sumpah kita

[ Edited photo of "an old geographic map with navigational tools" uploaded by creativemarket.com on Pinterest ]

☼ ☼ ☼

The rattling of the engine powering the boat almost seemed to fade against the cacophony of passing waves and strong winds. The occasional spray of saltwater and the harsh sunlight that forced him to squint his eyes were nothing to Philippines, who sat comfortably on one of the outriggers. He never tired of the sight of the endless stretch of deep blue below the brightly lit sky, occasionally painted with clouds of various shapes. It was nothing short of familiar for someone who spent his life — or at least, for many points in his existence — crossing the ocean on all sorts of vessels, from the balangays and galleons for trading goods, to the karakoas and torpedo boats for waging wars.

For the newly — and legitimately — independent nation, the sensation of sailing through uncharted waters was truly refreshing — made sweeter by the fact that he was doing this with his lifelong sweetheart. He almost wanted to believe that hardly a day had passed since the old days of moving freely wherever one pleased, subservient to one’s own ineffable impulses and not rigid codes or creeds laid out by someone else.

In truth, the centuries between that time to now had changed them both forever. The Great War, and all the great many things that took place before that, changed the world as everyone knew it — as nations like them knew it. Now, they moved about in an expanding labyrinth of arbitrary rules, treaties, and elaborative legal terms.

Established boundaries was why Philippines and Indonesia had spent the last few days traveling through remote islands north of the Minahasa Peninsula. Today, they were making the final, long stretch to their destination: Miangas Island. Or was it Palmas Island to the few that called it home? Regardless, the important matter at hand was to iron out concerns of citizenship, among other cumbersome affairs deemed important.

It was the price of independence that they wanted.

“What do I want?” said the voice in his head as Philippines raised a hand to shield his face from the blinding rays of the sun.

The ring on his finger glinted when he heard another voice call out. “I think we’re close!” 

He perked up and turned towards the direction they were going. Against an endless blue, a sliver of verdant green, an unmistakable sign of land, was now shyly peeking out from the horizon. Indonesia had been keeping watch from the bow and equally savoring the journey with as much ease as a hawk gliding through the air.

Philippines gazed at how the light was painted on his softly chiseled face and broad arms, washing away all signs of wear and tear from years of struggle. A year ago, they had signed a treaty of friendship, but Indonesia wanted more than just diplomatic-business-as-usual. It was not tying the knot — they already did eons ago — than so much as stitching back together what had been cut short.

They were free to love again. And yet, at the same time, not quite.

Indonesia glanced back as well and patted on the empty space by him as a gesture. Philippines carefully pushed himself up to grab onto one the stays, nimbly crossed the tough, bamboo poles and hopped back into the boat. As he sat down, he could not help but glimpse the taut pectorals peeking out of Indonesia’s blouse.

“Button up before we make landfall!” he complained as he playfully slapped Indonesia's chest.

Indonesia laughed in response as he crossed his arms. “Says the one who is fully clothed in this heat.”

Philippines put his knees up and wrapped his arms around before turning his gaze back to the ocean before them. “You know why I have to.”

Indonesia scuttled closer to embrace him. “I didn’t mean to mock you.”

“I know,” Philippines said softly as he placed his left hand over Indonesia’s, their rings lightly touching each other. “We’re just here for a routine inspection, and then…” 

He paused to look away, not wanting to say the inevitable.

“Then we’ll make the most out of what we have now,” said Indonesia as he pressed his head gently against Philippines’. “It’s the least we both want.”

Philippines only smiled in return. Indonesia was right about two things: this was just the least they wanted, but it was not all they wanted.

“What do I want?” asked the voice in his head once more. But how did that saying go? If you tell a wish, it won’t come true.

⋆｡𓏲⊹๋࣭ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏𓊝 ˖✩࿐࿔﹏⊹˖°

Spending between seven to eight hours on a canoe was not an endeavor they would recommend even for the most hardened seaman. Indonesia was determined to commission a passenger ship for travelers to and from the Talaud Islands. He knew they both tolerated the tedious voyage because, without discounting Philippines’ broader experiences, they had endured far, far worse things — all in the course of a protracted lifespan. Whether that was a curse or a blessing garnered as many answers as the islands that made them.

Whether that included Miangas was a question to which they sought the answer today. The Netherlands had a claim on the islands long before it was included, by chance, within the territorial boundaries that was to be passed to the United States. The two nations mutually agreed to settle the issue through the Permanent Court of Arbitration, which ruled in favor of the Netherlands. Fortunately, the decision did not impede the generational ties that the island’s residents had fostered with people of neighboring islands.

But that might change, and Indonesia was not sure if he wanted that.

“What do I want?” asked the voice in his head.

He shifted his focus to steering the boat as Philippines scanned the pristine waters for rocks or corals to avoid. There was no port in sight, just white sands and dense jungle. The lush canopies of the trees rustled against the breeze. The only signs of human activity were a few moored canoes that had ropes carefully wound to the trunks of palm trees. He assumed that the residents kept their houses further inland, safe from rising tides.

Something glinted in the trees, causing Indonesia to lean forward. He could make out a hand and a pair of feet that held snugly onto the trunk of a palm tree. Another hand was holding up a metallic object that obscured their face. They did not look any bigger than a child.

He flinched on instinct as the blinding sun beamed its light across his face. Once it passed and he looked up again, the child — whatever it was that he saw in the distance — was gone. If there were ghosts in Miangas, he hoped they were not the vengeful kind. That was at least one thing he did not want.

His attention was averted by Philippines, who pointed out a palm tree that they could moor their boat onto. They both folded up the hems of their trousers up to above their knees before stepping into the water to push their boat forward. As Philippines dragged a rope out from inside the boat to anchor it down, Indonesia could not help but return his gaze back to that spot in the foliage. Immediately, he glimpsed a small head peeking out before it dived back down into the bushes.

As Miangas, as well as the other remote islands they visited, lacked communication infrastructure, they had no means of informing people of their visits beforehand. Fortunately, every community they encountered so far had been very warm and generous. Most did not imagine that they would ever have visitors with motivations other than trade or family affairs, so any shyness was completely understandable. It was likely that this person — a very young one at that — was just as timid and preferred to watch from a safe distance.

Indonesia walked away from the boat and towards the thick line of trees. As he crouched down, the leaves rustled. Dark brown eyes stared back at his own.

“Are you a pirate?” it whispered to him.

His eyes widened at the unexpected question. “Uhm, no…”

“Is he a pirate?” it asked softly, squinting its eyes as they gestured to the side, where Philippines was, who had just secured the boat and was now inspecting their belongings. Indonesia looked at him while pondering on the question. By all technicalities, he is not, but Indonesia found himself reminiscing on the day of their first meeting — and it was no friendly encounter by chance.

He was a young, wayward soul clinging onto wherever he would find purpose, like a colony of barnacles on a ship’s hull. More often than not, he worked in trading vessels to exchange goods in distant lands. It was no absolute escape from petty conquests. Empires commanded land and sea back then, as they did now. Rebellious pirates that defied the authorities, if not authority itself, were a universal threat. If one did not turn up dead in an encounter with pirates, they most certainly were bound for a life of servitude in unfamiliar territories for the remainder of their existence — so said the wise elders of the day.

But that was exactly how they met, and the rest, as they would say, was history.

Indonesia sighed as he thought back to how he once hated Philippines. His brashness and arrogance. His nimble strength. His coarse sense of humor. His melodic voice that could project fierce battle cries, and hum soothing lullabies. The gentle touch of his hands that remained delicate and unbattered by the grit of detailed woodwork…

“He was.”

“REALLY?!?” cried the starry-eyed girl who jumped out of her hiding spot, catching Indonesia by surprise that he fell back onto the sand with a soft thud.

Philippines looked up to see a young girl with black, wavy hair and bronze skin, donning a woven blouse and tube skirt, and a tattered, dark-colored hat with beaded decorations, and a limp feather that had lost much of its barbs. She hopped over to him with gleeful excitement, like a child who had not seen her parents in a very long time.

She asked softly. “Are you really a pirate?”

Philippines exchanged glances with the equally dumbfounded Indonesia, who could only gesture that he should go with the flow. He sheepishly placed a hand behind his hand and looked away from them both. It wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t a memory he was entirely proud of, either.

“I mean, I was a pirate for—”

She gasped in awe. “Is that how you got those?” she asked while pointing to the tattoos on his soaked, lower legs. He almost wanted to fold the hems of his trousers back down to conceal these brands of shame, the way self-proclaimed intellectuals wanted him to.

Instead, he crouched down until his dark brown eyes were level with hers. Unlike hers that exuded a cheerful aura, his conveyed unnerving severity, as if she had played so roughly she failed to realize she had knocked over the glass bowl that held her pet goldfish.

He whispered back at her. “You wanna know how I got them?” She nodded. He grinned and gestured towards Indonesia. “I beat him easily when he used to be as slim as a twig.” 

As she stifled a giggle, Indonesia’s face reddened as he threw a look of disgust at Philippines while dusting sand off his clothes. “That was a long time ago!” he answered in protest. Philippines could not help but laugh along, but truth be told, he envied that Indonesia had grown so much stronger over the years.

“Yeah, when it was cool to be a pirate. But not anymore,” he added.

“Why not?” she asked before pursing her lips in disappointment.

“Because pirates do bad things.” And I don’t want to be a bad person, said the voice in his head.

“But pirates can be good people,” Indonesia interjected. “Good people can do bad things, and that doesn’t always make them evil,” he added as he gave Philippines a gentle, reassuring look, as if to say, you’re not an evil person.

“I wanna be a good pirate!” the little girl exclaimed as she struck a proud pose, complete with puffed chest and hands on hips.

Philippines chuckled. “Well, you can’t be a pirate without a ship.”

“Then I’ll build one!” she answered.

“You need a crew to help you man the ship.”

“I have the villagers for that!”

Now both Indonesia and Philippines could not help but laugh at her adoring determination. “What do your parents think about that?” Indonesia asked.

“I don’t have parents.”

Oh.

The couple was now sharing awkward glances upon realizing they might have dropped a sensitive question. Indonesia nodded at Philippines as a sign that he could handle this.

“Who are you living with now?” he asked next.

“It’s just me in my ultra-super-secret-headquarters,” she replied. “But I don’t stay in the village with everyone else.”

“Where is this village?” Philippines interjected, and she pointed a hand towards the direction in front of her.

“Everyone lives on one side of this island. It’s not that many people, and we don’t get many visitors.”

“Well, we’d like to meet them,” said Philippines. “They won’t mind, will they?” 

She shook her head affirmatively. “Could you guide the way for us?” he asked, and she nodded in response.

“What’s your name?” Indonesia asked her.

Silence followed. Indonesia and Philippines exchanged looks again.

It was not unusual for a nation to crop up very young, as they did many hundreds of years ago, but the fact that they encountered one, in this day and age, caught them completely off guard. In a world healing from the wounds of violence of unprecedented scale never before imagined. A world that saw new nations rise — and others fall.

“It’s okay,” said Indonesia. “You can tell us when you think you have an answer.” That seemed to bring her back to her sunny demeanor, and she smiled.

“Now lead the way, captain,” he added. That made her grin.

⋆｡𓏲⊹๋࣭ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏𓊝 ˖✩࿐࿔﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⊹˖°

The three of them walked down the shoreline before she gestured to a path of white coral sand that meandered into the forest. She whistled a tune as she swung a large stick against thick, green blades and long fronds, as if she were a swashbuckling buccaneer in the middle of a real swordfight. At the end, the path opened to a wider road that crossed the sole village of Miangas Island, where some hundreds of folks lived in attap-roofed, wooden huts with coconut-tree stems for pillars. Indonesia and Philippines turned to thank her, but she was gone.

The war prevented any opportunity for inter-island travel, so the surprising arrival of foreign guests was a highly welcome change of pace. Indonesia typically took charge in leading the conversations, having the better command of the local languages of the Talaud Islands, but it was like music to Philippines’ ears the second he recognized and understood the Bisaya tongue of many of the Miangas residents.

They exchanged stories while feasting on hot soups with spicy chili, gedi leaves, and freshly caught fish, bananas, and boiled laluga. The name Miangas referred to the frequency of pirates that once reigned the surrounding waters (Indonesia cast a dirty glance at Philippines, who could not resist a smile as he heartily slurped his meal). Their reputation was such that they constructed two fortresses, one close to the village, and the other at a high ridge to the northeast, which the villagers frequented to for refuge from attacks.

They also warned of a spirit that allegedly haunted that particular fortress. Some said it was a ghost of a child that met an unfortunate end and would not rest until they sought vengeance. Others believed it was a benevolent ancestor spirit who kept watch over them. Some children admitted to playing games with an unfamiliar face from time to time, which exasperated their superstitious parents, who would warn them of child-eating ghouls that stalked the trees at night. 

The common thread to the variety of narratives, however, was that her existence could be verified by prior generations; even the elders confirmed that their parents, and their parents, passed similar tales of the same girl. It was a step forward in confirming their suspicions.

After accepting a generous offer to stay for the night at the village leader’s residence, they pushed onwards to9 complete their survey of the island. Miangas was so small that the entirety of it could be explored within two hours’ time. The people relied on fishing and gathering for sustenance, but the women were also known to weave with pandan leaves. Otherwise, there was not much to see, although Philippines and Indonesia both knew that was likely to change. 

As they journeyed through towering trees and lush vegetation, its soundscape colored by multitudes of birdsong, Philippines was the first to break the silence.

"Did Netherlands ever tell you about her?"

Indonesia somberly shook his head. "Either he never did, or that was one of the many things he hid from me." Philippines silently nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about you?" Indonesia asked this time, causing Philippines to stop in his tracks. 

He thought about the story of how a voyager from the island refused to prostrate before the flag flown by a patrolling Spanish ship. They were able to come away clean by expressing their sworn allegiance to the Dutch, and that was enough to spook the Spanish. The two empires competed fiercely to stake their claims on the land parcels that dotted the Celebes Sea, on top of struggling against the long-established sultanates in Mindanao. It was unsurprising that circumstances influenced the people of Miangas to choose one conqueror over the other. Secretly, he envied the fact that a juvenile nation could outright defy someone bigger and more powerful.

Philippines kept his back to Indonesia. “I wish I knew about her sooner."

Indonesia placed a hand on Philippines’ shoulder as he answered in a low voice. “Me, too.”

They had sailed through long, hot days to check off an imposed agenda with no strings attached. Instead, they found themselves grappling with the unexpected possibility of assuming responsibility over a new sapling among them. 

“Did I want this?” asked the voices in their heads.

Would it make them any different from the many puppet-masters that manipulated the invisible strings to their whims?

Or could they do it differently?

The spell of their inner turmoil was broken by the guttural cries of birds that took flight from their hiding place. Leaves shook before they parted to reveal the little girl peeking her face out, with her big, brown eyes and round, honeyed cheeks.

“Did you miss me?” she whispered to them.

“The more important question is: where did you go?” Indonesia asked in a reprimanding tone.

“Secret!” she responded and stuck her tongue out at him, stepping out from the bushes.

“You could’ve hurt yourself by staying in the wild all on your own.”

“I’m a pirate, I’m not afraid of anything!” she huffed and crossed her arms. "You only have to look out for snakes out here. And bad pirates. Not the good ones, like me, and you!” she said while gesturing to Philippines, who chuckled.

“You didn’t join us at the village,” said Indonesia.

“I didn’t want to,” she replied.

“Why not?”

“That’s also a secret!”

“Let’s trade secrets, then. I tell you one secret about me, you tell me why you avoid mingling with other people.” Indonesia held up a pinky finger for her.

She hummed while tapping her chin, gazing up at the sky that filtered through pockets in the vast crowns of trees that sheltered them.

Then, Philippines blurted, “Actually, you owe me one secret.”

“I do?” she asked, looking at him.

“Yeah, you found out my secret about being a pirate. We want to see your ultra-super-secret-headquarters.”

She pouted and looked away from Philippines.

“You two can trade secrets when we get there, too.”

When she still refused to answer, Philippines crossed his arms and spoke more sternly.

“A good pirate always pays their end of the bargain.”

She made a sound of disapproval before hooking her pinky finger with Indonesia's.

⋆｡𓏲⊹๋࣭ ﹏𓊝 ˖✩࿐࿔﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⊹˖°

The little girl with pirate dreams mostly slept on a shabby, makeshift hammock pinned to a pair of trees outside. When it rained, she folded it up and used it as a blanket while she slept on a pandan mat over the hard, stone floor of the fortress. The remainder of her belongings consisted of a carrying basket with a lid and colored, cotton tassels to its straps, a makeshift spear for catching fish, some spare clothes, and a tarnished, brass spyglass that washed up on shore one day, and had been in her possession since. She would climb up trees and observe the horizon for ships (Indonesia also realized it was the object that reflected the sunlight earlier that day).

It was no Fort Santiago that sat atop the plateau on the peak of Bukit Batu. The stone fortress was a square, concrete structure with squat, half-walls and round pillars that held up a flat roof. Inside were four lantakas, coated in years of rust and dust. It was said that these were bequeathed by a datu from Mindanao, whose son was one of the village leaders. The little girl could not confirm that occasion, but she did talk about how she traded strings of seashells for the Mandaya sacop she now proudly wore. How long ago that took place was unfortunately another fact lost to her.

That was another affirmation for Philippines and Indonesia, and neither of them faulted her for her imperfect memory, given how young she was. What confounded them both was how she remained, for lack of better words, in her small state in such a long span of time. Young nations were not unthinkable, but it was unheard of to persist and never undergo a stage of maturation. Those who failed to adapt tended not to last.

The tenacity of her spirit was nothing short of admirable, but neither Philippines nor Indonesia wanted to admit how that fact made their battle-scarred hearts ache.

They did not want this.

“Are you sure?” asked the voices in their heads.

The girl piped up. “Now that I’ve revealed my ultra-super-secret-headquarters,” she points to Indonesia. “You have to tell me your secret!”

Indonesia sighed and brought himself down on one knee before her. He held up his left hand, brandishing the gold band on his finger, engraved with letters written in the hanacaraka script.

“Can you read this?” he asked her, and she shook her head in response.

“It’s an ancient form of writing, and not many people use it these days. It says ‘sumpah kita.’ Do you know what that means?”

“Did someone put a curse on you?”

Even Philippines could not stifle his laugh. Indonesia merely smiled at her.

“That’s…one way to say it, but that’s not what it means in this case.”

Her eyes widened at the realization. “You made a promise with someone.”

“That’s right.” Indonesia turned and gestured for Philippines to join them. “Show her yours.”

Philippines felt his face turn pink as he got on his knees and showed his ring that was similar in material, only engraved with a different script.

“I can’t read that, either!” she protested.

“That’s okay,” said Indonesia. “It means the same thing.”

Philippines nodded. “‘Sumpa kita.’ Mine is written in baybayin.”

“So you’re both wearing different rings with the same meaning?”

“That’s right.”

Her cheeks turned a faint pink and she gasped and placed her hands over her gaping mouth. Her expression shifted from confusion to surprise, but seconds later it returned to that state of confusion when she furrowed her brows.

“Why is that even a secret?”

Philippines could not bring himself to look at them both, when he sensed Indonesia’s hand, strong yet soothingly soft, reaching out to entwine with his fingers. They tenderly locked eyes with each other, and Philippines realized and understood his partner's intentions. He nodded silently but firmly.

Indonesia returned his solemn gaze to her. “There are people who do not like seeing us together, because they know the possibility of our love will be their undoing.”

As Philippines gently stroked the ring on his finger, he took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. “It should not have to be this way, but the world is not ready to accept us, so we keep this a secret until that time comes.”

“How long will that take?” she asked meekly.

Indonesia mustered a smile, but his deep-set eyes betrayed their weariness. “I don’t know.”

“That’s why it’s important to forge connections with other people and build support for a world where we, and many others, are free to openly love,” said Philippines, who laid his free hand over Indonesia’s, such that their rings touched. “And you can’t do that by distancing yourself from others.”

She fixed her gaze to the ground beneath them, her expression hidden by the hat she proudly wore. That did not stop Philippines from looking at her fixedly, determined to pierce into her soul.

“I— we know the feeling of being misunderstood by those you want to connect with. We want you to know that you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Finally, Philippines said to her, “Because there are others like you who go through change slower than others, so they look as if they have not aged a day.”

“Is that normal?” she asked him, the tone of her voice shifting from her typical, exuberant confidence to that of shame. The gentle rhythms of swaying trees and rolling waves in the distance could break the deathly silence that lingered.

Then, she spoke softly. “I don’t grow old, like everyone else does. I like to play with the kids in the village, but their parents get upset once they see me.” 

Her voice cracked as she struggled to utter words with a hitched breath. “The old ones will tell them about ghosts snatching people away, and the kids stop playing with me after that…and when those kids grow old and have kids…they say the same thing about me…”

Her shoulders twitched as she sniffled, but she failed to wipe a hand across her face fast enough to prevent a tear from falling to the ground. “How come I never change?”

She began to cry, causing Philippines to lunge forward and embrace her tightly. He instinctively and carefully lifted her up to gently rock her. “Sshh, sshh, it’s okay…”

He looked back at Indonesia, who immediately understood the empathic exchange. The two, older nations knew, all too well, the pain of loss in watching many a soul come and go, sometimes up close, but more often than not from a necessary distance. The pain in being perceived — and feared — as something unchanging and beyond understanding, like ghosts who were cursed to wander in a purgatory between matter and spirit, between the known and the unknown. The pain of moving through the world as spectres given form through collective will, but never free will in itself.

It was not long before she gradually quieted down, though she still sniffled often. “So, you don’t grow old either?”

“That’s right,” Indonesia answered.

“How old are you now?” she asked him. 

He chuckled. “I wish I kept count.” That at least made her laugh.

Philippines adjusted himself so that she was now sitting on his lap. “Do you feel better now?” he asked her.

“Mhm, but I wish we could all be normal.”

“Me, too,” said the voices in their heads.

The uglier truth, however, was that they wanted to be normal insofar as they were shaped and reshaped according to definitions, ideas, and fantasies of normal. Insofar as they were twisted, bent, broken down, put back together by perishable things driven by an incessant appetite to be immortalized. Insofar as they were shattered, abandoned, revived, and then torn apart at the seams, over and over and over again, until they could be deemed acceptable objects of worship, for idolization was their sentence.

But what if that were to be rewritten? Perhaps done away with altogether?

And where will she fit in their new narrative?

It was not long before she gradually quieted down, though she still sniffled often. Philippines assisted in wiping her tear-stricken face.

“So, you never had parents, too?” she asked.

“A lot of adults have looked over me, but I never called them nay or tay,” said Philippines. “They don't see me as their anak, anyway.”

“And you don't have names either?”

“We do, but only because someone else gave it to us. Nobody is born knowing who they are.”

“But some make a decision to change theirs,” Indonesia added. “To reflect that they are no longer the same person as before.”

She looked at them both with eyes swollen with sadness, but shined immensely with a deep yearning. “Could you give me a name?”

Indonesia and Philippines looked into each other’s eyes in a poignant exchange of mutual understanding, as repressed desires resurfaced through an unraveling memory that replayed in their minds. They were in Bandung for an ambitious project, and Indonesia had stepped out for a quick smoking break when Philippines joined him (for the company and not the vice, which he did not indulge in as much as Indonesia).

“Y’know, people would ask about my spouse when they see my ring, and I’d tell them that I love it when I come home from a hard day’s work to a fresh, hot meal of rendang and rice. If only you just go easy on the spices!”

“Not my fault you can’t handle my fire.” That earned Indonesia a light, playful punch to his arm, and he merely laughed before taking in another puff.

“People ask me if we plan on having kids,” Indonesia added. 

Philippines quietly but solemnly smiled as he leaned against Indonesia. He lightheartedly remarked to break the heartwrenching silence between them. “If we have kids, you’ll have to cut down on your smoking habit.”

Indonesia chuckled as he put his cigarette out. They knew they could never have children of their own — and they secretly hated it.

The underbellies of the clouds were turning orange as they found themselves grounded back to the present. The day might be nearing its end, but a new chapter had unfolded before them. They had sailed to check off an imposed agenda with no strings attached. Instead, they found themselves grappling with the serendipitous discovery of a new sapling among them.

Young nations were not unthinkable, but it was unheard of to persist, for lack of better words, in a small state throughout a never-ending spiral of time. Those who failed to adapt tended not to last — but somehow, she did. Naive as she might be at that moment, she possessed an optimistic idealism untouched by the horrors of history. She was able to move about unrestrained by the sins of man. She was existing freely.

She was everything they wanted.

☼ ☼ ☼

TRANSLATIONS, DEFINITIONS, PLACES

stays: General term for the ropes that stabilized a mast. The specific image of the boat is this (yes, you could walk over to sit on them — but don’t do it unless you are confident in your balancing and swimming skills). The generic Filipino term is bangka, but paraw (PH)/ prau (ID) have sails. attap: Palm leaves (commonly nipa, but those of sago and coconut are also utilized). gedi: A kind of vegetable typical to North Sulawesi. laluga: Local name of a tuber (think yams or taro). Fort Santiago: The defense fortress inside Intramuros, the walled city of Manila in the Spanish Colonial Era. Bukit Batu: lit. “stone hill,” but the ridge was far from rocky. lantakas: Bronze, mounted cannons. nay; tay: Shorthand for nanay (mother) and tatay (father), respectively, in Bisaya (& Tagalog) languages. Additionally, I’m fluent in Tagalog, but vicariously acquainted with Bisaya through my mom. anak: Child; shared word in Tagalog, Bisaya, & Bahasa Indonesia.

MISCELLANEOUS: