A young boy was wandering the house of his lola. Lola's casa was like most other places the young boy had the pleasure of visiting. It was yet another house constructed out of stone materials and made to look like a Spanish home. Lola used to tell stories of when the house was nothing but bamboo poles with a thatched nipa roof. But as soon as their family were able to earn more money from mercantilism, they soon built a house deserving of their newfound stature.  

What had made Lola's house stand out though from the others were the different paintings, tapestries and artworks displayed in the halls and rooms. These pieces were merely decorative at first glance, but in the curious and imaginative eyes of the young boy, they were almost telling of an epic. On the bookshelves were dozens of books in alphabets the boy could not understand and in languages he could not speak. Words such as libertatem, révolte, Sozialstaat and Екатерина, graced the spines of the books. He was piqued by them, even if when he opened them, he couldn't even read the letters.

He tried climbing onto the mahogany table that was facing the asuteya, using the chair as a stepping stone, for he was a child of small stature. He wanted to feel the cold breeze of a February morning. As he used the drawers to climb onto the top, he accidentally opened one of them. Inside, he saw a stack of broadsheets, all written in type. His lola taught him that these were newspapers, and they told, well, the news. On big bold letters, it heralded itself as La Solidaridad. He closed the drawer quietly, so he wouldn't get caught and berated, and eventually had a seat on the desk.

As he was enjoying the cold amihan breeze, he noticed on the walls were rifles, bolos, and swords from faraway lands. These were all intricately crafted; all made to a point of perfection. Among all the wonderful and strange things that the boy could find in lola's house, a worn and uncanny looking sword had gained the most of the boy's interest. Most of the swords in lola's house - like the Castillano's saber - were very uniform, however this particular blade was different. It's handle was split in two, and the blade itself was slanted. It was carved at the hilt with a serpent-looking being, something that seemed fantastical for something he knew was used to kill.

The young boy was staring and wondering about the sword when lola's gentle voice interrupted his thinking. He looked at her grandmother, who has looked less jovial than usual. Even though she's always warm and homely, whenever February kicks in, she always feels more sad, as if sh was thinking of something

 "I can see apo," lola started, "you truly are amazed by these aren't you?" 

 "Si", said the child, while vigorously nodding his head. 

Lola showed the young child a warm smile. "Why don't I tell you a story, my apo?"The young one sat at the wise woman's feet, eager to hear what she had to share. The grandmother started her story, entrancing the curious boy more and more with each word. 

"Thousands of moons ago, our ancestors sailed to these blessed isles on boats built from nothing but wood, sweat and blood. They set out in search of fertile land and freedom, both of which were absent in the cruel realm of their ancestors. Soon, they came to live here among the natives. They could not tell each other apart, and become one people. As time passed, they met many people from across our world, from the Chinese in the North, to the Saracens from the West. From their ideas, their years of learning and becoming one with the soil they rely on they became civilized and they finally became free." 

Lola paused. Her smile faded into a solemn one. She continued her story, but her voice was filled with a tone of sorrow. 

"One day, a man by the name of Magallanes came to these islands, and tried hard to take it from the hands of the natives. Some were fooled by their gifts of gold and a new god, but some stood their ground. A brave warrior named Kalipulako took his sword, like the one you were touching earlier, and made sure they would never come back."

"He may have stopped the Magallanes, but it didn't stop his scribe, Pigafetta from writing about it. Magallanes' second hand man Elcano survived, and brought the stories of the enchanted East to Spain. Soon, the Spanish came to finish what Magellan started. Again, they fooled and betrayed us. Again, they used our brothers against us to fight their wars. And when no land was left from the natives, they sucked the wealth of our land and our people like leeches. They stole the native land from the natives. They stole the motherland from her children."

Lola's tone was getting increasingly frustrated. 

The child, though not understand half of what she said, suddenly became saddened and confused. He tried to say something - anything - but there were no words that could escape his mouth. Lola's furrowed brow relaxed, and she sighed. As if having been reminded of something, she quickly turned to the young boy and showed him a bright expression. 

 "But apo, that can all change." 

 "How lola?"

The old lady smiled, as if she was pleased the little boy had the precocity to ask that question. Ominously, her reply would resound in that young child for the rest of his life. 

 "Don't you worry, hijo. You'll see, and you'll know."