The Pen is Mightier than the Sword: If I Were to be in Hinilawod, This Would be My Story

***My ELECLIT homework, not edited version

Day after boring day. Living by the hour. Till something happens, I would just bury my nose into this epic assigned in my literature class. What is it with these people anyway? Everyone who lives in the twenty first century knows diwatas and babaylans do not exist; and heroes, come on! The only real heroes I know died more than a century ago. Me? I will never be one of those. I am but a student, born to live a routine of researching, reading and writing. As I have said, it is a pretty much boring life. There goes my dad. Well, that is my cue to shower and get ready for another ordinary day at school.
My head is throbbing. I had a bittersweet dream. I was in a sandy beach and I was writing. I couldn’t exactly remember what I was writing about. The next thing I knew, some locals were gathered around me. They were silent, yet their heavy stares gave me the creeps. It was like they were waiting for me to start writing something. Then things got blurry when my dad started to shake me awake. I guess I was just too worried about one of my writing assignments. I am getting short on time after all.
And so the day begins. Early morning and being alone at the campus make me think more clearly. I sat on one of the many benches and pulled out my notebook. It was time to get creative and finish my writing assignment. I already have a few lines written about the setting of my story. I just could not seem to concentrate because the wind was just too strong today. The whooshing sounds it created felt like someone really wanted to tell me something. Silly, I know. Urban myths aren’t really my thing. I gave up writing, tucked my notebook inside my bag, and let the wind blow my hair wildly around my face. Then, it started to rain. I had to find a better shelter and fast. Ugh, what is it with the wind? It’s blowing against where I was going. I broke into a sprint to avoid getting soaked when I slipped. I just did not want to move when I fell. Someone would find me anyway. As a matter of fact, I was already hearing someone shouting “I found her” followed by some alien language that I couldn’t understand. The next thing I knew, I was being cradled by strong, tangible hands. I opened my eyes to see who found me, only to find out that I was not being cradled. I was being blown away, literally. Oh, no! I must be having a concussion! was my last thought before darkness had fallen on me.
The scorching heat that made me see red through my closed eyelids woke me. I couldn’t remember anything that happened after I slipped back at school. I waited for my eyes to adjust so as to get a better view of where I was. I was expecting to see a white clinic or the familiar lavender color of my room, but I was nowhere near familiar. Could I have hit my head really hard that I died? I was lying on a makeshift bed on a sandy shore. There were little tents and an evidence of a campfire at the shore. It must be noon because the shade of huge leaves could no longer protect me from the sun directly above. I tried to get up and I saw miles and miles of ocean running through the horizon. There were old fashioned boats on the shore, so I felt relieved that I was not alone. Carefully, I got to my feet and turned around. Wow, whoever brought me here was thoughtful enough to save my bag. I carried it with me, just in case I needed it. There was a trail. There must be hikers there who could help me, or at least tell me where I was. I was still not buying the idea that I was dead. If I died peacefully, then why is my bag full of homework still with me? The trail was headed into the woods. A canopy of plants hung overhead, and I was not under the unmerciful rays of the sun. The trail was very short, though I did not like where it ended. I saw abodes that somewhat reminded me of the head hunters’ tribe in Ifugao. There were spears, daggers and shields neatly stacked in one part. At the center of the mini town, there was a hearth which died a few hours ago. I could tell by the amount of ash that is still in it. I was confused and curious of the place. Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind. I was stunned, but I immediately grabbed my pen from my bag and stabbed that person’s hand. While she screamed in pain, I ran for it. I was only about three meters away when she grabbed my elbow and turned me around. I was shocked with what I saw. First, how could she have caught up to me so fast? Second, I was sure my stabbing should leave a bloody wound on her arm, or at least an ugly mark of a gaping hole. Third, her skin was almost translucent, almost as if I could go through her. Fourth, her dark curls were moving like waves in the ocean despite the stillness of the wind here. Fifth, her eyes were coal black and so deep that they looked unreal. She was fairy-like; the kind that you would imagine if you were reading a fairytale. Her bewildered expression must have echoed mine. She composed herself then she led me back to the mini town. I could see people peaking through their doors. I was still too overwhelmed to move. Then she spoke. “I got her,” she said, “I got our heroine.”
A well-dressed middle aged man, probably their datu, came out of the largest stone house with an entourage as large as that of Queen Elizabeth. He looked me up and down and up again, holding my eyes. The fairy-like lady bowed down before him. He reached for my bag, my notebook to be exact. He flipped through the pages. He stopped at the page where I was doing my writing assignment. Alas, the setting I described back there perfectly matched this place! I was not sure whether he could read, then my doubts vanished when I saw the shock in his eyes. “Child,” he turned to me and exclaimed, “you have finally came. Finally, the chosen one who would rescue my captured son has arrived!” Wait, I could barely save a kitten stuck in a tree back at home, what makes this guy think I can fight someone off to liberate his son? “Excuse me, sir, but I think you have the wrong person,” I tried to be polite despite the confusion that colored my tone. He looked at me then took me inside the stone house. If I were to take his house and his furniture back home, I would be the richest vintage furniture supplier in the history of forever. This guy is absolutely and ridiculously rich! He could hire the best rescue party in the world. Why would he need me to find his son anyway? We stopped at a gigantic door where a creepy looking lady was waiting for us. She was gorgeous, but she was still creepy. She spoke my name as a sign of acknowledgment. The datu spoke, “Uwa, dearest daughter, tell the chosen one everything she has to know.”
“Very well,” said the lady, “chosen one, the one who possesses the power of the pen, I am the most respected babaylan in this town. I had a vision of you and your strengths. I sent Hangin to find her creator, you, for we know that only you could retrieve the datu’s son, my brother. You see, he was in a journey to search for his equal, his ladylove, when he was enchanted by the well-kept ones of Tarangban. Our newly born mature brother was travelling with him when suddenly he came home and delivered the news to us. We did everything in our will, but it seems that it was not enough. Yet you, chosen one, you with the power to create could surely aid our brother in his safe return home. The power of your words is beyond this world. We beg of you to help us. In return, we would give you anything you want.” The datu gave me my notebook and my pen. I was confused again. My notebook and my pen? The babaylan read the confusion on my face. “The power of words,” she insisted I take the notebook and the pen, “are sharper than any spear, any dagger, if one knew how to use it well. Only you have the power of the words and only I have the magic to bring your words to life. We would give you the most comfortable place you could write. Next week, we embark on a journey to rescue my brother.”
I was still stunned by the turn of things. This morning I was just complaining about my boring life, but now I am in this fantasy space and time destined to save someone’s life. I couldn’t even believe I created someone. I mean, I am not the best writer in the world to possess power that these people claim I have. The sun was now setting at the horizon. The townspeople were starting to prepare for night. They lit a campfire by the shore. They were planning a huge feast to welcome me, “the chosen one.” Fine, I thought. I would get this over with and then continue my boring student life. Something occurred to me. Next week, we embark on a journey to rescue my brother. I would engage in combat? Oh, no! I could not engage in combat alone. I decided I would create a companion. A sister, yes, that’s it! A sister that would be physically and mentally intelligent; a sister that would surely help me and these people retrieve their future datu, that’s what I would create. After the feast, I started to work on this sister. I was very careful of intricate detail, choosing only the best words that would best describe a great warrior. She might not have the power of words or the power to create, but she would have the power to save the good and destroy the evil. I worked on her all night. I barely slept, but I knew it was worth every drop of ink in my pen. I was absolutely positive nothing could thwart this woman in the making.
By noon, I approached the babaylan to tell her the good news, that I was finished with what she wanted. It was obvious in her face, in the datu’s face, in all the townspeople’s faces that they were elated. By nightfall, we were all gathered by the campfire as the babaylan took out charms and potions of all sorts. I read out what I have written.
“This town needed their datu. The only way to get him back is through this woman. In a span of seven days, this woman would have with her formidable strength, irreversible logic, and unparalleled wit. She would have the built of a finesse warrior at the same time of a glorious princess. Her dark brown locks would be the envy of every other woman. Her eyes would be a piercing black and would be the fear of every other villain. Her voice would be like melody to the ears. This woman would be the perfect companion in travel and in combat. Next to me, she would be the very pride of this town.”
The makeshift bed that I occupied earlier was the center of attraction. The babaylan was murmuring some sort of prayer. She took the paper from me and put it on the bed. Blue flowing liquid and a fiery red fluid was poured onto the paper while she was chanting. If I were not there, I would not believe the phenomenon. A woman’s body appeared on the bed. She was soundly asleep, yet she was fully clothed in what looked like the finest and sturdiest material. She looked exactly like my description.
The babaylan interrupted my thoughts when she said, “she will be awake in the morning, but we must be vigilant. She is still a child. Remember, we have seven days to train her, to help her reach her full potential.”
I sat by the campfire with some of the townspeople. I was chewing betel nut with them to help keep ourselves awake. I was jittery all night. On the one hand, I was amazed and mesmerized by what my words had done, yet on the other hand, I still felt this was all surreal. I still thought that I might have suffered a concussion, fell into a coma, or something like that. How could this be real? How could I have created a sentient being with mere words and magic? Hours of thinking and pacing passed and finally, finally the first of the rays broke through the canopy of plants. The datu and his family were just as enthused and anxious as I was when my new sister started to open her eyes. The datu simply couldn’t keep his distance. I guessed he was just thrilled that in more or less seven days, his captured son would return home. My sister’s eyes were truly deep and dark, but they project innocence. When she met my stare, she got up and flashed a brilliant smile. It was a manifestation that she knew who I was. Her angelic voice asked, “So, when do we embark on our journey?” It was the babaylan who answered her, “In seven days, but first, you will be trained by your sister. You sister is matured enough to outwit the maidens of Tarangban. You will be in good hands.”
For the next six days my sister and I were going through intensive physical and mental training. The mental part, I could handle, but the last physical training I had was back when I was doing Judo, which was more than a year ago. By the fourth day, we were both getting really strong. We got the hang of using different weapons. I especially liked using the bow and arrow. I could hit a long range shot. While my sister and I were training defense on the fifth day, I accidentally shot a poisoned arrow at her. I panicked as I took her lifeless body to the babaylan. She chanted another unfamiliar prayer and poured the same liquid on the body and before I knew it, my sister was flashing her brilliant smile again. By the sixth day, our sparring was flawless. I knew we were set for the journey to liberate the datu’s son.
The very next day, the seventh day, as we were boarding the extravagant ship, the babaylan warned us about the maidens of Tarangban, though she said she had high confidence that we would get her brother, the datu’s son, back. All I could think of at that moment was everything that had happened in the past few days have been really real. I have created a diwata, I have created a sister. I am about to embark on a journey to rescue a royalty. I have met a real datu and a real babaylan, and heroes, I smiled to myself and thought I am about to find out if heroes still exist, if that hero could be me. Now, I am living an epic life!