"Do I really need to go there with you, Ma?" I asked my mom as I sat beside her in the passenger's seat with my earphones on, a shuffled mix of my pirated OPM songs playing in the background in low volume. In response, mom kept her eyes glued to the road, her way of dismissing my feelings. She has always been like that, and I have always hated her for that—she will just ignore me if she feels like I am just asking her irrelevant questions.

"It's not as if the ancestral house would suddenly crumble when I don't go there with you today, Ma," I said, my fists clenched on my lap, trying not to cry out of frustration. "I have exams to study for and requirements to finish. We haven't reached the toll gate yet. You can drop me off somewhere and—"

The next thing I heard was the car screeching that made my body push towards the dashboard. The scent of coffee overpowered my mom's air freshener almost immediately, while I felt a gush of hot liquid on my hands.

I leaned back and looked at my mom, my eyes now welling with tears.

"Are you trying to get us killed, Ma?" I said, no longer trying to hold back on my frustration.

"Huh? Didn't you see that car suddenly cutting through us?" my mom responded while sighing. "These drivers should have their licenses revoked! Are you okay, anak?"

A wave of shame washed over my body as I tried to process how I had just vented my frustration without looking at the real reason my mom suddenly hit the brakes. I leaned back in my seat, wiping my hand with a towel, no longer interested in pursuing the topic.

No one dared say anything as we approached the sign that read "Welcome to STAR Tollway", with the only thing I could hear being Abra's Diwata being played through my earphones.

"You could've studied History, and this will be just like a field trip," my mom finally said, still not taking her eyes off the road.

I rolled my eyes. Here we go again.

"We already talked about this. I still think that Biology is a better way to honor Papa's memory."

I peered out the car window but saw almost nothing but houses and buildings. One tree stood among these infrastructures, though, looking proud, albeit out-of-place—Narra. I readily identified this tree because my plant-loving Papa trained me through our guess-the-plant-species game. He gave me tidbits of information about plants as we guessed their species, even in their vernacular names. We kept a small garden in our home, which I now take care of, in his memory.

"And I had no choice but to agree with your wishes, or you won't talk to me," mom said wistfully. "I still think you're selfish on that part, Kaye. Your Papa's dying wish was to make you the primary caretaker of the Casa de Segunda. The one who would manage all the affairs of the museum. He said it's a way to continue our family legacy."

"Family legacy?" I almost spat. "What good is it to be proud of my great-grandmother, who only went down in history as Rizal's first love?"

That finally got a reaction from my mom. A smug smile escaped my lips as she looked at me in horror and said, "How can you say that? Why are you disrespecting your great-grandmother's memory?"

"But why? Is it not true? We only learned about Segunda Katigbak because she was allegedly Jose Rizal's first love. But did our family play an active role in history other than that?"

Mom ignored me again and stayed silent for a moment, as if contemplating how to answer.

"They don't have to perform all heroic acts to be important figures in our history. They survived, and they lived long enough to tell their tale and pass it down to several generations of their kin. Heck, your Lola sa tuhod even restored the Casa after the Japanese occupation, so we could continue telling their story," my mom said matter-of-factly, but I could sense that she was on edge.

"Okay, fine. I understand that part. But why can't our other relatives take care of the ancestral house? Why does it have to be us, Ma? And why should I really be involved in this? Papa wasn't even the eldest member of the entire clan for him to worry about the museum's affairs."

"I'm not really sure," my mom answered, baffled. "But your Papa kept saying that your Lola specifically requested it because of Manang Ana."

"Huh," was all I could say. They haven't told me about this yet. "What about Manang Ana?"

"Your Lola sa tuhod took her in from a vegetable farm, partly because Manang Ana insisted. She always had these prophetic visions, all of which came true. So, your Lola sa tuhod really valued her insights and took care of her, although not formally adopted."

"What about it?" I said, urging my mom to tell more.

"Manang Ana convinced your Lola sa tuhod, your Lola, and even your Papa that you will play an important role in history," mom chuckled, as she shook her head. "She has liked you ever since we brought you into the ancestral house when you were five. You always play together as well."

I looked at mom blankly. "I-I don't remember."

"I think it's for the best that you don't remember. You wouldn't imagine how freaked out I was when she was with you then. I didn't know what got into me, that I got really horrified when I saw her twirling you around."

"You freaked out?" I said, trying my best not to laugh at the thought. "You were one of the most level-headed people I know, Ma. I didn't even know you were capable of freaking out."

She chuckled.

"Hey, I'm human, and I have feelings too, you know," she started. "It might be too judgmental of me, but she looked too ancient to be hanging around. I can't even believe that she's just almost the age of your Lola."

"Yeah, that's not very nice of you, mom," I teased.

"But the weird thing is, you didn't even remember what she told you when I asked you about it then. So, even if I'm not really a spiritual person, I decided not to take you there again. But your Papa insisted on his deathbed, so here we are."

*****

"You have reached your destination," the navigation app announced, which startled me and woke me up from my nap. My mom put the car into hazard mode and urged me to come outside and bring our packed meals.

"Won't you be coming with me inside, Ma?" I asked as I sluggishly stepped outside the car.

"It's already 7:45 AM; Manang Ana expects us to arrive by 8 AM. Just go in first and meet her. I'll be there in a while. I'll go to the nearest coffee shop and get my morning fix. Want me to get you something?"

"Um ... A large Spanish latte na lang, Ma! Thanks."

I closed the door, and she drove off.

I turned around and saw the majesty of a house made of stone and wood, a large dwelling that seemingly existed where time was at a standstill. The huge house stood tall against other structures that were undoubtedly modern compared to its design. "Casa De Segunda" was proudly etched in a metal frame placed on top of the unvarnished wooden gates.

I looked around, trying to locate the doorbell, since I didn't have Manang Ana's number. Weirdly, there was none, and no one was there for me to ask—not even one passerby, neighbor, or vehicle wandering around. I sent my mom a text message, but I knew it would take long before she replied.

"Manang Ana?" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

No one answered.

"Manang Ana!" I tried again. Still, no one heeded my call.

I looked around some more and saw a long metal hanging from above, with small chains keeping it intact. I looked up and saw it connected to a bell-like structure, so I tried pulling it down.

"We cannot welcome you yet, hija. It's not opening time yet. Just come back next time," said a lady with a severe hunchback that made her shorter, further dwarfing her in contrast to the large wooden gates that her bony hands covered with paper-thin skin were struggling to move.

To say that she is very old is an understatement—she was ancient. Even though I did not really know who she was, my gut tells me that this was the Manang Ana that mom and I were talking about earlier.

She was about to close the gate when I said, "M-Manang Ana, wait! It's me, Kaye."

The woman squinted her droopy, milky eyes, making the lines and creases of her old age further emphasized. She held my gaze for a moment, as if examining me.

"What date is it?"

My lips gaped at the randomness of her question.

"U-uh, it's the 13th of July," I answered simply, not understanding the need to ask for the date. Today is Sunday, but the house is open for visitors every day, and she should be expecting us with all her communications with mom.

"Mm-hm," she said, as if contemplating something. "I was wrong. You arrived just in time. Come on in, Kaye. I have been waiting for you."

She motioned for me to come in, and I obliged. But now I understand mom's reaction when I was younger—this cryptic woman seems to have some screws lost, probably brought on by old age. Still, I must be wary.

She stopped midway through her tracks and looked back at me. I once again got a chance to look at her cloudy eyes, which made me feel uneasy.

"Those look heavy. I'll be the one to carry them," she said, gesturing to the bag I was holding containing the packed meals mom had prepared for her. Despite my attempt to argue that I wanted to be the one to do it, she gripped my arm tight with a force even greater than I think I could muster. I flinched, and at that moment, I just knew that I should not go against her wishes.

Manang Ana and I stopped in front of a stone structure that looked like it might have been a fountain in its prime, but now it lays stagnant and without life, filled with some fallen leaves floating on the murky water on the basin-like base and a much smaller second layer.

"Could you do me a favor?" Manang Ana said, her raspy voice suddenly turning syrupy. "I have yet to open the windows upstairs, but I trust you could do that yourself."

"O-okay," I said, my gaze following the end of where her pointer finger was referring to.

"I need to unpack these meals, but I'll follow you soon. Go now and familiarize yourself with the place."

I was unable to argue or even ask any questions. She immediately disappeared when I looked back at her. She sure was strong and agile for an old lady.

Even with Manang Ana no longer in sight, I decided to follow her instructions and enter through a room with wide-open wooden doors as its entrance, which she was pointing to earlier. It has a wooden, circular table immediately visible from the outside, with a few books laid on top of it. I looked around the room and noticed the light hanging from the ceiling, the wooden chairs, and the sunlight coming through the windows with Capiz panels.

Then I saw her, the young Segunda Katigbak, looking very regal in her framed portrait displayed proudly on a wooden stand. Her brushed up, long black hair makes her forehead more prominent, accentuating her soft features. She wears small, dangling earrings that contrast her hair. The pañuelo she was wearing over her camisa, the design of which can be seen until the chest, was beautifully embroidered with leaves.

"Hi," I said in jest, holding my right hand up in a wave, in a pretend introduction to a stranger, only it is not supposed to be a stranger, but a family. "You're really pretty, so it's not hard to grasp why Jose Rizal fell in love with you. But between you and me, I really want nothing to do with any of these."

I felt shivers run down my spine as I felt as if her eyes shifted directions and looked straight back at me. The room felt cold, and I felt as if someone was observing me from behind. I knew I was alone, so that added to the creepiness of it.

I went through the corner with the Capiz window, but I do not think these were the windows Manang Ana asked me to open. It does not look like I can open them.

My eyes wandered a bit and saw what looked like books laid down on the table, which turned out to be photo albums of our relatives, most of them now dead. I shut it close even with just a few flips, as I already had enough of their photos and I did not want to add to the eerie feeling of looking at dead people's portraits.

I was careful not to look at Segunda's portrait again as I moved away, approaching the stony staircase. Finally, I reached the part without a portrait or photograph, grateful to be released from Segunda's gaze.

I walked some more and almost jumped in fear when I saw another portrait of Segunda, this time wearing a white oversized T-shirt and looking directly back at me. It took me a while to realize that it was neither a portrait nor a photograph, but instead was a mirror, and I was looking at my reflection. Gosh, I must be going crazy.

I shook my head and ran back downstairs, but the wooden doors by the entrance were now tightly shut, and I felt trapped within the confines of the house, within the mercy of the portrait of a beautiful woman who I felt was watching my every move.

I tried to get out, but I felt like I was being pulled through the inside, and I saw the albums flipping open even with no wind.

I ran away to try to find an exit, but all I could do was go upstairs, where I might feel a sense of peace. I pushed the window open, and a sudden gust of chilly wind burst in. The force of the wind felt out of the ordinary, and it was so strong that it pushed me back.

I closed my eyes as I braced myself for impact. But before I got to land on something, I felt the air turn moist, until I felt myself drenched, like I was playing in the rain.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally landed on something ... no, someone.

I opened my eyes and stared back at a familiar face. Her hair is now a mess as we both lay down on the floor. Our screams joined in a chorus as we pulled away from each other, but the sound of my heart pounding atop my chest drowned out the competing screams that filled my ears.