I glance at my phone more often than I’d like because I don’t know my way around and keep needing the map. The air is humid; I’m already sweating again. I second-guess my decision to walk when rain starts up, and I’m caught without an umbrella. I quietly curse my vanity for not wanting my hair to get wet as I duck into a nearby 7-Eleven. I ask a clerk if they sell umbrellas; she points to a bin by the door—one giant red umbrella left. I curse my vanity a second time. “Do you know any other stores nearby?” She nods toward the big building across the way: “Landmark, inside Glorietta Mall.”

I remember Glorietta from the drive with Thea and repeat it back, double-checking the direction.

I wait by the door for the rain to ease, but after a few minutes I decide I’m to impatient and step out anyway. A man sits by the entrance with a cup out. I don’t have any cash on me, and with the few kids hovering nearby, I decide to keep moving and cross the street.

As I enter the mall, I’m immediately struck by its enormous size. Later I’ll learn Glorietta is five linked buildings—four with five floors and one with three. It’s the largest mall I’ve ever seen—let alone been in—and I’m lost immediately. The slick marble floors and cool air hit me like a different world from the puddles and heat-soaked streets only steps away. The mall is crowded and I try to picture it without the rain. I people-watch while I try to get my bearings. I walk. I keep walking. By the time I see a sign for Landmark, my mental map has melted; I’m not sure I could backtrack to the hotel.

Landmark is a giant department store; I home in on umbrellas, debating compact vs. the big, cane-handled kind I see everywhere. I ask two men nearby why people choose the larger ones. One says that Manila’s wind and rain are strong enough to turn the small ones inside out. I thank him, consider it, but go compact anyway. I don’t want to haul a big one everywhere. “They must work if they sell them,” I tell myself and curse my vanity yet a third time.

On my way out I ask a security guard for directions to the theaters. He looks up just long enough to register his discontent, mutters that it isn’t his responsibility, and drops his gaze. Later, lost again, I pass him and keep out of his line of sight. By the time I’ve ridden every escalator up and down in the place, I reach the theater only to realize nothing’s showing I haven’t seen—or is playing at a time I can make. By now it feels like I’ve been walking for ages, and my legs are rubbery.

I hear the rain pummel the building and my mind wanders to why I scheduled my trip during July. After all that planning, I only learned it was the rain season after arriving, but then I remind myself it’s the only time my daughters are out of school and let it go. I search for the nearest exit and make my way outside, turn right, and follow the covered walkway under construction tarps to the Grab pickup location, only to notice a sign for the Hard Rock Cafe. I immediately cancel my Grab and head inside, happy to cross one thing off my list—the Hard Rock is a favorite stop when I travel. I spend a few minutes in the downstairs gift shop browsing magnets and other souvenirs, then head up the spiraled staircase to the second floor. The restaurant is sparsely populated and I end up sitting at the bar next to another American, the only other person I can see there. I order a San Miguel Light and sisig, and the bartender’s amused look says she didn’t expect it. We exchange a few pleasantries but mostly I’m on my phone.

A sudden thought strikes me and I open ChatGPT, switch it to research mode, and type: “Search Philippine news for ‘Jaclyn Alvarez’ in the last 3 months. Summarize confirmed facts about her reported murder with dates and locations, include links to sources, and note any official police statements or obituaries.” I hit Submit and immediately regret it.