The journey to Quezon City begins with a bus.

At Baclaran, we walk dodgy, crowded streets and overpasses

To remove too many backpacks 

For LRT security.

Both reassuring and concerning.

Why is it necessary?

Crowded train,

Two guys chat with us

Asking where we're from,

Recommending sites,

Reminding us we're privileged

To travel young

And it's best to wear front packs here.

Ethan meets my gaze, pleading for my silence.

I chat and feign cluelessness with our destination,

Knowing that ignoring random men

Can be more dangerous for women

Than appearing uninteresting.

Their friendliness is genuine.

We disembark without issues.