"Walang himala! Ang himala ay nasa puso ng tao, nasa puso nating lahat!" (There is no miracle! The miracle is in the heart of man, in all our hearts!)

- Nora Aunor, as Elsa in "Himala"

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[Capítulo Seis: Pagsapi (Joining Alliance)]

"J-JONG." In a sudden shift of tone, Marianne urgently called my name. "They are asking you if you would want to be part of the fighting crew? Do you know fighting choreographies?"

In this perplexing situation, the thought of being in the past seemed utterly implausible. The director's decision to include fighting scenes left me questioning the boundaries between reality and fiction.

As the word "Katipunan" echoed once more, memories of my grandmother's stories resurfaced. If only I had paid more attention, I might understand the gravity of the situation in this unfamiliar time.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you know the... swoosh... swoosh? Bang... bang?" she asked, mimicking sword slashes with a swooshing sound and gunshots with a bang, emphasizing the fighting choreographies she mentioned earlier.

"I... I can't just do that! I'm not a good fighter! I have no experiences about fighting -" Ignoring my protests, she continued to act out fighting moves, emphasizing the urgency of the situation and the need for me to join the fighting crew.

"Oo daw po (He said yes)," she interrupted.

"Did you just..." I detected a subtle, affirmative sound from her, akin to 'Oo.' It served as an alternative expression for 'Opo,' signifying a more positive response.

How could she do that?

Amidst my chaotic state, her ability to seamlessly transition into the role of an actress added another layer of bewilderment to my already tumultuous emotions.

Anyways, whatever happens, I would still find my way home. Once I had the time to escape these actors, I would go to the airport and go to Korea as soon as possible.

I observed the Supremo, and a subtle shake of his head accompanied by a grin revealed his amusement. The echo of his earlier words resonated within me. Despite relying on Marianne for translation, he alone comprehended and spoke Spanish.

.

EMILIO took another document and began to read once more.

"Upang pareho kayong makaintindi ng aking sinasabi ay babasahin ko muna ito sa Tagalog at saka ko na isasalin sa Espanyol (To ensure both of you understand what I'm saying, I'll read it first in Tagalog and then translate it to Spanish)," he announced.

"Ang buhay na hindi ginugugol sa isang malaki at banal na kadahilanan ay kahoy na walang lilim, kundi damong makamandag." He carefully articulated each word, emphasizing the significance of his statement. "La vida que no se gasta al servicio de una causa grande y noble es como un árbol sin sombra, o como una hierba venenosa (The life that is not spent in the service of a great and noble cause is like a tree without a shade, or like a poisonous weed)."

"Ang gawang magaling na nagbubuhat sa paghahambog o pagpipita sa sarili, at hindi talagang nasang gumawa ng kagalingan, ay di kabaitan," he added. "El buen trabajo que se hace por interés propio y no por sí mismo no tiene mérito (The good work that is done out of self-interest and not for its own sake has no merit)."

The tempest within my mind surged. His decision to involve me with unfamiliar faces fueled my disbelief.

I grasped her aspirations for me, vowing silently that the repercussions she sowed would return to her. Amidst the two men engrossed in the document, I locked eyes with her, curving my lips into a deceptive smile tailored just for her. "You will pay for what you did," I hissed, the words dripping with a quiet menace, directly into her ears.

"Hoy (Hey)! Makinig ka nga (Listen up)!' she whispered back, her voice carrying a subtle edge.

Her retort echoed with a hint of defiance, a silent proclamation against my whispered threat.

"Ang tunay na kabanalan ay ang pagkaka¬wang-gawa, ang pag-ibig sa kapwa at ang isukat ang bawat kilos, gawa't pangungusap sa talagang katuwiran," he added once more. "La verdadera piedad consiste en hacer el bien a los demás, en amar al prójimo y en hacer de la recta razón la regla de cada acción, obra y palabra (True piety consists in doing good to others, in loving one's neighbor and in making right reason the rule for every action, work and word)."

.

THE readings unfolded methodically, each data point building tension as it marched forward. The atmosphere in the room became increasingly charged, reaching its peak at the 14th statement.

"Paglaganap ng mga aral na ito, at maning­ning na sisikat ang araw ng mahal na kalayaan dito sa kaaba-abang Sangkapuluan at sabugan ng matamis niyang liwanag ang nangagkaisang mag­kakalahi't magkakapatid, ng ligayang walang kata­pusan, ang mga ginugol na buhay, pagod, at mga tiniis na kahirapa'y labis nang matutumbasan," he readed for the last time.

As anticipated, the words underwent translation, unraveling before me to bridge the gap of understanding. "Que todos tomen en serio estas enseñanzas y que el querido sol de la libertad brille intensamente sobre nuestro desventurado país; que su hermosa luz traiga a nuestro pueblo, uno en sangre y hermandad, felicidad sin fin para compensar las vidas sacrificadas, los trabajos realizados, los sufrimientos soportados para obtenerla (May all take these teachings to heart, and may the dear sun of freedom shine brightly on our hapless country; may its lovely light bring to our people, one in blood and brotherhood, happiness without end to make up for the lives sacrificed, the labors undergone, the sufferings endured to obtain it)."

"Susunod ba kayo sa mga nakasaad sa Kartilya ng Katipunan?" the man inquired, directing his gaze toward us.

His question hung in the air, awaiting our response to the principles outlined in the 'Kartilya'.

"Will you follow the rules for Katipunan?" the girl asked.

Finally! A translation! I couldn't speak Spanish fluently! I couldn't understand all that he spoke!

"Sí, Señor (Yes, Sir)," I replied, my response laced with reluctant compliance. "I don't have a choice anyway," I added in a hushed whisper.

"Kayo na po ang mag-trans- (I think you could decipher-) Ah! Kayo na po ang MAGSALIN ng mga salitang iyon (You translate those words)," she spoke.

.

THE conversation just continued.

"Jong, meet Emilio Jacinto," said the girl. "And you might also want to meet the Supremo of the Kataastaasan Kagalanggalangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan (Supreme and Honorable Society of the Children of the Nation), Sir Andres Bonifacio."

The introduction unfolded, unveiling the key players in this unfolding drama: Emilio Jacinto and the revered Supremo, Sir Andres Bonifacio. Their names resonated with a hint of familiarity, triggering distant memories that eluded clear recollection.

Lost in contemplation, I was abruptly brought back to the present by a sharp clap from the eccentric girl. "Emilio Jacinto and Andres Bonifacio," she reiterated, her hand gracefully moving between the two figures, urging me to grasp the significance of these historical names.

"Uhh... placer conocerte, Señores (Pleasure to meet you, Sirs)," I spoke sincerely.

"Mayroon ba kayong mga sedula (Do you have your cedulas)?" Sir Andres asked.

The term 'Sedula' hovered in my confusion, an unfamiliar concept that left me puzzled and in need of clarification.

"Meron po (Yes, we have)!" Marianne responded swiftly, her haste suggesting a readiness to comply or possess whatever was being referred to. "Pero huwag niyo muna pong tingnan kasi naiwan po ata namin sa bahay namin (But you don't need to look at it. Maybe we left it on our houses)."

Señor Andres Bonifacio merely nodded in acknowledgment, his countenance devoid of a smile. The gravity of his expression remained unchanged until he departed once more with the two men. "Maiwan ko na muna kayo rito (I'll be leaving you here for a while)," he uttered, leaving us behind.

"Upang maging tanda ng inyong pagsanib, handa ba kayong mag-alay ng iyong dugo para sa kalayaan ng Pilipinas (To signify your unity, are you willing to offer your blood for the freedom of the Philippines)?" Señor Jacinto added.

"I know this method. Is this the blood compact?" I whispered to myself as he took his knife from his scabbard and looked at us. I can handle the pain, but I couldn't comprehend if I should do it. I am a Korean. I'm not a...

.

THE echo of a long-lost memory reverberated within me. My Filipino father, vanished after parting ways with my mother, surfaced in my thoughts. Despite my disdain for my busy Mom, a deeper resentment clung to him for inexplicably abandoning me.

Yet, amidst this emotional tumult, there existed my Filipina grandmother. The roots of this country ran through my veins, connecting me to her.

No choice remained; I must embark on this endeavor. The impending struggle would be in honor of my grandmother. If I failed to return home, the prospect of reuniting with her and relishing her boundless love fueled my resolve.

"Narito ang mga kailangan niyong malaman upang maging opisyal na kasapi (Here are the things you'll need to become an official member)," said Mr. Jacinto. The worn document crinkled in his hands, the Spanish words etching lines of confusion across his forehead. Then, the Filipino words filled the room with my hopes of Marianne translating it to English.

"... should pay twenty-five... centavos," Marianne's voice mirrored the unease in our expressions.

Wide-eyed, our shared realization hung in the air - neither of us possessed the needed coins.

My fingers traced the faces on the new Filipino pesos, heroes immortalized in ink."Would this count?" I mumbled, eyes flickering to Marianne who scrutinized her dress for hidden pockets.

"Do you have a centavo? An old one?" I asked.

"I don't have the money they want," Marianne's irritation whispered.A problem echoed through the room, my hushed voice acknowledging the weight of our predicament.

"Grabe (Gosh)! Kahit sentimo wala ang bulsa ko (My pockets doesn't even have a cent in it)!" I heard her murmured. "Ninakawan ba nila ako o naiwan ko ang pera ko kay Dad (Did they rob me or I left my money on Dad)?"

Fingers fumbling through my pockets, I stumbled upon the ring from our earlier photo shoot.

"Maybe this could work!" I beamed.

Leaning towards Marianne, I swiftly took the ring from her finger. "Anong (What the)-" she gasped.

"Since they might have left us behind, we could use this ring for whatever we want," I replied with a grin.

"That's mine! What are you thinking?" Her protest echoed through the room, annoyance vivid in the widening of her eyes as I clutched the ring.

"Don't worry. When we go back to the city, I'll buy you another one," I assured in a hushed tone, attempting to pacify her.

"No! That's not yours!" Marianne insisted, her firm stance emphasizing the ownership of the precious ring.

As the storm raged on her even more, I hesitated for a moment before giving Emilio the silver ring I took on Marianne's hand to finally settle the situation.

I grasped the knife he handed to me in return, my eyelids sealing shut against the impending act. The rapid thud of my heart reverberated, yet I mustered the courage to press the blade against my skin. The keen edge whispered its sharpness, and I sensed a bead of crimson forming, trickling down from my left hand.

"Aray (Ouch)!" Marianne's voice carried a note of concern as her words spilled out, echoing worry that wrapped around my senses.

The quill trembled in my hand as I pressed it onto the paper, leaving behind a crimson signature that mirrored the weight of my decision. Beside me, Marianne's fingers hesitated on the knife, each motion deliberate, betraying the conflict within her.

"Ayoko (I don't want to)! Hindi ko kaya (I can't do it)," I heard her whispered, catching her breath.

Her gaze fixated on the knife, its cold steel reflecting the fading light in her eyes, a silent dance between hesitation and resolve unfolding in the dimming glow. "Kung tunay ang iyong pag-ibig sa bayan, Binibini, at kung kaya mong mamatay para sa kaniya ay nararapat lamang na iyong ituloy ito (If your love for the country, Miss, is true, and if you can die for it, then it is only right that you pursue this)," Emilio spoke.

"Gusto ko pong sumali kaso (I want to join but)..." She bit her lips, her hands shaking with the knife she was holding.

"What? Do you want to escape from here, or do you want to be treated as a spy?" My hushed words brushed against the air, a delicate murmur intended to be a gentle breeze of encouragement, subtly shared to provide the support she might seek. "Besides, we already paid!"

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. After a few moments of silence, she raised the knife and cut off a thin piece of her skin. It was just a little bleed, but at least she overcame her fear.

As she signed the contract, I heard her heavy breathing. "Ayos ka lamang ba, Binibini (Are you alright, Miss)?" Emilio asked her.

"Ayos lang (I'm okay)..." Retreating, the radiance in her eyes dwindled, casting a shadow over her expression. In a gradual descent, she collapsed towards the unforgiving ground.

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