Pilipino ako, sapat nang dahilan 'yon para mahalin ko ang Pilipinas. (I'm a Filipino, it's enough reason for me to love the Philippines)

Bob Ong

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[Prologue]

ARIANNA'S POV

AND so, the story of El Filibusterismo came to an end.

Even at a tender age, my heart ardently expressed an interest in the meticulous exploration of Philippine history and culture.

"Lola, bakit po ganoon ang wakas ng kuwento (Lola, why did the story end that way)?" I asked, at the age of nine.

Instead of giving me a lengthy explanation, she bestowed upon me a sweet smile. "Wala na tayong magagawa. Iyon ang nakasulat at hindi na iyon mababago (We can't do anything about it. That's how it's written, and it cannot be changed)," she replied.

As a child, still naive about the vast world, I quietly trusted her and accepted her words, even though my knowledge was still limited.

In my youth, my passion for writing stories, creating art, practicing singing, and consistently excelling in class ignited early. Joy reigned in my quiet childhood until an unexpected event shattered everything. The joys that once lit up my lips were replaced by the deafening noise of a new world I ventured into.

"Congrats sa iyo, Hija! Nakuha mo ang pinapangarap mong titulong Valedictorian (Congrats to you, Hija! You've achieved the title you've been dreaming of, Valedictorian)!" she exclaimed while tightly holding my hand, awaiting the moment to receive the diploma.

"Tandaan mo, Hija (Remember, Hija)," Lola whispered, as she patted my shoulder, "ang pagmamahal ko sa 'yo ay parang mga puting alon na naglalakbay ng malalayong distansya (my love for you is like white waves traveling far distances)." Her eyes lifted to the heavens, drawn to the shimmering constellations overhead, each star a beacon in the night.

"Sa gitna ng mga pagsubok ng buhay (Amidst life's trials)," she whispered, her voice a gentle melody carried on the evening breeze, "ang pag-asa ay parang ang mga bituin sa kalawakan. Sila ang pinakamaliwanag kapag ang kadiliman ay sumasaklaw sa mundo, gabay tayo sa pamamagitan ng mga anino gamit ang kanilang hindi nagbabagong kislap (hope flickers like these celestial lights. They shine brightest when darkness envelops the world, guiding us through the shadows with their unwavering brilliance)."

As the shimmering trails of tears clouded her eyes, she gently disentangled herself from my embrace, a silent retreat from the warmth we once shared. "I love you, Lo-" my voice faltered, interrupted by a sudden shadow that fell over her gaze. "Lola?" I whispered, my doubt echoing in the hushed stillness that enveloped us.

In the palm of my hand, the necklace lay, its pendant adorned with a star-shaped crystal, a tangible token of moments steeped in meaning and brilliance.

"Mama!" Dad's cry pierced the air, laden with worry, as he cradled her fragile form. With each tender stroke of his palms, it seemed as though he sought to coax life back into her stillness.

Urgency etched into his features, Dad swept her away, his eyes clouded with dread, towards the sterile halls of the hospital. Meanwhile, Mom and I, a blend of longing and tentative hope, made our way to the graduation ceremony, the weight of impending events pressing down upon us. Amidst the buoyant air of celebration, I readied myself to deliver my speech.

"... To my Lola, who illuminated my darkest paths with her unwavering love, thank you..."

But there was no audience to receive those words. "Lola!" I cried out upon returning home, yet upon crossing the threshold, only a chilling stillness greeted me-a silent figure lying cold and motionless before me.

.

"WHAT do you have to say now that your book 'Past in the Spotlight' is so successful?"

In front of me, a reporter holding a microphone stood. She directed it towards both of us, including my companion.

"All I can say is... Awesome!!!" exclaimed the woman beside me. "No, seriously! I still can't believe our book is now published, right?"

All eyes shifted to me, along with the microphone. "Um... All I can say here is the same as Ate Alesha's. I still can't believe I'm going to have a published book," I replied, with a mixture of doubt and admiration in my voice.

As we nestled side by side amidst the sea of expectant faces, our hands cradling the weight of our creation, a book born from the depths of our shared dreams. Once mere whispers in the digital ether of Wattpad, now solid entities resting in our grasp.

The glare of camera flashes erupted around us, momentarily blinding, painting the room in bursts of brilliance. Amidst the luminous chaos, the faces of our audience remained elusive, obscured by the dazzling spectacle, yet their presence was palpable, a silent chorus of anticipation.

"However, this is the burning question that your readers want to ask," the reporter added, accompanied by her smile.

"Why did the story end that way? Are you planning to do a second book? If so, when will you continue writing it?"

As those words pierced the air, sinking into the fabric of my being, I found myself retreating deeper into the embrace of my chair. In that moment of stark realization, the ache that had quietly nestled within me found its voice within the pages of our creation. The subtle nuances of my own trials and tribulations, woven into the tapestry of our story, now laid bare before me.

In the midst of this introspective reverie, the focus of the room abruptly shifted back to my presence. I could feel the weight of their collective gaze settling upon me, their expectations palpable in the charged atmosphere. It was a moment of unfiltered truth.

And as I reflected on the criticisms leveled against our work, I understood. Some had found fault in the shadows of my own struggles mirrored in our characters, in the raw authenticity of our storytelling. The negative reviews were not merely a reflection of our flaws as writers but a mirror held up to my own vulnerabilities.

In that instant, as I faced the scrutiny of our audience, I recognized the irony. For it was I who had orchestrated the fate of Lee Jong Hee, sculpting his journey with a careful hand, guiding him through the crucible of adversity. And yet, in doing so, I had unwittingly laid bare my own wounds, exposing them to the world.

"Bakit ganon ang nangyari sa huli. Alam ko na hindi pa iyon tapos (Why did it end up like that in the end? I know that it is not yet completed)," Jaye's voice jolted me awake, my best friend's concern cutting through the fog of my thoughts. Since embarking on our collaborative story, Jaye had been a steadfast pillar of support, accompanying us every step of our journey.

"Sumpa ba talaga ang pag-ibig (Is love truly cursed)? Bakit ganito (Why is it like this)? Nakakalungkot (It's so sad)," she pondered as we walked in silence towards the jeepney terminal, heading home from school.

"Bakit nararamdaman ko pa rin ang mga emosyong ibinuhos mo sa kuwento (Why do I still feel the emotions you poured into the story)? Ang malala pa, paano kung patuloy lang kaming naghahangad ng bagay na hindi na mangyayari (And worse, what if we are just blindly waiting to the unknown if it will come or not)," she added, a tinge of worry lacing her words.

Years had passed since we completed the two-book series. Back then, everything flowed smoothly, but when faced with another challenge in my life, my courage began to waver.

I sighed deeply, the question echoing in my mind once again. Why did it have to end like that in the story's conclusion?

"Tara na (Let's go)! May gagawin pa akong proyekto (I still have a project to work on)!" I exclaimed, seizing her arm and propelling us both into a brisk stride, urgency pulsing through my veins.

"Hey! Ano sa tingin mo ang ginagawa mo (What are you doing)? Baka atakihin ka ng sakit mo (You might trigger your illness)!" She jerked to a stop, her eyes wide with concern, her grip on reality faltering even before we could gain distance.

"Ano ba ang iniisip mo (What are you thinking)? Wala ito (It's nothing)!" I insisted, but deep down, I knew the truth. The weight of leukemia bore down on me, a silent burden I carried.

"Ano ang sinasabi mong wala (What do you mean 'nothing')? Please, take it easy. Hindi natin alam kung ano ang pwedeng mangyari sa iyo (We don't know what might happen to you)," she implored, her voice laced with worry and a hint of fear.

"Alright! Magdadahan-dahan lang ako (I'll take it easy)," I assured her, though the gravity of her words settled heavily within me.

"Good." Her response held a quiet relief, but underneath, the unspoken fear lingered, casting a shadow over our hurried departure.

.

AFTER taking my prescribed medication, I promptly retreated to my room. It was Saturday tomorrow, with no classes scheduled. If only this annoying illness hadn't intruded, I could have happily joined my classmates on their outing.

"Oras na para matulog, anak (Time for bed, sweetie,)" my mother's voice drifted from the other side of my bedroom door.

"Opo (Yes), Mom. Good night!"

"Good night!" she echoed back.

Dad worked abroad, while my older sibling was currently on a night shift at their workplace.

I found myself transfixed, staring at the light of the lamp as it scattered stars across my darkened room. Like memories, the advice and teachings of my grandmother returned to me, intertwined with the twinkling stars in my mind.

I snapped out of my reverie when my cellphone lit up. As I reached for it, a chat from a friend who had sent photos of our museum visit after school greeted me.

Returning to the messaging app, I noticed the name of my collaborator in the story.

Time had stretched since our last exchange, a period where my pen nearly lay dormant.

 .

"Ate, I don't know if I can continue writing the second book," I chatted with her.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

Worry went inside my mind as my soft heart pounding faster. I am not the kind of person who will just leave others behind. I started it and that is why I need to finish it as well.

"The first chapters," I just answered. "Perhaps you can do the first chapters?"

"Alright. I'll carry on. Don't worry, cupcake."

.

"Thank you, Ate. I'm truly sorry."

.

That marked the end of our dialogue. Afterward, a question planted itself in my mind, wondering why she vanished without a trace. Her silence echoed like an unanswered question, leaving me to ponder whether she harbored resentment.

I mulled over the idea of sending her a letter, each thought etched into my mind like chiseled stone. Then, in a sudden revelation, I noticed the gradual effect of the medication I had taken. Unbeknownst to me, the pain had begun to ebb, my breaths slowing. In the tranquil embrace of sleep, I finally discovered the elusive peace I had been yearning for.

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