Sabi Ng Girlfriend Ko, DIYOSA daw siya?!
ᜐᜊ ᜒ ᜈᜅ᜔ ᜄ ᜒ ᜎ᜔ ᜉ᜔ ᜇᜒ ᜈ ᜔ ᜃᜓ , ᜇᜒ ᜌᜓ ᜐ ᜇᜏ ᜔ ᜐᜌ?!
"Bathala, supreme father of the heavens, architect of light and guardian of eternal order, guided the first humans with immortal wisdom. From his throne in the skies, he instilled justice, harmony, and divine purpose into the hearts of his children. His temples were beacons of spirit, and his prayers, hymns that wove the sacred bridge between the human and the eternal.
But time, which wears down all things, eroded the memory of the peoples. The temples crumbled, the prayers fell silent, and his name was lost among the cracks of forgetfulness—reduced to a whisper on wandering lips, to a dim flame in the heart of old tales.
Where now are Bathala and his celestial sons and daughters?
Do they sleep in the corners of the cosmos, or do they walk among us unseen, waiting for the sacred memory to awaken?
For even in the deepest forgetting, every legend preserves the seed of a truth. And perhaps, when the world dares to look to the sky once more in humility, the name of Bathala will echo again—with the strength of thunder and the purity of light."
A letter from an old Tagalog noble.
EPISODE 01 – A Pastel-Colored Anomaly
Part I, EP. 01
It had been a shitty day.
Not one of those bad days with a chance of getting better. No. A truly, utterly screwed-up day.
Alex, soaked to the bone, wallet-less, and wearing one broken sandal flapping from his foot like a wounded bird's wing, parked his scooter with more resignation than hope.
La Tortuga y la Luna, a bar whose name sounded like a fairytale and a bad idea at once, still had its lights on—like an old lighthouse for emotional shipwrecks.
He stepped inside.
The smell of wet wood, craft beer, and nostalgia hit him immediately.
"Alex!" shouted Lourdes, the owner, without taking her eyes off the old TV that only played period dramas.
"You look like an eclipse, kid. Did a buffalo run you over or was it just life again?"
"A combo," he said, peeling off his soaked jacket.
"Lost my wallet, nearly died, and… I think I ran over a rock with a face."
"Ah, then it was life."
Lourdes shook her head, eyes still on the screen.The bartender—a skinny guy with a scruffy beard whose name Alex had already forgotten—poured him a drink without being asked, giving him a knowing wink.
Around them, a pair of old men were playing dominoes and arguing about the moon.
"I'm telling you, it's brighter! Like in the blood eclipse of '68," said one.
"And how would you know, if you were half-blind by '69?" the other shot back.
Alex laughed silently. Everything hurt—from his foot to his pride. He stared at his drink. Hesitated. Drank.
Lourdes returned with a warm towel.
"Go home, boy. Before you start reciting poetry or confessing your love to the light fixtures."
"I'm fine."
"You're drunker than Prometheus with a fever."
"Who?"
"Never mind! Go, go. You can pay me tomorrow. I'll make you warm milk if you promise not to cry on the curb again."
He nodded. Smiled. Thanked her.
He left.
The rain kept falling with fury, as if the sky wanted to wash away all the grime of the soul. He walked on, defeated—until he saw her.
A figure on the overlook.
No—more than a figure. An unusual silhouette. A visual anomaly wrapped in pastel pink, with golden edges and a presence that clearly did not belong to this era.
The girl had the stance of someone who didn't know that two in the morning was not the time to pose heroically in public. Her long hair danced in the wind, and her eyes reflected the moon with an almost offensive intensity.
And her sandals… were worth more than his whole scooter.
He kept walking. For a second. Then stopped.The city wasn't safe at that hour. Even less for a Renaissance model escaped from a Pinterest nightmare.
"Excuse me," he said, awkwardly turning back.
She didn't move.
"This area's not that… friendly at this time. Are you waiting for someone?"
Silence.
Then she spoke.
"Do you know why the moon still shines, even when the storm tries to swallow it?"
He blinked.
"...What?"
She turned her head slowly, like in a movie.
Her eyes.
God… Her eyes.
"Because even fallen and forgotten, a goddess needs no permission to be light."
He stared at her—fascinated and confused.
"...Are you drunk?"
"Drunk? I am Mayari! Goddess of the moon and night, daughter of the supreme god Bathala, ruler of the heavens and protector of divine light—"
Thunder rumbled.
"—and lover of chocolate milkshakes," she added in a guilty whisper.
He scratched his head, soaked.
"Perfect. A goddess without an umbrella at two in the morning. Want me to walk you somewhere? I know a bar that serves warm milk."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Are your pants clean?"
"Define clean."
She thought for three seconds.
"I accept. But only if you promise not to talk to the moon. She's my cousin and very nosy."
He smiled for the first time all day.
And so, under the rain, accompanied by a self-proclaimed goddess with a fear of mice, the most absurd and brilliant story of his life began.
Part II, EP. 01
The bar was closed when they returned.
"So now what?" asked Mayari, clicking her tongue in theatrical disappointment.
"You said there would be warm milk."
"I said Lourdes usually serves warm milk—if she likes you. She's probably asleep by now... or arguing with her TV."
Mayari crossed her arms, rain sliding off her outfit like water politely avoiding her. It was impossible—her clothes were dry, her hair untouched. He didn't want to ask questions. It was far too late to reconsider his sanity.
"So," she insisted, raising an eyebrow, "where do mortals drink when gods are thirsty?"
"My place is a few blocks from here. No milk, but there's… water. And bread. Maybe some expired tuna."
She looked at him like he'd just offered dinner at a landfill.
"I accept. But only if there's chocolate. A goddess can endure exile, the fall of divinity, the crumbling of the heavens… but not a night without sugar."
He didn't know whether to laugh or call a psychiatrist.
They walked in silence to his apartment. When they reached the building, she stopped with a solemn expression.
"Is this a temple?" she asked.
"No. It's an old apartment. Smells like damp socks, and there's a cat on the third floor who hates me."
"Hm," she murmured, raising a brow.
"There's a heretical presence on the stairs… something shaped like a sneaker."
They climbed up.
He opened the door, kicked aside a few plastic bottles, and gestured awkwardly for her to enter. She stepped inside with the grace of someone entering a sacred shrine. She looked around with the solemnity of an archaeologist uncovering forgotten ruins.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the TV.
"That... eh… that's the thing that steals your sadness, your time, and your brain cells."
She approached and touched the device. She jumped slightly when it turned on, playing a commercial for digestion pills.
"This oracle speaks fast! They must be stomach prophets."
"No. They're advertisers," he said with a shrug.
He sat on the couch, which meant relocating a pile of clothes, a motorcycle helmet, and an empty cereal box. Then he went to the kitchen and rummaged through his tragically bare supplies.
"No chocolate," he admitted regretfully.
"Heretic!"
"But I have strawberry Nesquik. Expired… six months ago. That count?"
She considered it.
"A goddess learns to adapt," she said finally.
He warmed two mugs and served them in mismatched cups: one with the Rick and Morty logo, the other with a grumpy player from Barangay 143.
She picked the cup with the grumpy player and smiled.
"This child has the same scowl as my little brother when he wasn't allowed to play with lightning."
"You have siblings?"
"Of course. What goddess doesn't have annoying brothers and eternally absent parents?"
She spoke without thinking, as if those memories were still fresh. There was a strange tenderness in her voice.
"Where are they now?" She looked up at the ceiling.
"Far away. In another layer of existence. One that no longer belongs to me."
"And why are you here?"
She looked at him.
A small smile.
"I don't know. I only remember a flash of light… then darkness… and then this noisy, weirdly dirty city."
She paused.
"But also… kind of cozy."
Alex nodded. He wasn't sure if she was insane... or if he was. But her voice was so steady. So sure. Something inside him wanted to believe her. Maybe even needed to.
"And you, mortal Alex? What are you doing here?"
"Failing. Professionally. I've got experience. I was studying history. Almost graduated, but... I don't know. I gave up."
"Why?"
"Because I'm good at quitting things. That's one thing I do well."
Mayari studied him in silence. Then she spoke without blinking.
"You're an idiot."
"Thanks."
"But you've got a good heart.You offered to walk me home without knowing who I was. And you didn't judge me for talking about moons, mice, or milkshakes."
"Mice?"
"Long story. They're awful. In a children's book, they said mice want to eat the moon because they think it's cheese. Ever since then, I don't trust them. They have sly eyes."
Alex laughed.Mayari laughed too.
Then, without warning, she stood up.
"I'm sleeping here," she said, pointing at the couch.
"You don't have the aura of a predator.Just that of someone who needs more sleep… and fewer tears."
"What? No—wait, you can't just…
"But she was already curled up under an old blanket he didn't even remember owning.
"And please," she added, closing her eyes,"if any mouse shows up, scream. I have a spell that turns them into melted cheese. Very useful at picnics."
He watched her for a moment.
He wasn't sure if he'd just let a cosmic lunatic into his home...or the first person who'd made him laugh in months.
He turned off the light.
And for the first time in a long while, he thought maybe...the world wasn't so bad after all.
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