Between Then and Now

CHAPTER SIX

Bonita

I t's been four days, and I haven't created anything compelling or even remotely interesting. I think about documenting Emily's journey from Manila to New York, but she's still currently getting ready for her UCPA certification—not exactly worth documenting yet. I consider focusing on Kate's preschool, but aside from adorable children, there isn't a story that feels significant enough to uncover. Then there's Haley, a theater actress. While she's exceptional at what she does, I can't imagine documenting a musical in a way that feels fresh or unique. Maybe I could film Manang Linda and her life’s pursuit to learn everything about everyone in our village.

Frustration sets in as I sift through potential ideas. Each concept seems promising at first, but quickly fizzles out upon closer scrutiny. I spend hours staring at my blank notebook, doodling in the margins as if perfecting the drawing of a cartoon eye will somehow spark inspiration. My mind is a whirlwind of discarded thoughts and half-formed concepts, each one slipping away before I can fully grasp it.

Mr. Ramirez actually got back to me yesterday, his email popping up in my inbox like a golden ticket. He followed up on my brainstorming, curious about how my creative juices were flowing and whether I felt ready to pitch my ideas come Friday. I graciously assured him while lying to myself that I was more than ready, despite the creative roadblocks I’d been hitting.

Then he laid it all out: if I were to embark on this personal project, I wouldn’t be paid as a regular employee since I’d be working remotely. However, management, in their infinite wisdom and generosity, agreed to keep me on as a part-timer. Should I agree, they’d be ready to draft a new contract.

I, of course, agreed with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated golden retriever. I needed this opportunity not just to prove to them that I deserved more recognition and responsibility, but also to prove to myself that I could rise to the challenge.

When I told my parents about the new project and the potential shift to a part-time role, their reactions were surprisingly supportive. Sure, I could sense the undercurrent of hesitation—they’ve always been practical, cautious people—but they were too caught up in their mission to ‘make up’ for my terrible childhood experiences to voice any real objections. They didn’t want to risk discouraging me when I finally seemed to be finding my path.

In an unexpected twist, they even offered to give me an allowance if I needed it. The offer was touching, albeit a little ironic, considering their usual stance on financial independence. It felt like they were trying to balance their old-school expectations with a newfound desire to support my dreams. I assured them I wouldn’t need it, though. Over the years, I had managed to tuck away some savings from various short-term part-time jobs I juggled while studying. Yes, I voluntarily took part-time jobs as a student because I wanted something to do aside from school. Which is why I graduated with no honors, and no special recognition. And why I’m now paying for it. Literally and figuratively.

Back in the present, I am sitting in a restaurant near my studio, alone. Friends have offered to join me for lunch, but I need this clarity for my personal project. The bustling noise of the eatery fades into the background as I try to focus on my thoughts. Neighboring conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and even the background music playing all seem distant, almost like a soundtrack to the movie playing in my mind—a movie that wouldn’t make it past the opening credits. I bury my face in my hands in agony.

I think about the stories that have always fascinated me—the tales of perseverance, personal growth, and unbreakable bonds. I want to create something that resonates on a deeper level, something that makes people feel and think. But every idea I come up with feels either too shallow or too ambitious to execute on my own.

Then a group of doctors from the nearby hospital enters. They look young, like fresh residents—like Ryan, actually. I scan around for him since I’m sure this is his crowd, but he isn’t with them. Unsurprising, since I’m pretty sure Ry is holed up somewhere, eating lunch by himself like the maverick that he is.

“I’m so excited for the Batanes mission,” one of the doctors says.

“John. You’re excited about everything,” another one interjects.

“No, but this one involves being in one of the best vacation spots in the country and doing a good deed for its residents. A win-win situation, no matter how you look at it,” the first doctor, John, says.

Distracted now, I can’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation. Apparently, they’re excited about a month-long medical mission to Batanes. The hospital is organizing the volunteer event to help the residents after the pandemic and natural disasters. It sounds like a big deal, the way they’re talking about it.

Then something in my brain clicks. A post-pandemic medical mission on a remote island. I can already see the scenarios playing out in my head—the doctors navigating through rugged landscapes, administering care to people who’ve had limited access to healthcare for years. The personal stories of the residents, the impact of the pandemic on their lives, and the hope and resilience shining through. It’s got all the makings of a perfect story: human interest with a dash of global crisis, wrapped up in the sappy stuff.

I could document the doctors’ journey, their challenges, and triumphs, capturing the essence of their mission. It would be a compelling narrative. Plus, the stunning backdrop of Batanes would provide a visually captivating element to the documentary.

This is exactly the kind of thing I want to do. I can feel it. The excitement of spontaneity is bubbling in me again. This is it. Now, I only have to find an entrance. How will I involve myself in this medical mission?

I guess I could approach one of them, so they can help me take it up to their superiors. Or maybe I can continue listening in case they slip out that it will be open to the public. Or maybe… I fumble for my phone and dial so fast.

“What?” Ryan says on the first ring.

“Gee, grumpy afternoon to you, too. Are you aware of some medical mission to Batanes?” I say.

“Yes, I’m going,” he says. My heart pounds faster with excitement now.

“YES,” I say a little too loudly and the couple next to me gives me a weird look. I smile apologetically and add in a softer tone, “Where are you? I need to talk to you.”

“Calm down, Bon. I’m at the hospital, finishing my rounds. What’s this about? ”

“I need to meet you. Can you come by the studio when you’re done with your rounds? Or I can go there, but I’m not a fan of hospitals so you have to be ready to assist me if I faint,” I say.

He sighs. “Dramatic as usual. But fine, I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I say, unable to contain my enthusiasm. The couple glares at me again—they don’t look like they’re having much fun with each other, if I’m being honest—so I smile at them once more and pack up my things. I feel a surge of adrenaline. This is my chance to finally do something meaningful and exciting.

I rush back to the studio and perform my fair share of useless tasks again. The highlight being when Natasha asked me to walk her Pomeranian (She just needs fifteen minutes!). I do so happily, though, because I like dogs, and the walk gives my mind time to race with ideas and plans.

The hour drags on, but my anticipation keeps me going. When Ryan finally arrives at the studio, I practically pull him into a meeting room. He’s wearing one of his usual button downs and khaki pants that give giant Single Dad energy, and his light brown hair is tousled from the breeze outside. He leans on the table and crosses both his arms and his legs. He raises his eyebrows at me and says, “What’s so urgent, Bon?”

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” I say, pulling out two chairs and taking a seat on one of them. I pull his arm so he can sit beside me, and he does. “I want to document the Batanes medical mission. I’m hoping you can help me with that. Can you talk to your superiors, maybe get me the necessary permissions and introductions? I need an in, and you’re my best bet. ”

He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He’s good with his stoic expressions, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. My mind races, trying to read his face, but it’s like trying to decipher a stone statue. The silence stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity. My heart is pounding so loud I’m half-expecting him to point it out.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks. “Nope.”

My heart sinks. “What? Why not?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Ryan sighs, rubbing his temples. “Bon, this isn’t a vacation or a casual project. This is serious work. The mission is demanding, and it requires a lot of focus and dedication. I can’t just bring you along without a solid plan and a clear purpose.”

“How much clearer can my purpose be? And come on, I have a plan,” I insist, leaning forward.

“You never plan,” Ryan says flatly.

“Shh. I do have a plan now! I’ve been thinking about this nonstop. I want to capture the essence of the mission, the personal stories of the residents, the impact of the pandemic on their lives, and the resilience of the medical team. It’s not just about making a film; it’s about telling a story that needs to be told,” I say with animated gestures. “And that’s just from thinking in this past hour.”

Ryan looks at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment. “It’s not that I don’t believe in your passion, Bon. It’s just that this is a delicate situation. We’re going to help people who have been through a lot, and we need to be respectful and mindful of that. Plus, getting approval for an outsider to join the mission is complicated.”

“Come on, dude. You’re not really worried about all that. You’re just worried about being stuck with me for a long time. But trust me, you won’t even notice me there! I’d be like a fly on the wall. Totally invisible, I swear!” I say, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

“Okay,” he considers and then adds “but then what’s in it for me?” he crosses his arms, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Obviously, you’d be helping a friend out,” I reply, hoping my sincerity will sway him.

“I already helped said friend by suggesting she bring up this whole thing with her boss,” he counters, raising an eyebrow.

“And thanks to your suggestion, I’m now on my way to actually doing the documentary. All you have to do is ask your superiors. Please, Ry. Pretty, pretty please,” I say, extending every syllable for emphasis. “I’ll do your laundry. Or cook your food. Or whatever the hell you want, just take me.” I fold laundry like a maniac, and I can only cook instant noodles, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples as if weighing the pros and cons. He holds up one finger and says, “You don’t do laundry,” and then he holds up another and continues, “And you can’t cook.” Okay, maybe he already knows that.

“Well, what do you want? I’m sure I can be a great asset, Miller,” I say. He falls silent again, thinking. The silence is agonizing as the adrenaline rush from earlier is now replaced with anxious anticipation. I bite my lip, waiting for his response, hoping he’ll understand how much this means to me.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally says. And I know that’s it for now. I’ll have to come up with another compelling reason for him to take me. Until then, I smile politely as I stand up.

“Take your time, Ry. I’ll see you tonight.” Before he can counter me, I pull him out of his chair and push him out of the room and out of the building. I know I’ll get Ry to break eventually, I always do. I just have to figure out how to persuade him this time.