Chapter 47: The Flower of La Trinidad
Flora's Point of View
More than ten years have passed since I accepted the call to become a soldier. Eight years of wrestling with the conflict within me—between my duty as the sugo of La Trinidad and the stirrings of my heart as a Filipina.
I know the abuses the Spaniards inflict on my people—the sting of the whip, the anguish of the oppressed, the fading embers of hope in their eyes. Yet, as a sugo, I am bound by the diwata of La Trinidad's command: to protect her territory, to safeguard this land of vibrant flowers and sprawling fields.
As an ordinary young woman, I lack the strength to defy the government or anyone else. My heart rages when I witness injustice, but fear grips me—fear for my life and for the Filipinos held hostage by the Spaniards' iron grip. If I were to use my powers for others, I could endanger everything.
When the diwata first called me, I was just a simple girl from La Trinidad, more at home tending flowers than wielding weapons. My powers emerged by accident, and when the Spaniards discovered them, they seized me and threw me into a cell.
I was terrified, unable to comprehend why I was imprisoned as if I'd committed a crime. But then General Romeo, the sugo of Batangas, arrived, and everything changed. He offered me a way out, but it came with a condition.
He urged me to join the Spaniards as a soldier, to serve under their flag, and in doing so, protect my hometown. Truth be told, I despised the idea of serving the Spaniards—people who cared nothing for us, who trampled on Filipino dignity. My blood boiled whenever I saw wealthy Spaniards reveling while my people starved.
But I had no choice. Who was I? A frail girl with no knowledge of combat, no strength to rise against an empire too powerful to challenge. General Romeo made it clear that giving in to my anger would save no one. He explained that I wouldn't be a pawn of the Spaniards but would use their authority to control what happened in La Trinidad.
Still, becoming a soldier was daunting for someone like me—a young woman with no special abilities, her heart faltering with doubt. The idea of being a soldier for the nation felt like madness.
Fortunately, General Romeo never abandoned me. He became my guide, teaching me things I never thought I could do. Though I was a few years older, he seemed divinely chosen, his wisdom and courage unmatched. He always knew the right course, his words brimming with conviction that our efforts would one day bear fruit for our people. In his eyes, I saw hope—a light I desperately sought amidst the darkness of my fears.
Clinging to his words, I poured my heart into training under him, following him wherever he went. For Five years, he taught me to wield weapons, harness my diwata's powers, and stand resolute despite the doubts gnawing at my heart. But soon, he recommended I study medicine in Manila. To him, people like me shouldn't stop dreaming.
"You're destined for more, Flora," he said, his voice unwavering. "Don't waste your life as a soldier blindly following orders. You'll be stronger for La Trinidad if you're strong for yourself."
Truthfully, I had grown comfortable in Batangas as one of his subordinates. But he reminded me that true strength wasn't just in battles but in how I carried myself as a person. With his support, I enrolled in Manila.
As an Honorary Spaniard, entering a prestigious university was no struggle. But Manila? It was a world apart from La Trinidad's tranquil fields and soothing flowers—a cacophony of honking vehicles, bustling crowds, and a relentless pace.
My first year in Manila was a blur of studying and lingering in my dorm. I knew little about the city—its noise, its chaos, its speed. To avoid losing my mind, I stuck to a routine: attend classes, eat, sleep. But one day, amidst my monotonous life, I met Andoy.
Andoy was a fellow student, but unlike me, a pure Filipino without the privileges of Honorary Spaniards. Yet he brimmed with diligence. I saw him every day—delivering water, fixing pipes, chauffeuring children. He seemed tireless.
Sometimes, he delivered food to my dorm. When I was late for class, he'd whisk me away on his motorcycle. In our brief conversations, I noticed his simplicity—always smiling, greeting everyone. He was like the sun, illuminating even the darkest days.
In my second year in Manila, I joined a community group to break the monotony. They helped street children and orphans, and I was drawn to their cause. There, I discovered Andoy was a long-time member, leading projects for the poor. I saw his dedication—exhausted from work yet helping others, always with a smile, always ready to give.
Our frequent meetings through the group brought us closer. He'd pick me up from school even late at night, sharing stories despite his fatigue. "Flora, no need to pay for rides," he said once, grinning. "Just don't skip our projects, and I'll drive you for free."
I don't know how it happened, but his kindness carved a place in my heart. I found myself admiring him—his compassion, his ability to lighten the world despite his burdens.
One night, returning from school, the bus I was on was held up. Three men brandished knives, and the passengers, including me, froze in fear. As a trained soldier, I prepared to act—shame would haunt me if I failed General Romeo by doing nothing. But I hesitated. Panic flooded my mind as screams filled the air. I knew I had to act, but doubt paralyzed me. What if fighting endangered the innocent passengers? How could I face three armed men holding hostages? For the first time, I felt true fear—not for myself, but for those around me.
Suddenly, someone yanked one of the robbers out of the bus. In a flash, the man collapsed, unconscious. The second robber rushed out to investigate but was met with a swift kick and punch. Amid the chaos, some passengers escaped. I stayed, huddled with others at the back, as one robber remained, knife in hand, watching for what came next.
Moments later, a young man boarded the bus, grabbing the last robber and hurling him into a seat. To my shock, it was Andoy. His usually smiling face was deadly serious, as if ready to kill. His eyes burned with determination. The remaining robber lunged with his knife, but Andoy dodged with practiced ease, delivering a knee to the stomach and twisting the man's arm, knocking him out with a single blow.
The passengers gasped, and I stood frozen, unable to believe it. A civilian, a student, had saved us. As a soldier, a sugo, I should have acted. Yet in that moment, I was paralyzed, watching the heroism of the man I always saw on his motorcycle.
He rushed to me, grasping my hand. "Flora, are you hurt?" His voice was thick with worry. Physically, I was fine, but shock silenced me. I never expected him to come to my rescue. He pulled me out of the bus and offered to drive me back to my dorm on his motorcycle.
At the dorm, he apologized. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, Flora," he said, his eyes heavy with self-blame.
I told him it wasn't his fault—truthfully, I was the one to blame for leaving our agreed meeting spot early. But his guilt lingered, and he vowed it wouldn't happen again. In his eyes, I saw genuine concern. For the first time, I felt the weight of his care. I knew he was kind to everyone, but in that moment, I wanted to believe he cared for me specially.
From then on, Andoy and I grew closer. We talked often, walked together, and worked side by side on community projects. I could say I'd found a friend who truly cared for me.
As a sugo, I knew studying in Manila was part of my duty. But as a woman, I couldn't help but wonder: could I live a normal life? I saw other young women studying, laughing with friends, falling in love. Was it wrong to crave that happiness, despite being a sugo of the diwata?
Whenever I was with Andoy, the weight of my responsibilities seemed to vanish. His smiles, his stories, his kindness—they warmed my heart. I reached a point where I longed to be just a normal woman, free from weapons and service to the Spaniards. Yet deep within, I heard the diwata's call. I knew I couldn't abandon La Trinidad, no matter how much I yearned for freedom.
*What should I do?*
In my confusion, I returned to Batangas to speak with General Romeo. I didn't know how to voice my turmoil. I feared he'd laugh at me—or worse, be disappointed. How could I admit I wanted to quit being a soldier to live a normal life? It felt shallow, and I knew it. But I needed answers, a path forward.
During training with Romeo, he noticed my silence. After a week of not returning to Manila, he grew concerned. "Flora, is something wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with care. He offered help, and his kindness only deepened my guilt.
I couldn't confess the truth—that I was torn, that I craved a normal life, that I feared losing myself to my role as a sugo.
One afternoon, as we rested at the camp after training, he approached me. "Flora, are you free this weekend?" he asked.
"Tomorrow? I don't have plans, General," I replied.
"Good. Let's go on a date," he said, his voice tinged with nervousness. My cheeks flushed with shock. I hadn't expected those words. My heart raced, unprepared for such a moment. "A-a-a-date? You want us to go on a date?"
Before I could respond, he smiled, a mix of confidence and uncertainty. "As your senior, you have to follow my orders," he said, but his flushed cheeks and averted gaze betrayed his nerves.
In all my life, no one had dared ask me on a date. General Romeo was wise, dependable, wealthy, elegant. Why would he want to date a provincial girl like me? Countless women—daughters of wealthy families, far more suitable—adored him. My face burned with nerves, unsure whether to refuse or agree.
He didn't wait for my answer, simply stating the time and place before walking away. When the day of our "date" arrived, I went to the park in Batangas, my hands trembling. There he stood, dressed simply yet elegantly. His face was serious, almost stern, showing no excitement. He greeted me casually and told me to follow him.
We went to an amusement park. "We need to have fun," he said, his voice carrying a hint of authority. "We'll ride everything. We're not leaving until we've tried them all." But as we rode, I noticed his silence. He'd smile briefly, then it would fade, as if he were doing this for my sake, not his own.
During a break for snacks, he asked, "Flora, are you enjoying this?" I paused. Truthfully, I was having fun. It was my first time on those rides, and despite the oddity, I enjoyed it. When I told him, a genuine smile spread across his face—one of relief. "I was worried you weren't having fun," he said. "It'd be embarrassing for me as a man and your senior."
As we sipped soft drinks, he continued. "We hold many things in our hands, Flora," he said, his tone serious. "As sugo, it's our duty to protect our diwata's territories. But it's complicated with the tension between Spaniards and Filipinos. I know it's hard, but having a duty doesn't mean you should forget yourself."
He reminded me that being a sugo wasn't just about fighting but about finding peace in our land—and that included my own happiness and freedom.
"No one controls your fate but you," he said. "You'll be happy if you choose to be. Your duty is to La Trinidad, but not just its land—you chose to help its people, and you must take responsibility for that. To do so, you need to be strong."
His words pierced my heart. "Sadness, fear, doubt—they weaken us. We can't help others if we're weak." As he spoke, I couldn't help but admire him—his serious face, his determined eyes. Those were the words I'd been searching for.
Then he asked, "Flora, what's troubling you?" I froze. How could I admit I wanted to be a normal woman? That I longed to love, live simply, and leave behind the soldier's life? My cheeks flushed as I thought of Andoy—his smile, his kindness. I couldn't confess.
In my nervousness, I blurted out, "General, do you like me?" My voice trembled.
He choked on his drink, coughing. "W-what are you saying, Flora?" His face turned red with shock. He stood, flustered. "Why would you think that?!"
I blushed, embarrassed. "You asked me on a date. It's normal to think you might like me," I said, barely able to meet his eyes.
We fell silent, the air heavy. He shook his head and smiled. "Flora, I asked you out to see if you could still enjoy simple things. I wanted to see you smile." His voice was calm, but concern lingered.
I pouted, embarrassed and disappointed. "I'm not a child you need to take to rides to make happy," I said, my tone tinged with hurt. "I thought you asked me out because you were interested in me."
"Huh? N-no, I mean, I *am* interested in you, Flora," he stammered, flustered. "I like you as Flora."
"You're toying with my feelings as a woman," I teased.
He quickly apologized. "Flora, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea." He sighed, sitting back down, his arm resting on the table as he looked at me. "Flora, you're kind, gentle, beautiful. To me, you're the perfect woman for any man."
I blushed, speechless at his praise. But he continued. "But a perfect woman like you doesn't suit a sinner like me. Our missions as Filipinos are different. I've committed sins against many Filipinos that I can't undo."
He smiled, a sad smile. "Find a man who can give you a happy life. A normal, free life."
I looked down and asked, "Is a normal life even possible for people like us?"
He took a deep breath. "I don't know, Flora. But it's not wrong to try. We're human too—it's natural to seek happiness."
His words reminded me of my moments with Andoy. "Since we met, I've noticed you always follow my orders," he said. "You never refused, especially when I sent you to Manila. But Flora, you need to find your own path to know what's right for you."
He smiled, his words sincere. "I'm ready to be your brother, your friend, your ally—anytime, Flora. If you need help, I'm here."
I smiled and teased, "I hope that includes being my boyfriend if I can't find a man to give me a happy life. Can you step in, General?"
"My life's complicated enough, Flora—don't add to it," he laughed, scratching his head.
"I'm serious, I like you, General," I teased.
He chuckled, flustered. "I'm not used to this kind of talk. I can't joke about love." He grew serious. "As Batangas's general, many families want me to marry women I don't know. If it were up to me, I'd want to experience true love, like a normal person."
I asked, "Do you think it's okay for people like us to love normally?"
He gazed at the sky, thoughtful. "Maybe. Our feelings are what give us strength." He looked at me. "Flora, do you like someone?"
My cheeks burned as I thought of Andoy, my hand touching my face. "N-no!" I denied, but my heart raced.
General Romeo smiled. "If you like someone, there's nothing wrong with that. If love gives you a reason to keep going, embrace it. Use it as a weapon to become a stronger, more successful person."
I smiled. "I will, General. I'll be strong—because my beloved general ordered it."
He laughed, ruffling my hair. "You're such a naughty"
Two days after our date, I returned to Manila. At my dorm, I was surprised to find Andoy sitting by my unit's door, knitting clothes for the orphanage's children—a project for our community group. Watching him, I felt admiration—his kindness, his dedication. In that moment, I realized he was the first man to make me feel loved.
When he saw me, he jumped up. "Flora!" he said, grabbing my arm. "Thank goodness you're back!" Before I could respond, he hugged me, and I froze at the warmth of his touch. "Sorry," he said, quickly letting go. "I was just so happy to see you."
My cheeks flushed, my heart pounding. "Y-you didn't have to do that," I stammered, but inside, I was thrilled. For the first time, I felt the joy of being held by the man I liked.
We stood there, both shy, neither speaking. The moment grew awkward until I said, "Can I go inside now?"
He realized he was blocking the door and stepped aside. As I reached for my keys, he spoke. "Flora, I'm glad you're back. The kids at the orphanage will be thrilled to see you."
I smiled, teasing. "Just the kids? I thought you missed me too." I hoped he'd say he did, but I wasn't prepared for what came next.
He pulled me into another hug. "Flora, I was so worried when I didn't see you. I thought something happened to you." His voice was raw with sincerity. "If you're going away again, let me know, okay? It's driving me crazy wondering where you are."
I froze, gently pushing him away, my face burning with embarrassment. "I don't have to tell you everything! And I didn't ask you to worry!" But inside, I was elated to know he cared.
He apologized, then took my hand. "Flora, do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.
I nearly choked, my heart racing with excitement. "W-why are you asking that?"
He smiled, his cheeks red. "Since we started spending time together, everything's changed. The world feels brighter, I'm excited every day. When I'm with you, my heart beats so fast. If this isn't love, what is?" He looked into my eyes. "If you don't have a boyfriend, I want to court you."
The world fell silent. I didn't know what to say, my heart leaping with nerves. "W-why are you saying this to me?!" I cried, covering my face to calm myself.
He smiled, unable to meet my eyes. "I like you, Flora. But if you love someone else, I'll stop. I just want to know if someone's already in your heart."
His words overwhelmed me. I wanted to scream, my cheeks burning, my stomach fluttering. I felt like I'd explode with joy.
In my embarrassment, I ran into my unit and slammed the door. But leaning against it, I realized—I liked him too. This was the moment I'd waited for, a chance to be a normal woman. He was serious, and I had to take it seriously. But it was so sudden, I wasn't ready. I hadn't expected him to confess his love the moment I returned.
Then I panicked, realizing I hadn't answered him. Fearing he'd misunderstand, I opened the door, but he was gone. I ran to the corridor, looked down, and saw him walking away, head bowed, clearly dejected.
"ANDOY!" I shouted. He turned. In the middle of the corridor, I gathered my courage and yelled, "I don't have a boyfriend! I-it's o-okay if y-you c-c-court me!" My voice shook, but I had to say it.
He didn't respond, just stared at me. Then I noticed people in the street, hearing my shouts. I feel so embarrassed that I just want to disappear suddenly
I covered my face in embarrassment. But when I peeked, I saw his smile—radiant with joy. "You're so cute today, Flora," he said.
A jolt ran through me, and in my flustered state, I ran back to my unit and slammed the door. I was annoyed at my shyness, but my heart swelled with happiness—a joy I'd only dreamed of. Andoy had given me that feeling, and I wanted it to last forever.
That day marked the start of a reason—a reason to strive, to grow, to chase a happy life.
But eight years later, everything changed. The gentle, caring Andoy, the man who gave me my first love, joined the rebels. He now fights the Spanish government—the same government I serve as a soldier. The memories of our love remain vivid, but our worlds are now divided by war. How can I face and pour my love into the man I adore when our paths have diverged so drastically?