FIVE minutes into our last road trip, my 12-year-old Divya asks if we could attend Harry Styles' upcoming concert.
She gushes about that time in the One Direction concert in Manila. She had been Nialls's staunch fan, but it was Harry who looked into the crowd and blew a kiss where they were standing.
Chiara says Harry meant the kiss for her, laughingly calling it their moment. Divya insists it was she he intended it for. And then Divya says: "If Harry asks me how old I am, I'll tell him: how old do you want me to be?"
We all burst out in guffaws. Then everybody teases everyone.
This is what I love about road trips. The chance to relax and let loose, unfettered by thoughts of school, or work, or responsibilities. It's the chance to bond, to reconnect to family roots, eccentricities and all.
Then the five of us listen over and over to Forevermore on the sound system, Aa trying to make his last note longer than Dan Stevens. Byren requests for his Sam Smith playlist, and we all groan audibly.
That particular road trip covering the May 1 holiday took us many hours, divided into segments. We took Naguilian Road heading for Pagudpud. It was not really the destination that was the highlight, but the journey, and the company we shared.
I remember one “for the girls” road trip we had, just me, Chiara, and Divya. After Chiara got caught by a traffic policeman for the third time that day, Divya asked her, exasperated: "Te, are you trying to make a record for the most number of times you got caught by the traffic police in one day?!"
One particular road trip stands out. You could call this a turning point in our lives. In angel speak, it was a signpost. It was just Chiara and I, and we were both feeling sleepy. We had just entered Marcos Highway when we decided to enumerate all the things we were grateful for.
We had reached Baguio already, but the list was still ongoing. From clean public restrooms to just breathing, just being.
Speaking of gratitude, Aa, Chiara and I have a profound moment after a harrowing experience. Chiara was at the wheel, Aa behind us asleep at the first passenger row.
There were two buses we had been tailing for a while now. Chiara revved up to overtake. We were halfway into the other lane when the bus in front cuts in, trying to overtake the bus in front of it. Chiara honks, but the bus drives on.
Chiara slams on the brakes, and the car spins more than 360 degrees. It seemed to be in slow motion, Chiara recalls.
For several moments we seemed to be in a void, surrounded by darkness and silence. The bus in front was at a standstill. All the incoming cars on the opposite lane seemed to have disappeared. So had the cars behind us.
Then the noise returns. Chiara drives back to our lane. The bus in front moves ahead. Everything appears normal.
Aa, who fell off his seat, is now back in position. A few moments later, I hear him mewling. "Help, help."
I turn. He says there is a girl in white outside, among the trees, and she is glowing.
He clambers over, and the three of us are in front, Aa huddled beside me. We are all bewildered, very aware we could have died.
After a while, Chiara asks me to pinch her, to make sure we are still alive. I comply.
Chiara and Aa now know the value of driving safe. A few seconds of impatience can mean the difference between a final road trip and a lifetime of many, to destinations unknown, with wonderful company.
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