The first historical place I remembered visiting was Rizal’s house in Calamba, Laguna, and that was during a field trip in high school. I couldn’t remember my parents ever brought me to a children’s museum even to Luneta Park prior to that. I knew they were busy doing something else like working hard so as to send me to a better school; to learn about history and other things in books. I didn’t want their hard work to go in vain, so I read as if every word would equal every drib of sweat they make.
Every page turned was an answer to a faint cry of the universal perplexing question: “Who am I?” I was like a little girl returning to her bird pet, dead in the cage, leaning with her elbows on the windowsill, suddenly seeing herself as part of the complete story, or a young adult who found, for the first time, a teacher who awakens something and she begins to breathe as an individual, conscious of her strength. I became fascinated about knowing my country’s past; how Filipino fought for freedom, whichever weapon they used, and was amazed that pen proved to be the sharpest of all. I understood that freedom was an accomplishment that all Filipino acquired because they set their mind to that direction; and to love freedom is a tendency that I was born with.
After many years, no longer guided by teachers or parents on a school field trip, I had a chance to visit Fort Santiago in Intramuros; another historical place in my list that would substantiate the things I read in history books. It was a Saturday morning, a day off from work and I was not yet attending Creative Writing class. The pale sky was clear and the sun is generous of its radiance. Most sojourners were young Koreans and elementary Girl Scout students sweating on their green uniform, yellow kerchief tied under their starched collar - I wondered why I never had a trip like this in my elementary years. I also saw young white couple, leaning over the lagoon, a mile farther from the ticket booth. They chose to spend their date strolling under the heat of the sun rather than watch a movie or hold hands while walking along the air-conditioned mall.
In the pathway, the once active powder cañons that guarded the massive walls and surrounding broad squares, grand houses and churches was preserved; still like a sleeping beast– the remnants of war and oppression.
For admission fee of 15 Pesos (for student) and 40 Pesos (for adult), I had a concrete view of the rich accounts of the past. During the Japanese occupation in World War II, Fort Santiago was used as a headquarters for the occupying forces where hundreds of civilians and guerillas were imprisoned, tortured and executed. It was one of the oldest fortifications built in Manila.
Restoration & maintenance of the fort began in 1951 under the National Parks Development Committee. In 1992, management was turned over to the Intramuros Administration. Since then, the fort was made open to the public daily. There are guides donned in their 19th century military uniforms stationed throughout the grounds. Their plastic nametags and small radios though are probably not authentic.
The buildings that make up the Intramuros are not the original structures of the past centuries. Despite its aged looks with crumbling wall and battlements, cobblestone streets, and wrought iron balconies, many of the buildings are reconstructions of the originals, some rebuilt more than once. Three centuries of typhoons, floods, fires and earthquakes have also taken their toll. Numerous atrocities were committed in the fort including the deaths of over six hundred people crammed into subterranean cells who drowned during high tides and when Pasig River flooded the cells in February 1945.
What I like most among the many stories in regards to Philippine history connected with the fort is the account on Jose Rizal, the Filipino poet, patriot, and later a martyr for independence who was imprisoned here before his execution by firing squad in the nearby Luneta Park. Visitors can see the cell and literally walk in his final footsteps. Painted footprints trace his final walk from the cell to the fort's gate and his execution site. On his last night in his cell he composed his last and best known work. It was untitled originally but is now commonly known as “Mi Ultimo Adios" (My last Farewell). One of the buildings has been turned into a museum called Rizal Shrine in honor of his memory –you have to pay 10 Pesos to get in. The translation of Ultimo Adios to several languages -Spanish, German, French, Portuguese, Chinese and Tagalog to name a few - was displayed here. Inside was several stuff of Rizal like old business card, a little smaller than the size of a ¼ index card, rusty old medical tools, fencing sword and dumbbell. There were also several furniture pieces displayed as part of Rizaliana Collection. These furnishings were turned over to the Philippine government on 1948 by Trinidad Rizal, unmarried sister of Dr. Jose Rizal. The washbasin that Rizal used in his Hong Kong office was also showcased along with his ensemble of Americana and boots. The four post bed, including his bedpan, from their house in Laguna added an interesting piece in the museum. The three century old ‘lampara’ where Rizal hid the ‘Last Farewell’, before he was executed, was encased with a glass like a spectacle of precious gem in auction.
The great world war had come and gone. These featured artefacts were the only remains of it. Luckily, the world has been changed for me; I was not to survive it, but to preserve it and to make sure that I would keep the world changing for the next generation who would inherit it.
The pale sky has turned orange to vermilion when I left the fort. Pride was tight in my chest knowing that the free spirit of the Filipino persisted; it recurred, because it has never been successfully wiped out, by flood, earthquake, fire, or oppression.
