“Excuse me, po,” I called out to a volunteer. “Is there anywhere I can still find an egg? ”
“Yeah,” he said, looking past me. Then he just walked away.
I stood there, sweating, with one arm, wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake. It was Easter morning, and I’d decided to join the city-wide egg hunt in the Philippines. The event was called the “fun run,” and thousands of people had lined up since before sunrise to hunt for plastic eggs scattered along the route. But by the time I got there, everything good was gone.
My great-grandmother came from Spain, and my family had been in the Philippines for generations. So this was my culture too, my Easter. I didn’t want to just watch from the sidelines. I’d stayed up all night, decided to come at 6:30, thinking that was early enough.
It wasn’t. “Mga bata,” an old woman whispered as she passed me, clutching a bag full of eggs. “They were planted the night before. ”
The night before.
People had hoarded them. Some were probably selling them online. I looked around and saw families with baskets overflowing, kids running with arms full of plastic eggs. I had nothing.
I saw a little boy with a friendly dog, so I walked over. “Excuse me, po. Can I pet your dog? ”
“Sure,” the boy said.
The dog wagged its tail, and for a moment I forgot about the eggs. But then I remembered. I needed to find at least one. I spotted a woman holding a map near the entrance.
“Do you work here? ” I asked. “Yes,” she said. “Where’s a good place to look?
I know Triangle Gardens, but I feel like everything’s already gone there. ”
“Straight ahead to Ayala Avenue,” she said. “Then Glorietta. From Glorietta, the circle area up to RCBC.
”
“So I should go further? ”
“Yeah,” she said. “Check the meadow park, the bushes, and then head to Glorietta. ”
I thanked her and started walking.
The sun was brutal. My legs ached from leg day yesterday, which I was now seriously regretting. I was sweating through my clothes, and all my makeup had melted off an hour ago. I looked like a mess.
I felt like a mess. “This is criminal,” I muttered to myself. “I did leg day yesterday. ”
I kept walking.
The city was closed down for the event, which was impressive. People stretched along the road, checking bushes, peeking under benches. I passed a group of kids with baskets so full they were practically overflowing. One little boy, maybe six years old, was carrying more eggs than I’d seen in my entire life.
I felt a sudden urge to ask if I could trade. For anything. “Steal some eggs from babies? ” I joked internally.
“No, that’s not a good idea. ”
I kept walking. The road stretched out in front of me, and I started to wonder if this was even worth it. I was tired, hot, and I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
But I couldn’t stop now. If I gave up, I’d have to admit I’d failed at something so simple. Looking at chat, everyone was joking about how worn out I was getting. They said I should turn back; that there were no eggs left.
But I wasn’t ready to give up. I stopped at a corner where a volunteer stood with a clipboard. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you part of the fun run?
I mean, the egg hunt? ”
“Yeah,” they said, and walked away. “Damn,” I whispered. The cold shoulder was starting to feel suspicious.
I decided to check the bushes along the side of the road, away from where the clusters of hunters were moving. I bent down, pushing aside leaves, and found nothing but trash. More trash. Bottles.
Bags. I started feeling like I was going to pass out. “Breathe,” I told myself. “You can’t breathe without you, but I have to.
”
I’d been walking for what felt like hours. I was dizzy, chafed, and exhausted. But then I remembered the volunteer’s instruction: “Check the bushes and then to Glorietta. ”
I pushed myself up and kept walking.
At a crosswalk, I saw a runner with a bin full of eggs. Standard supplies. I thought about challenging him, like a Pokémon gym battle, but decided against it. “Time to challenge people for their egg,” I joked to myself.
“Like the Pokémon gym trainer thing. ”
But I didn’t have the energy. I looked at my phone. It had been about an hour since I started.
I’d gone from Triangle Gardens, past Ayala Avenue, and was now approaching a park area. I couldn’t remember the name, but it looked green and promising. I saw a family sitting on a bench. They had a few eggs on the ground next to them.
I considered asking to buy one, or even borrow it for a photo. But that felt like cheating. What was the point if I didn’t find it myself? My sister texted me.
“Chinese need help? Want me to bring water? ”
“No,” I replied. “I’m fine.
I’ll find one. ”
I was not fine. My legs felt like jelly. I hadn’t eaten, and the heat was making me dizzy.
But I couldn’t stop. Not now. I’d come too far. I saw a group of kids playing near the bushes.
One of them reached in and pulled out a plastic egg, and I felt a stab of jealousy. How was I still empty-handed? I checked yet another bush, and this time, I saw something. A glint of plastic.
My heart stopped. I reached in, praying it was an egg and not a bottle cap. My fingers closed around it. It was a plastic egg.
I pulled it out. It was blue. “One Piece blue,” I laughed to myself. I opened it.
There was a small toy inside, though I couldn’t tell what it was. But it didn’t matter. I had found one. Finally.
“Did you find an egg? ” a little girl asked, watching me. “Yes,” I said, holding it up with a grin. “Yes, I did.
”
She clapped, and I felt tears prick my eyes. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I straightened up, and for the first time in hours, I actually felt proud. But then I looked down at my phone.
There were hundreds of messages from my viewers, some of them skeptical. “They’re selling the eggs on eBay,” one wrote. I laughed weakly. I didn’t care.
I had mine. But as I looked around, I saw families packing up and heading home. The hunts were wrapping up. People were already celebrating.
I was exhausted, covered in sweat, and probably looked like I’d gone swimming. But I’d done it. I’d found an egg. I started to walk back, feeling lighter than I had all day.
I’d gone out on a whim, pushed myself further than I thought I could, and proved something to myself that I desperately needed to prove. That I could do it. Even with one arm. Even after leg day.
Even when everyone said it was too late. As I walked back, I saw a face I recognized from the stream. A viewer had driven to catch me. They waved from across the street.
“Easter morning,” they called out. “You’re still going? ”
“I got one,” I said, holding up the egg. They smiled and gave me a thumbs up before getting into their car.
I kept walking, weaving through the crowds. Now that the rush was over, the streets were starting to empty out. I couldn’t stop at any stores, so I decided to head for the nearest mall entrance and duck inside to get water. But as I neared the entrance, I noticed a small crowd gathered around a food stall.
I got closer and saw what they were selling. Jollibee. I almost cried. I got myself a fried chicken meal and sat down on a step outside, finally taking a moment to breathe.
I looked at my egg, still in my hand. I’d done something I wasn’t sure I could do, and I’d found a community that made me feel seen. It was one of those mornings that felt impossible at first, but ended up being the best kind of adventure.
I was a Filipino, with one arm, an egg, and a story I’d tell for years.
