Being born in December of an election year meant that Gabo would not be able to vote for a President until he was 24. This fact bothered him to no end at 17.

"He's a moocher with zero legislative achievements, coasting off the goodwill of his family name!" protested Gabo at the dinner table. The walls of the rented townhouse in Sikatuna Village were laughably thin, so the neighbors got an earful of his unsolicited punditry.

"Yes, you mentioned," said Lilet, her tone deadpan. "Now can we please finish this binakol while it's still nice and warm?" She poured another ladle of hearty coconut broth onto the steaming chicken.

Lilet's partner Dianne looked sympathetically at Gabo. He insisted on calling her Professor Rauangaanga, but she chose not to take offense – she had a much higher tolerance for adolescent bullshit than Lilet did. As an outsider, Dianne didn't think it was her place to comment on local politics. At least until she had seen more of the Philippines than campuses, beaches, and shopping malls. But her gut impression was that Gabo was correct about Noynoy Aquino, who had just taken office.

That was just about the only thing where Dianne saw eye to eye with Gabo. Otherwise, she reassured Lilet that it was just a phase – once Gabo hit the job market, he would get bored with the Young Libertarian rhetoric and unsubscribe from those objectivist sub-Reddits, shrugging it off like Atlas before him. Lilet prayed that she was right.