Sa estrangherong nagmamay-ari ng liham,
I found your words tucked into the heart of this ancient Narra, though your "brown paper" is a material I have never seen, and your "2025" is a year that sounds like a dream from a clockmaker's fever.
You say you are a "Kuya" burdened by noise. Here, the noise is different—it is the sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones and the heavy whispers of a revolution that has not yet found its voice. You speak of feeling empty. Do you think that by the year of 2025, the human soul would have found a way to fill itself? It seems some things never change across the centuries.
You call yourself a "bountiful harvest," Isagani. Do not curse your name. A harvest requires the sun, but it also requires the earth to be broken. Perhaps your "anger" is just the soil preparing for something to grow.
I am not a ghost, at least not yet. I am merely someone sitting under the same shade, wondering if the wind that blows through these leaves today will be the same one that touches your face in a hundred years. No. 12 Calle de San Gabriel, Binondo here is my address. Feel free to come here whenever you want as I have countless of questions that need answers.
Pray, tell me—in your time, will our country be finally free?
My hands shook as I finished reading the mysterious letter. "Is this a prank?" I muttered under my breath as I put the letter in my pocket. My mind immediately went to Carlos or Juan, but the parchment and the quality of the ink felt too real for it to be a typical prank made by high school students.
I stuffed the letter deep into my pocket, my heart still racing. School could wait. I needed answers.
I rushed toward the library, the heavy doors swinging open to the familiar smell of old paper and the muttering of students studying. I needed to know about Binondo in 1885. Who lived at No. 12 Calle de San Gabriel? Was it a house of revolution, or just a home for a lonely soul?
My fingers swept through the spine of countless of books as I started to frantically look for a book. Until my gaze went to the untouched book in the History section of the library. "The Once Rich City of Binondo: The Home of the Illustrados" I read the title silently my eyes widening when I realized that I found the book that I was looking for. I let out a loud "yes!" gathering glances from students nearby, some looked annoyed. While some looked amused because I think it was their first time hearing someone being loud in the library, but anyways, let's just cut to the chase. I turned page to page trying to find the place that the letter included, I looked for minutes not until I found a certain chapter where it includes not only the given place, but a man. The man was handsome, with black hair and brown eyes: he looks cool and calm. If only I could go back in time, I would befriend him.
I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at the name provided "Elias Santos" I read his name and looked at his personal information. 20 years old, home to rich parents, and half Spanish, well that's a typical illustrado back in 1885. I froze for a moment, not knowing what to do next, will I send a letter back to Elias again? Yes that's my only option so... I thought to myself as I exited the library to go back to the Narra tree when I suddenly bumped into someone. It was my classmate, Joshua "Hey! Why are you here so early? It isn't lunch break yet." Joshua said while helping me get up. "Nothing, I just have something to do, okay bye!" I rushed and ran to the Narra tree, I gradually slowed down, panting as I do so. And as I expected to see. There was no letter, obviously because I haven't written to Elias again. I dropped my backpack to the ground and started rummaging through it again until I found my pen and an intermediate pad or a long pad as they call it here, I pulled the cap of my pen using my teeth as I had no time, I looked at my watch "8:00 am." I whispered as I started writing aggressively, but it was unintentional. My pen scribbled against the rough surface of the paper as I wrote.
December 11, 2025
Elias,
I found you. Or at least, I found your name. I just came from the library, and I saw a book. The Once Rich City of Binondo. There you were, listed under the residents of Calle de San Gabriel. You look... Calm. Different from how I feel right now.
You asked if we are finally free.
How do I answer that? If I tell you "yes," I'd be lying. If I tell you "no,' I'd be ignoring everything your generation is bleeding and fighting for.
In my time, the Spaniards are gone. The Americans and the Japanese came and left, too. We have our own President, our own flag, and we speak our own language (mostly). So, technically, we are free. But Elias, the "noise" I told you about? It's louder than ever. We aren't fighting with bolos or secret societies anymore; we're fighting each other on glowing screens. We have the freedom to say whatever we want, yet no one seems to be saying anything that matters.
By the way, how did you know my name was Isagani? And if you're really an illustrado, why are you talking to a stranger from a "fever dream" year like 2025 instead of planning the revolution?
- Isagani
I sighed as i put the cap of my pen back and left the paper back to it's usual spot, after that letter. I felt somewhat comforted that I had someone to tell thing about instead of it just being plainly my classmates.