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“Before Saturday, please,” I beg. “I’ll be so busy.”

I’m speaking nonsense, I know. But if I trespass into a school again, I’m increasing my chances of getting caught, and I’d rather not do that or leave anything to the last minute.

My parents exchange looks.

“How about Friday after I get off work?” my dad offers.

I’ll be tight on time, but I can still edit Friday night and practice Saturday morning.

“Sounds great, po!” I say. My mom claps her fingertips against her palm, each beat quick and lively. I swallow. Now for the harder part. “Can I bring my camera?”

Now they both raise their eyebrows.

“You can just use your phone,” my dad says.

“It’s not the same,” I say, meaning it. “Phones don’t take the same quality as cameras do.”

It’s true. I understand why people prefer taking photos on phones—they are, after all, more convenient. But the details in a photo taken by a phone aren’t as clear as they are when taken by a camera.

“If we want to capture our moments together, we should capture them in the best quality.”

My mom considers this while my dad just blinks. I only need one of them to say yes, to let me use my camera so I can show the judges and contestants a photo that conveys my perception of love.

“Siggi, anak,” my mom says.

Thank goodness.

“It’s faster to use your phone,” my dad says. “But since you can’t use your camera any other time, you can use it then.”

“Salamat po, salamat po!”

I hug them each and kiss their cheeks.

I’ve convinced them to let me use my camera, but maybe I can convince them with something more.

Chapter Thirty-One

While my mom lays out all the food—pork adobo, inihaw na bangus, inihaw na Talong, and halo-halo—I get a sense that something isn’t right.

It’s golden hour sunset, so time isn’t the problem, nor is location. The sun glows behind my parents, making it perfect for backlighting.

But no matter how much I adjust my settings, nothing looks right.

I reflect on the last two days following my usual routine. Did I leave anything behind? Nothing I can think of.

“Anak, let’s eat,” my dad says.

“The pagkain will get cold, and the halo-halo will melt,” my mom says.

“Ohpo, sandale,” I say, because I do need them to wait a minute.

Raising my camera, I look through my viewfinder, my lens locking my parents in focus as they smile, all the food laid out and the lake stretched behind them, and press down the shutter button.

Click!

Even as I shoot from different angles, increasing my ISO and widening my aperture, I can’t put my finger on why I don’t feel satisfied.

“All right, kain na tayo,” my dad says.