July 20, 1900 4:30 p.m
It is raining hard here in the jungles of Batangas where I arrived a few
days ago, on the orders of the Supremo, Heneral Emilio Aguinaldo. The
town the Supremo assigned me, Calaca, is thankfully safe and not
battle-scarred even though, I have to admit, this small poblacion is
nothing compared to the lights of Manila. How I wish I was still in
Manila with my regiment- damn those Americanos! The bastard Americanos
are closing in on us and I hope these monsoon rains will stop their
advance. How they fooled us when they promised to help us with our
independence against Spain just so they can occupy my country is the
height of treachery. They deserve to be garroted and shot. I heard the
Supremo told us that if he will be given a second chance, he'll shoot
personally the foreign devil, Dewey, who fooled him into thinking he was
on our side.
I am keeping this journal alive so it will keep me alive and sane in this
boredom. Nothing really happens in Calaca- just a cluster of thatch
houses beside an emerald green river nestled among coconut plantations-
and my fellow soldiers are getting restless. They want to see action.
They want to kill Americanos. They want to slice their necks apart. At
least that negro, Kapitan Feyden, I have heard that even though he came
with the negro regiment from San Francisco, he deserted and fought
against his white masters just so us, Filipinos, can have our freedom
from colonial yoke. He is a real hero to all Filipinos. And truly, that
negro is more Filipino than some of the rich Ilustrados who coddle and
pander with those white American imperialists so that they can pocket
more profits at the expense of the blood of their fellow countrymen.
Fortunately, it's good that all the people here are sympathetic to our
fight for freedom. Even the alcalde, Enrique Ledesma who was gracious
enough in billeting us in a spare two-story guest house, is supporting
us. Thank God.
Tonight, my close friend Lt. Rocha and I will be having dinner with the
Mayor's brother. I must say, his younger brother has a very pleasing
personality and an agreeable face. Very mestizo, with dark hair, thick
eyelashes, broad shoulders, and alabaster skin- a marriage of East and
West. I was foolish enough to blush when we first shook hands during my
arrival. I can't help it. I can feel his eyes boring into my soul every
time we talk about his coconut and banana plantations. But this may just
be my imagination, for I don't think Simeon is interested in me in that
way. These feelings that heat my loins are getting more difficult to
suppress. This time, I thought a volcano would erupt from my cojones.
Although he is rich and powerful in these parts, Simeon is still a
bachelor at the age of 26, which is very odd considering there is an
abundance of mestiza lasses fanning themselves for his attention. Simeon
in all my existence is one of the most masculine-looking, piercing, and
most handsome gentlemen I have met. But then, he said "God will give me a
sign, Crisostomo. When that sign comes, I will make that person mine,
even if that person doesn't want to." He looked at me, smiled, then
gave a chuckle.
So, I congratulated him for his fortitude and temperance, but I reminded
him "Don't take too long a time in waiting for someone who may not come.
I say, take the risk, with or without a sign." He just laughed. His
laughter was boisterous but genial. He makes me want to know him more.
And perhaps tonight I will.
It is raining hard here in the jungles of Batangas where I arrived a few
days ago, on the orders of the Supremo, Heneral Emilio Aguinaldo. The
town the Supremo assigned me, Calaca, is thankfully safe and not
battle-scarred even though, I have to admit, this small poblacion is
nothing compared to the lights of Manila. How I wish I was still in
Manila with my regiment- damn those Americanos! The bastard Americanos
are closing in on us and I hope these monsoon rains will stop their
advance. How they fooled us when they promised to help us with our
independence against Spain just so they can occupy my country is the
height of treachery. They deserve to be garroted and shot. I heard the
Supremo told us that if he will be given a second chance, he'll shoot
personally the foreign devil, Dewey, who fooled him into thinking he was
on our side.
I am keeping this journal alive so it will keep me alive and sane in this
boredom. Nothing really happens in Calaca- just a cluster of thatch
houses beside an emerald green river nestled among coconut plantations-
and my fellow soldiers are getting restless. They want to see action.
They want to kill Americanos. They want to slice their necks apart. At
least that negro, Kapitan Feyden, I have heard that even though he came
with the negro regiment from San Francisco, he deserted and fought
against his white masters just so us, Filipinos, can have our freedom
from colonial yoke. He is a real hero to all Filipinos. And truly, that
negro is more Filipino than some of the rich Ilustrados who coddle and
pander with those white American imperialists so that they can pocket
more profits at the expense of the blood of their fellow countrymen.
Fortunately, it's good that all the people here are sympathetic to our
fight for freedom. Even the alcalde, Enrique Ledesma who was gracious
enough in billeting us in a spare two-story guest house, is supporting
us. Thank God.
Tonight, my close friend Lt. Rocha and I will be having dinner with the
Mayor's brother. I must say, his younger brother has a very pleasing
personality and an agreeable face. Very mestizo, with dark hair, thick
eyelashes, broad shoulders, and alabaster skin- a marriage of East and
West. I was foolish enough to blush when we first shook hands during my
arrival. I can't help it. I can feel his eyes boring into my soul every
time we talk about his coconut and banana plantations. But this may just
be my imagination, for I don't think Simeon is interested in me in that
way. These feelings that heat my loins are getting more difficult to
suppress. This time, I thought a volcano would erupt from my cojones.
Although he is rich and powerful in these parts, Simeon is still a
bachelor at the age of 26, which is very odd considering there is an
abundance of mestiza lasses fanning themselves for his attention. Simeon
in all my existence is one of the most masculine-looking, piercing, and
most handsome gentlemen I have met. But then, he said "God will give me a
sign, Crisostomo. When that sign comes, I will make that person mine,
even if that person doesn't want to." He looked at me, smiled, then
gave a chuckle.
So, I congratulated him for his fortitude and temperance, but I reminded
him "Don't take too long a time in waiting for someone who may not come.
I say, take the risk, with or without a sign." He just laughed. His
laughter was boisterous but genial. He makes me want to know him more.
And perhaps tonight I will.
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