sun.

the light that comes from inside, outside, and permeates through all – even in fiction.

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*Author’s Note: I’d like to reiterate that the events of this story are a fictional spin on very real current events, illustrated as such to make the very harsh realities faced by Filipino Americans, Asian Americans, Latino Americans, and the immigrant community at-large easier to understand and digest for those both in and out of the know. Sections depicted as quotes from the news media are paraphrased from a collection of reporting from these events. I hope that this story helps humanize and – ironically – make the events going on more real for you, the readers, and I thank you always for reading.

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Turquoise-turned-tintless waves pouncing on practically pristine beaches. The sun peeking past Manila palm fronds. A hammock, some headphones, a healthy reprieve.

As the sun set behind the Pacific Ocean clouds and Hiraya (hee-RAH-yah) Corazon Wilson Bautista looked outside the airplane window, that’s all she could reminisce about. Three weeks on the world’s still relatively overlooked slice of paradise, Palawan Island in the Republic of the Philippines. Three weeks of reminding herself how to have patience, faith, and time to herself, intermixed with time surrounded by family and friends from years long gone. It was so needed, senior year meant a stupefying amount of self-reflection, paperwork, and the rollercoaster of college decisions mixed with end-of-year celebrations.

The end of the dry season in mid-June was just the right time to head back to the reality that Hiraya – nicknamed Raya (ray-UH) by her friends stateside – had built her life in. The sun disappeared behind thick rain clouds right as the connecting flight in Manila roared into the Luzon air, past Bulakan, Angeles City, and into the open seas. Now, that same plane was about to descend half a day later into a different City of Angels.

Los Angeles International Airport has a reputation, but Raya didn’t care for it. For most of her life, it’s been the port of entry that always welcomed her back to the comforts and routines of the United States. As an adult now, it was her first time filling out her own arrival card with Customs and Border Protection, and also the fastest she’s ever gotten through the line at the port. Her parents took a little bit longer, but that was par for the course, probably just because they’re aging and take a second more these days.

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“So when do you start at Irvine?” asked Raya’s dad, Jimmy, earning a side-eye from her mom, Jane.

The three of them had just put their bags down and greeted Hiraya’s aunt and two little brothers, who stayed in their Imperial Highway-side Downey home while the others went off, and both Hiraya and Jane were exhausted. Jimmy, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered by sleep.

“Are we really going to unpack right now, ‘Tay?” Raya answered, “When we just got home?”

“Why wait for tomorrow when you can do it today,” Jimmy responded, “‘diba (isn’t that what) they teach you that Abraham Lincoln said that?”

It’s actually Benjamin Franklin, and the quote is a little different, but Raya always liked that about her dad. Both his well-meaning charm and his go-to, hard-working attitude.

So off the parents and their eldest went, getting the box of pasalubong – goods and gifts from the Philippines to take back to the U.S. – and the last of the luggage from Jimmy’s pickup truck. Box cutter in hand, Jane watched as her two boys lit up and her sister quickly swiped the can of Pik-Nik crisps out of the haul. Raya and her dad went through their bags and put toiletries back in their proper place, sorted the dirty clothes from the new ones bought for 20% less than what it’d cost here, and stored the now-empty suitcases in the garage.

Moving over to help Jane in the kitchen with canned goods and seasoning packets from the box, Jimmy and Raya went about their routine homecoming from a long-distance road trip. The three of them had always had each other, be it when Raya’s little brothers were born when she was 8 and 11, or when her dad and aunt started a day-laboring business together with one of their friends, where they’d work all day in the sun to make a living.

As the whole family came together to get the three fresh and resettled into their American life, news reports about events earlier that day droned on in the background:

“Communities in Downtown L.A. tonight, June 6th, 2025, are rattled as Immigration and Customs Enforcement conducted raids in Westlake and the Fashion District earlier in the afternoon. Demonstrations have popped up across the city, particularly at the federal building and U.S. courthouse downtown. The city advises…”

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“I made your favorite, longsilog,” Jane smiled, placing a plate of garlic rice, a chain of marinated sausage, and a fried egg in front of a groggy-eyed Raya. Raya smiled, but quickly dropped it. Jane noticed, “Anak (child), okay ka lang? (Are you okay?)”

Raya smiled again and nodded, “Just a lot of college stuff on my mind, and I guess I miss my cousins and being at the beach almost every day.”

Jane looked at her daughter lovingly, “Why don’t you head to the tennis courts and try to get some of your registration work done there? That way wala na sa plate mo (it won’t be on your plate anymore).”

Raya looked up from her food, “That’s a good idea! Thanks for the food, Ma, nothing will ever beat home.”

The sun shone in through the house’s shutters as Raya finished her breakfast. “Where’s ‘Tay by the way?”

“He went with your Tita Jillian (Aunt Jillian) to work, he should be getting to the hardware store right now, and then I think Tita Jillian said they’re finishing Ms. Kaur’s front porch today in Echo Park. They brought Henry and Hiram so they could put their games down and be out in the sun.”

“Okay, cool. I’m just going to change and then I’ll head to the park!”

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Once Raya got to the park with the tennis courts and the skating area, she felt better. The open air, the shady trees, and the Los Angeles sun supplementing her tan as she walked to a bench, it was all an incoming college student could ask for.

As she opened her student portal and started checking off action items, kids and young adults alike enjoyed their summer vacations skating or attempting tennis rallies with their friends. Raya chuckled as a tennis ball hit her bench, and she chased it down for the very embarrassed kid on the court.

Slowly but surely, Raya finished everything that she could do at the moment with her registration. She came out in her tennis shoes to see if she could get some play in before going home, but when she looked up, it looked like the whole place had been deserted. There was one kid left tying his shoes by the halfpipe in the skating area, and one guy with his headphones in and a basketball – and even that guy was leaving.

That type of silence at the park was so uncharacteristic for the early afternoon. Normally, the ice cream truck pulls in at this time and entertains the kids who have cash.

Weird silence noted. But that wasn’t going to get Raya down. She began to walk home, hoping that the boys called Mom, complaining of boredom, and that they’d be on their way home. If she couldn’t play real tennis, maybe Nintendo Switch tennis would be good.

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Keys turned in the knob. Door unlocked, shut, and locked again.

“Hello? Ma? Henry, Hiram?”

Raya had walked into an empty home. She was a little confused, enough that she had left her shoes on. She looked down at them.

“Shoot.”

Quickly, the shoes came off. Mop and solution prepped. Swish, swoosh, swish, clean.

Having an empty house wouldn’t be unusual during the school year. Ma was a teacher, Hiram and Henry have both been in school for years now, and Tita Julie and ‘Tay were almost always working. But it’s summer?

Whatever, Ma must have gone to pick up the boys later than Raya expected her to.

She checked the fridge. No food? That’s alright, “I can make something.”

A can of SPAM opened is a can of SPAM inhaled in this house. Raya sliced some up and threw them into a pan on the stove. Then, she had to check the rice cooker.

No rice either. Easy!

Wash the rice pot, pour in two or three cups to accommodate the warmer temperatures, meaning rice spoiled faster, and then wash the rice. Once it was clear, Raya filled the pot with water up to the line and popped it into the rice cooker.

Once the sun had begun to come down just above the treeline, basking the neighborhood in gold light, the rice pot began to whistle. But once she checked the cooker, there was still water left, and the rice hadn’t cooked through yet. What was that sound?

Screaming. Shouting. Sorrow.

Raya poked her head out the door. Ma. Ma, supported by two of their neighbors.

She was screaming. She was shouting. She had sorrow painted all over her.

Raya just ran. No socks. No shoes.

“Ma! What happened?”

Jane paused, as if in shock that her daughter was before her. And then the sorrow came back.

She wouldn’t stop sobbing, shrieking, and stomping on the ground beneath her.

“Mommy! What happened? Why are you crying?”

“They took your dad, my sister, and I don’t know where the boys are,” Jane responded, shouting hysterically, “Hiraya, Hiraya, Hiraya, I don’t know where they are! HIRAYA!”

Raya came closer, in shock. But right now? She had to absorb her mom’s shock. She embraced her mom. She knew her mom needed the hug.

One of the neighbors spoke up. “Raya, it was Immigration. There was a raid near East Los, and your mom was saying one of their tools broke, so your aunt and dad went to get it at a store… I think it was the one they raided today.”

The four of them – Raya, Jane, and the two neighbors – stood there in the middle of the street, holding onto one another. The sun beat down on them until it slipped halfway under the horizon. Then Raya brought her mom inside.

“They’re going to be okay, right? Tita Julie and ‘Tay are citizens. There shouldn’t be any reason for them to be in trouble? Right, Ma,” Raya asked, looking for reassurance.

Jane sat down. She motioned for Raya to do the same across from her.

“Your dad…,” her voice broke. “Your dad has been coming in and out with a fake green card. That’s why he never goes home with us. He just wanted to celebrate with you and see his family again before he got too old.” She laughed. “Hiraya, he was so excited. Even though I knew he was tired, he was so excited to unpack and experience every part of going home and then coming back to the U.S. … We thought we were in the clear after the port of entry last night.”

“And Tita Julie?”

“Overstayed work visa. And with her not being married? I think it’s over for Tita Julie in the U.S., at least your dad has a chance because of me. And you. And the boys… the boys! I have to call Ms. Kaur!”

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Thankfully, the boys were still with an equally-worried Ms. Kaur. Hiraya immediately took her mom into the car and drove the half-hour to Echo Park.

“P–––– i–– ICE na ‘yon. (You don’t want this translated.)”

Raya was taken aback. Her mom never swore. Not even when she dropped plates or stepped on LEGOs. But I guess now was the best time to do so.

Once they picked up the boys at Ms. Kaur’s home, which was done being worked on and just missing a handrail for the steps up to the door, Jane and the boys fell asleep in the back together.

Now, a week has passed.

June 14th, 2025.

And the four of them – Raya, Jane, Henry, and Hiram – were joined by Ms. Kaur, their two compassionate neighbors, and 200,000 others took to the streets of Downtown Los Angeles, just a couple of minutes’ drive away from East Los Angeles.

The family was wearing the flag of the Philippines around each of them (except Hiram, who was just holding a small one). As the breeze blew, both the Philippine sun and the Los Angeles sun found themselves above the backs of the family.

Once the crowd had stopped between City Hall and the federal building, someone handed Raya a megaphone. At first, she didn’t know what to say, but it came to her and she stepped up on a planter:

“A week ago, my father and aunt were amongst the people taken indiscriminately as the people who took them were using what we now know was allegedly racial profiling. They were in the middle of upgrading this lady next to me’s porch when they had to get a replacement for one of their tools. That’s when they were taken. We haven’t heard from them since, but we know that they are in federal custody, devoid of due process.

“I know this crowd around me understands the importance of earning a living for your family. Some of us are supporting not just ourselves and our families here, but maybe one or two more back wherever we come from. And so I come to you all with this message. Filipinos and all Asians, Mexicans, Salvadorians, Nicaraguans, and all Latinos; everybody! We all are standing together against these injustices, and we must continue to do so for the people we love, for the country we love.

“My name is Hiraya Corazon Wilson Bautista, and I march with the revolutionary spirit of the Philippine sun on my back. I march with my teacher mother. I march with my father and my aunt’s last client. I march with my neighbors and my little brothers. And Los Angeles, I march with you!”

And that’s how they kept the momentum up. Not through individual interests, but community and cooperation. Through standing together. So let’s keep our pedal on the gas, Asian youth. In America and around the world, we say no to tyranny and dictators.

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“I also say this as someone who was born in another country. The son of an immigrant, my mother, Cynthia. [She was] born in the Philippines, raised in the Philippines, lived there until she was 28, came to the United States for the first time to go to grad school, rode a ship that took three weeks to arrive in California, set foot in this great country for the first time in 1965. … My parents asked themselves if they could raise me in the Philippines and ensure I had democracy and freedom, human rights and civil rights, the rule of law and due process, and their answer was no. By my first birthday, democracy was gone in the Philippines. The dictator would arrest and imprison and torture, and kill political opponents. … My story is one that’s told millions and millions of times.

“We put out a broad ‘know your rights’ document. These documents are available in English and Spanish, and many other languages, including Chinese, Korean, Tagalog, and Vietnamese, can be found at our website:

https://oag.ca.gov/immigrant/resources.

“I know there’s a tremendous amount of fear and anxiety and confusion, and I want to assure you: California DOJ is here to protect, defend, and enforce our state laws and protections. Thank you.”

- California Attorney General Rob Bonta, January 2025

Author: Vien Santiago

Editors: Blenda Y., Luna Y.

Image source: Rob Gorski, Unsplash