Dedicated to Sonja, because she asked, "Are Ram and Teban voting?" And I said, "Of course they are."

On #632CentralRinkIsPink day, the audience area of the rink was packed. It was, frankly, the most people that hockey player Ramirez Diaz-Tan ever saw at the rink all at once. Not just because of the limited capacity during the lockdown; not a lot of people came to see them, even pre-pandemic. Anything not basketball was a niche sport in the Philippines, and winter sports the smallest of niches. 

Except when his partner Calinda was producing a show.

Calinda Valerio, his partner, love of his life, choreographer and producer of performances that actually brought people to the rink. A hit show by Calinda meant the audience area was almost full. 

Today it was absolutely packed. All seats on all rows occupied, with standing areas between the sections full of people too.

Ram touched the band on his pink mask, the part that curved over his nose, to check if it was still in place. Yes it was. 

“There’s so many people,” he said out loud. “I’m not used to it.”

“Yeah imagine that. People know there’s a rink here after all,” Teban Miller (national hockey team captain) said. “They just never came to see us.”

“They had no problem finding it today.”

“You know your polling place, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I checked the website. Do you?” 

“There’s like three schools with that name in the area, but Hope said she’ll help me.”

“She’s volunteering at Kakampink HQ every week and she has to take you to vote?”

 “We calling it a date.” Teban was obviously defensive but Ram could always read his friend just through body language and how his eyes moved. “It’s a big one. First time to vote here.”

“You know I’m kidding. It’s great that you registered.” He and Cal had a “first election date” planned too. Go vote together first thing in the morning. Sisig and soda (not alcohol because liquor ban) at Baby’s for lunch. Some kind of cake and ice cream at home, in case the returns showed the need for comfort food. Dinner plans at Cal’s parents’ place with Colin and Lexa, if celebration was in order. Ram played for the Philippines since he was a teen, had considered himself permanently residing here for almost three years, but it was the first time that he was voting in a national election. 

It meant something.

Being able to share his first-time voter jitters as a thirty-something-year-old with his friend Teban, who was also thirty-something, was cool too. Few people had the same kind of complicated relationship with the country and the ballot as they did. Choosing to relocate here right before a global pandemic, relocating to play hockey in 2019 only for all Philippine hockey to shut down less than a year later with no certainty about its future—

But that was not on the program for today.

“It’s starting,” he said, so Teban would shut up. 

Today, Ram was designated camera person, making sure to take video from the ice level. This was somewhat new to  him, but when the rink was allowed to open and Calinda resumed performances he was part of a trusted few who could be on the rink with her. He started documenting all sorts of rink activity on video, and was getting better at it. 

Which led to today, to getting the role of on-ice videographer of Calinda’s latest choreography project—an ice dance with the kids from the skating school set to “Rosas” by Nica del Rosario and Gab Pangilinan. He was the only videographer present who could also skate; he needed to not screw this up.

The problem was that through every rehearsal he’d tear up. At this point, with the full audience and Cal and the kids in full costume, with the pink flowers and everything—crying was going to be inevitable.

From her position at the center of the rink the love of his life raised a hand right about where her lips would be, and blew him a kiss through her own pink mask. It wasn’t the cue for her stage directions. That was just a little message from her. To him. 

Manila was cruel and difficult on many days, he’d always thought, but every day with her brought the hope that it didn’t have to be. The packed rink audience, everyone in pink, reminded him that a city was people, and maybe people could all choose to not be cruel. And keep at it.

It was work, but work he was familiar with. He was used to playing with a team. Dealing with immense pressure. Representing the flag. Challenge, accepted.

And if he cried again during this Rosas performance, well. He was only human.

He skated closer to her to check how his camera and gimbal were set up. Her face was bright, radiant, buzzing from the anticipation of the performance. 

“Don’t cry,” Cal teased him as he glided past her.

“No promises,” Ram answered. 

He was glad he said that because he did cry again. It was inevitable. 

Cal, Ram, Teban, Hope, Colin, and Lexa are all part of my Six 32 Central series.