Lanterns before dawn

Lanterns before dawn 

The alarm vibrated at 4:30 a.m. Not loud. Just a steady tremor against the wooden bedside table, buzzing like a trapped insect in the darkness. Sophia Marquez opened her eyes. For a moment she did not move.

The room was dim, touched by the faint bluish light slipping through the curtains just before sunrise. Dawn had not fully arrived yet, but GenSan was already beginning to stir, especially in Tambler. 

A motorcycle passed outside. A tricycle engine coughed awake. From somewhere down the street, a vendor began setting up a cart. Metal clinked against metal.

Then came the distant smell of the coast. Salty air drifted in from the direction of the port where fishing vessels would soon begin unloading their catch.

The city was waking in layers. Sophia stared at the ceiling. Today was the day. Her first court appearance. She exhaled slowly.

Sophia murmured, “Okay… we start now.”

Her apartment was small but orderly. A narrow desk stood beside the window. On the desk were three thick books she had never managed to put away: Civil Procedure, Evidence, and Criminal Procedure. They had followed her from law school like stubborn companions refusing to leave.

 Sophia slid her feet onto the paved floor. The cool surface sent a shock wave to her spine. She walked to the kitchenette and filled the kettle with water. When she switched it on, the appliance answered with a low hum as the metal slowly warmed. The sound carried her back to another morning.

 First year of law school. The hallway outside the classroom was crowded with students clutching codals and thick textbooks. Some flipped through provisions frantically. Others stared at open pages like travelers trying to memorize a map before entering an unknown territory. 

Sophia sat among them, her Rules of Court codal open on her lap. It was the Rules of Criminal Procedure. The provisions blurred together.

Rules. Sections.

Technical language that seemed determined to confuse her. Beside the codal was a Criminal Procedure textbook by Rafael Montemayor III, its pages crowded with annotations she barely understood. 

 Carlo dropped into the chair beside her and began the conversation.

 “You look like you're about to be executed.”

“I might be.”

 He glanced at the book on her lap.

 “Criminal Procedure?”

 She nodded weakly.

 “Judge Delgado.” 

 Carlo grimaced.

 “Ah.”

 The classroom door opened. Judge Delgado walked in carrying nothing but a stack of class cards and a pen. Which somehow made him even more terrifying. Students followed him into the classroom. Judge Delgado reached the table at the front. He tapped hard on the table. The sound reverberated across the room. Every student straightened. Recitation began immediately.

“Mr. Santos.”

A student stood. The questioning was relentless.

 Definitions.
Information.
Complaint.
Criminal actions.

 Finally—

“Ms. Marquez.”

 Sophia’s pulse quickened. She stood.

“What is the purpose of a preliminary investigation?”

 Her mind froze. She had read the provision the night before. Twice. But the words vanished. She forced an answer.

“It is… when the prosecutor decides if someone is guilty.”

 A few students laughed.

 Judge Delgado raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure, Ms. Marquez?

 He tapped the codal repeatedly with his right fingers as if he were playing on the piano. 

 “Are you trying to exercise the power to amend the procedures? Are you a justice of the Supreme Court now?

“A preliminary investigation determines whether there is a probable cause to hold a person for trial.”

 He paused.

“Words matter in law.”

 Sophia slowly sat down, her ears burning. She stared at the open codal on her desk, but the words refused to settle in her mind. Around her, pages turned. Pens scratched against paper. The recitation continued as if nothing had happened. But she felt the weight of the moment pressing against her chest. When the class ended, students began packing their books and leaving the room. Sophia remained seated for a moment longer. Then she opened her codal again and re-read the provision. Preliminary investigation. This time she read every word carefully, slowly, and deliberately. If the law demanded precision, she would learn precision. Outside the classroom, the corridor stretched long and silent. Sophia stepped into it, her books pressed against her chest. The hallway looked endless. But she had already decided long ago. She would walk it anyway.

The clock ticked. It was 4:55 a.m. The kettle began to bubble. Outside, the sky shifted from black to indigo. A jeepney rumbled past. 

A vendor shouted: “Taho! Taho!”

Steam rose from the kettle. Sophia poured hot water into a mug. The warmth in her hands summoned another memory.

Second year. Their class volunteered for a legal aid clinic hosted by the Integrated Bar of the Philippines South Cotabato & General Santos City Chapter. The waiting area at the Barangay gym in Conel was full. Farm workers. Market vendors. Mothers carrying folders. A woman approached Sophia’s desk.

“The landowner evicted us from the land we’ve been tilling since my grandfather’s lifetime.”

 Sophia asked questions. Took notes. But she felt inexperienced. She approached her supervising lawyer, who explained the tenant’s rights. Before leaving, the woman turned back to her.

“Thank you for listening.”

 Sophia blinked.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

 The woman smiled.

“You will someday.”

 That evening Sophia wrote something on the back cover of her Rules of Court codal, her favorite.

“Law is not just recitations. It’s people who have nowhere else to go.”

 The sentence stayed with her. Like a small lantern placed beside a long road. On nights when exhaustion told her to stop walking, that lantern showed her where the road was.

 The alarm snoozed off. It was 5:15 a.m. Sophia opened the small refrigerator. Inside were only a few things. Eggs. Jams. Cucumbers. Lemons. Then on a small cabinet beside the fridge sat a loaf of bread, a jar of instant coffee, sugar, and some packs of instant pancit canton. Her staple since college of law.

She took out two eggs and placed a pan on the stove. The flame clicked to life. Butter melted slowly across the pan. 

Outside, the street grew louder. Tricycads passing, hawkers calling out, e-jeepneys heading toward the market. She cracked the eggs. The soft sizzle filled the kitchen. For a moment, she simply stood there watching them cook. It reminded her of another kitchen.

Their old house had a kitchen barely big enough for two people. The wooden table leaned slightly to one side. Sophia sat there one evening with her law books spread across the table. Beside them lay a small envelope containing her salary from the office where she worked during the day. She was a financial officer in one of the fishing companies in the City. Her first job after her CPALE. 

Her younger brother sat nearby finishing his homework. Her mother washed dishes at the sink. Sophia counted the bills slowly.

Rent. Electricity. Her brother’s school allowance. Groceries. Her mother’s medicines. Her own medicines.

What remained was thin. Very thin. 

 Her mother glanced over her shoulder.
“You should keep some for yourself.”

Sophia shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

 “You work all day. Then you go to law school at night.”

Sophia smiled faintly.
“That’s the plan.”

 Her brother looked up.
“Ate, when you become a lawyer, will we still eat eggs every day?”

 Sophia laughed softly.

 “No.”
“What will we eat then?”

Sophia pretended to think.
“Anything you want.”

Her mother watched her in silence.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Sophia slid the envelope to the center of the table.

“We’re not carrying it alone.”

She glanced at the stack of law books.

“This is helping too.”

 Her clock read 5:20. The eggs finished cooking. Sophia placed them on a plate beside two slices of toasted bread. A simple breakfast. She sat near the window and ate slowly. Sunlight had begun creeping across the floor. She finished her coffee and stepped into the shower room. 

 The water rushed out cold. She waited a moment, staring at the thin stream falling into the bucket below. There was no heater in the apartment. There had never been. She took a breath and stepped under the water. She welcomed the cold water on her body, letting the chill run down her shoulders and back. She closed her eyes and remembered another moment in law school.

 Fourth year.

A constitutional law debate. Sophia stood behind the podium, hands trembling. Carlo leaned over.

“You’re going to destroy them.”
“I’m going to faint.”

 He grinned.

 “If you faint, faint confidently.”

 The debate began. Arguments bounced across the room. Sophia responded. Countered. Defended.  Something shifted. Her voice steadied. Her thoughts sharpened.

 After the debate, one of the adjudicators approached her.
“You should try litigation.”

 Sophia laughed nervously.

“I’m terrified of courtrooms.”

 The adjudicator smiled.
“That’s exactly why you should try.”

 Another lantern appeared on the road.

 The time was already 6:31 a.m. Sophia stepped out of the shower room and proceeded to her room. She dried her hair, put on some lotion, then checked out her outfit. Dark blue blazer. White long sleeves. Dark blue pants.

 She began to dress up. She combed her hand through her hair and had a quick look at her watch. Her phone lit up. A message from Carlo. Already a lawyer one year earlier.

“Big day today, Attorney.”

 Sophia smiled.

“Don’t remind me, Attorney.”

“You survived the Bar. You’ll survive this.”

 Sophia stared at the screen. Survived. The. Bar.

 Her eyes drifted to the law books. And suddenly she remembered one afternoon. The one everyone waited for a list of names. Over the years, more lanterns appeared along the road. Some dim. Some steady. But the brightest one came only this year.

On the news, a crowd gathered outside the Supreme Court building. Phones were raised everywhere. At home and elsewhere, graduates and their loved ones refreshed the Supreme Court’s website on their laptops repeatedly. 

 Sophia was at the beach with Carlo. She preferred to stroll along the shore under the scorching sun. If she passed, someone would reach out.  

 Carlo was several steps away, scrolling on his phone furiously. He whispered to himself, “It’s loading… wait—”

 The messenger suddenly erupted. Friends were sending messages.

“THE LIST IS OUT!”

 Carlo froze. His chest tightened. A few seconds passed. Then he ran toward her, yelling.

“Sophia Marquez! Sophia Marquez!

 She turned and stopped. Her voice barely came out.

“What?”

 He showed her the screen.

“You’re here.”

 Her eyes scanned the list. Names blurred past. Then—
There it was.

 MARQUEZ, SOPHIA A.

 The world tilted. Years of sleepless nights and sacrifices. Stacks of case digests. Humiliating recitations. Funerals. Endless nights of tears. Sleeping on an empty stomach. All of it gathered into that single line of text. Tears blurred her vision. 

 Carlo laughed behind tears.
“You did it!”

 For years, she had walked forward guided by scattered lanterns. But that morning—

The door at the end of the tunnel finally opened.

The clock read 7:10 a.m. Sunlight slipped through the window. Sophia picked up the case folder from her desk. Thin. But meaningful. She took a deep breath, locked the apartment door, and stepped into the morning air of GenSan. e-Jeepneys roared past. Market vendors arranged their goods. 

She thought of the long ride she had to take to reach the Hall of Justice. It did not matter. She already imagined the scenario several times as she had been to it before during her law student practice. The concrete steps, the wide gate, a flag already moving in the morning breeze, and the statue of Lady Justice painted in white. She remembered the words of Jose Benedicto Luna. 

 “No master but law

No guide but conscience

No aim but justice”

Inside the hallway, lawyers in black coats moved briskly between courtrooms. Sophia clutched her folder tighter. The courtroom door stood slightly open. Inside, the judge’s bench waited. She walked in and took a seat at the counsel’s table.

 After a while, the Interpreter called out.

 “All rise. The court is now in session. The Honorable Alejandro Salazar presiding.” 

 The judge pounded on the gavel.

 “Call the cases.”

“Case No. 1. Civil Case No. 2147. Anna Santos et al versus Prime Holdings Incorporated for Annulment of Deed of Sale, Cancellation of Transfer Certificate of Title No T-4729 with prayer for Temporary Restraining Order…”

 “Appearances.”

Sophia stood. Her first appearance. She swallowed, then spoke.

“Good morning, Your Honor. Attorney Sophia Marquez, respectfully appearing for the plaintiffs, Your Honor. 

 For a moment, the courtroom was still. Then the judge nodded. The words were simple. But to Sophia Marquez, they sounded like the end of a long corridor and the beginning of another.