sense that his mind is already on the work ahead.
Ada recognizes him immediately, as anyone who has followed Philippine politics over the past decade would.
Senator Villegas is a decorated naval officer, a former senator, and one of the country’s most recognizable anti-corruption figures.
And yet, she has never spoken to him.
The room gradually settles as the coalition’s most senior senator, Senator Juan Vicente, rises from his chair.
“Long day, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, an easy smile crossing his face. “Simulan na natin ito.”
No one questions why he is the one leading the meeting.
By the time a majority caucus convenes, certain decisions no longer require debate. The public will witness the election of the Senate President later that day, but everyone in this room already knows how the numbers will fall. Having served multiple terms in the Senate and carrying the coalition’s overwhelming support, Senator Juan Vicente is widely expected to return as Senate President.
He opens the folder before him. “Committee assignments.”
Ada has heard enough stories to know this is where much of the Senate’s work truly begins. Bills may be debated in plenary, but it is in committee that they are studied, refined, and often transformed. It is where investigations are launched, where oversight is exercised, and where every chairmanship comes with both influence and responsibility.
The first committee immediately draws everyone’s attention.
“Blue Ribbon.”
Several heads turn towards Art.
“Kay Art na ito,” Senator Vicente says.
A few senators nod in agreement.
Among senators, there has long been an unspoken understanding that the Committee on Blue Ribbon is first offered to the candidate who received the highest number of votes. More than a privilege, it is seen as an acknowledgment of the public mandate entrusted to that senator. The assignment is never compulsory, but few decline it.
In Art’s case, the decision feels almost inevitable.
He had entered the Senate as the country’s top vote-getter, and his reputation had long been built on exposing corruption and demanding accountability from public officials. The committee could hardly have gone to anyone else.
Aside from Blue Ribbon, he is also given the vice chairmanships of National Defense and Security, and Electoral Reforms and People’s Participation.
Art acknowledges each assignment with the same nod before making another note in the margin of his folder.
The discussion moves to the next names.
“Justice and Human Rights.”
This time, the room turns towards Ada.
No explanation is necessary. Having spent years leading the Commission on Human Rights, few senators are better prepared to oversee the committee.
“Of course, kay Senator Valderrama na ito,” Senator Vicente declares, a little formal because it’s his first time working with her.
She inclines her head in acknowledgment.
Aside from Justice and Human Rights, she is also entrusted with the Committee on Education, while joining several other committees as a member.
She writes each assignment neatly beside the day’s agenda.
The titles matter, but the work that comes after matters more. Outside the room, committee chairmanships are usually talked about as political prizes. The majority has the numbers, and with them comes the power to decide who chairs what.
Watching the discussion unfold, Ada sees something else. Every assignment is also a judgment about where each senator is expected to do the most work: hearings have to be prepared, reports have to be read, and witnesses have to be questioned. By the time a committee convenes before the cameras, much of the real work has already been done.
The caucus continues for another half hour, shifting from committee assignments to the administration’s legislative priorities.
The discussions remain measured throughout. There are disagreements, clarifications, and suggestions, but no raised voices. Everyone in the room understands that whatever differences exist among them, they now share the responsibility of governing.
As the meeting adjourns, chairs slide back almost in unison.
The first plenary session is only a few hours away.
For the first time in her career, Adelaida Valderrama rises not to testify before the Senate, but to help lead it.
— — —
By early afternoon, Ada is back in her office, making a few final revisions to the notes she had prepared for the opening session. Then a knock comes at the door.
Lorna, her chief of staff, steps inside with a printed seating chart in hand. “Ma’am, nakuha na po natin ‘yung seating arrangement. Normally, by last name naman po ito, pero pwede pang mabago.”
She walks over and places it on her desk, and Ada’s eyes immediately find her name.
Adelaida Valderrama. Beside it sits another: Arturo Villegas.
“Medyo suplado ang seatmate mo, ma’am,” Lorna says with a grin.
Ada lets out a small laugh. “Oo nga e. Kanina sa caucus, hindi siya masyadong nakikipagdaldalan.”
She leans back in her chair, still looking at the seating chart. “Hay naku, bakit naman ako natabi sa suplado? Baka mapanis ang laway ko kada may session.”
Lorna chuckles. Ada smiles as she hands the paper back. “But we’ll see.”
Outside, the hallway has begun to grow busier.
The afternoon plenary session is only a few minutes away.
— — —
The Session Hall gradually fills as senators, staff, and guests take their places.
Ada arranges the folders on her desk, taking in the room around her while conversations rise and fall across the chamber. Some senators remain standing in small groups, catching up after months apart. Others are already seated, reviewing the day’s agenda.
The chair beside her shifts.
Ada looks up just as Arturo Villegas sets a slim folder on the desk before taking his seat.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The honorific slips out as naturally as breathing, a habit from his military years that has long outlived the uniform.
“Afternoon, Senator,” she replies.
He acknowledges the greeting with a courteous nod before arranging the papers on his desk.
Before either of them can say another word, the bell echoes through the Session Hall. Conversations fade as senators make their way back to their seats and the Secretary begins the day’s proceedings.
The Senate proceeds with the day’s organizational business: the formal election of the Senate President, followed by the election of the President Pro Tempore, the Majority and Minority Leaders, the designation of the chamber’s remaining officers, and the adoption of the resolution assigning committee chairmanships and memberships.
Art’s attention rarely leaves whoever has the floor, save for the occasional note he makes in the margin of his agenda.
Ada finds herself stealing quick glances at him every now and then. Her chief of staff had not been exaggerating: he does seem aloof.
As the announcements continue, she makes the occasional remark under her breath, usually no more than a short observation prompted by something said on the floor. Art always hears her. Sometimes he answers with a quick response. More often, he simply gives the faintest smile before returning his attention to the proceedings.
She eventually lets the silence settle between them. Somehow, it feels like the kind of silence he prefers.
She turns her attention back to the proceedings.
Without taking his eyes off the senator speaking at the rostrum, Art speaks. “Okay ka naman sa committee assignments, ma’am?”
The question catches her by surprise. She turns to him, still not quite used to being called ma’am by a fellow senator. Behind closed doors, most of the others had already settled into first names or the occasional “Sen.” She supposes old habits die hard, especially after a career in the navy.
She’d also been starting to think he’d happily spend the rest of the session in silence. Apparently, it isn’t silence he prefers; he’s simply selective about when he speaks.
“Oo,” she says with a small laugh. “Okay naman. Pero syempre medyo kabado.”
Only then does he look her way. “Sa umpisa lang ‘yan,” Art says.
Ada smiles. “May maipapayo ka ba sa first-timer, Senator Villegas?”
He holds her gaze for a moment before answering. “Learn how to read people.”
Ada turns the advice over in her mind.
It sounds simple enough. Yet the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that most of politics comes down to exactly that. Laws can be studied, and procedure can be learned. But reading people is different. It means knowing who speaks out of conviction and who speaks for convenience, who keeps their word when no one is watching, and who changes course the moment the political winds shift.
No handbook teaches that, but experience does.
She glances towards Art, and a faint smile crosses her face.
Perhaps her chief of staff had judged him too quickly. He is certainly reserved. But reserved, she realizes, is not the same thing as unapproachable.