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The thought is further confirmed when Aprilette and Piolo, who are considered star students by Professor Rodriguez, have me sit in on the O-chem class. According to Aprilette, I have to experience a real undergrad class to come prepared for the future. Though she was probably going to take me here regardless, I still wish she would’ve asked me what I wanted to do. I understand she’s guiding me, but it would’ve been nice to have had options. There’s no doubt Professor Rodriguez knows her stuff. Many jot down notes while others lean in with perked ears. Maybe if I were more interested in O-chem like everyone else the lecture wouldn’t feel like it’s dragging.

Outside, Aprilette and Piolo lead me to Sproul Hall, a white building held up by three pillars. Tables showcasing a variety of student organizations line across the concrete courtyard in front of the building. They first take me to a table about the bio program, then move on to the honors society. Apparently, the professor advising the honors society is one of Piolo’s favorites, so they chat it up. Aprilette laughs at an old memory only they understand.

My eyes wander to the other tables, locking in on the photography club. My legs take me there without communicating with my brain.

“Hi, there!” a girl with long brown hair pushed back with a headband, a camera hanging around her neck, greets. She’s wearing a t-shirt with Tagalog embossed across the front. “Are you interested in joining the photography club?”

On the table, there’s a three-flapped board with Cal Photography Club pasted on the middle in glittery gold letters. It displays photographs—some of the students’ work, the others of the photography club themselves—on the outer flaps. I study the photos, all capturing different aspects of the campus, in front of the board, taking in what details they brought out and the different tones they adjusted.

“Which photograph is yours?” I ask her.

“It’s the one with—”

“Emi!”

Before the girl finishes, Aprilette walks towards the table, waving for me to follow.

“I wanted to check out more,” I explain.

“It’s just a photography club,” Aprilette says.

It’s usually instinct for me to listen to my Atè, follow her wherever she leads. Now, though, I grit my teeth, holding back everything I want to say. From the corner of my eye, the photographer I was talking to shoots Aprilette a pointed look that says, What’s wrong with being in a photography club?

“But I wanted to—”

“Come on, let’s go,” Aprilette interjects, then walks away expecting me to follow her.

Maybe it’s because I don’t want to defy Atè, or it’s second nature to follow her, just like I did when we were kids when she’d lead me around the neighborhood, but I trail behind, gritting my teeth harder. I’ve always looked up to my Atè, wishing I had her fierceness and leadership. Now, though, I’m starting to notice how bossy she is. I still love her, and I know she means well. But it wouldn’t hurt for her to listen to me, even if I am younger.

Aprilette and Piolo take me to several more tables, and my mind completely drifts away as they talk about their club/program/job. The only one I fully listen to is the Asian American/Pacific Islander club, which gives an empowering talk about representing each Asian American/Pacific Islander community. I walk away holding a few pamphlets.

As we head back to the food court where my parents are waiting, I think about that photography club, wondering which photograph that photographer took.

Maybe I’ll never know.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Tito Rommulo and Tita Aurora’s house is so clean I feel like I’m dirtying the floor with every step.

Upon seeing our aunt and uncle, Aprilette and I ask for their blessings.

“Mano po,” Aprilette and I say, respectively, to Tita Aurora and Tito Rommulo.

We each take their right hands and press our foreheads against the back. We switch off, and I do the same for Tita Aurora. Filipinos do a mano po to show respect to their elders and accept their blessings. I love this about my culture, our way of connecting to previous generations and our native country.

In the kitchen, there’s food—lumpia shanghai, pancit, lechon, pork liempo, adobo—laid out in aluminum trays across the island. The smell of meat, soy sauce, and vegetables wafts through the air. Tagalog and English tangle together in the living room as everyone, family and Ava’s friends, talk to one another.

As we gather food, Aprilette catches up with Amado and his girlfriend Reyna. Ava is behind me, methodically tonging out two lumpia shanghai. She moves on to the pancit, and when she grips a yarn-full with the tongs, she lets it go and grips a thinner portion.

“Congratulations on completing grad school, Atè Ava,” I say. Since Ava is older, it’s respectful that I call her Atè too.

“Salamat,” Ava replies dryly. She grips another ball full of pancit and drops it on her plate. I’m not surprised Ava is replying this way. She and Gabriel have always been cold and emotionless. But it’s only respectful of me to congratulate her.

I move on to the pork liempo while Ava pokes at the lechon with the tongs. “How was grad school? Have any fun stories?”

“It’s just grad school.”

“I’m sure you have at least one good memory.”