CHAPTER ONE: Carrot Boy
Erik woke with a start, finding himself in an unfamiliar place. Lush green fields stretched around him, dotted with vibrant wildflowers.
Small animals darted playfully through the grass, their chatter blending with the peaceful hum of nature. In the distance, sturdy trees heavy with fruit stood under a bright blue sky, where fluffy white clouds drifted lazily, softening the sun's glow.
The air was alive with sound—the cheerful songs of birds and the gentle rush of a clear river nearby.
A cool breeze brushed against Erik's skin, refreshing and soothing. He stood still, marveling at the beauty, but a question nagged at him: Is this a dream? An illusion? How did I end up here?
As he gazed at his hands, feeling the breeze, a soft voice broke the silence. "What do you think of my home?" it asked.
Erik spun around.
Behind him stood a mysterious woman with long black hair, dressed in a simple white gown. A strange light—maybe from the sun, maybe from her—blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he caught the warmth of her smile.
Stunned by her sudden appearance, Erik couldn't find words to answer. He wanted to see her face, to know who she was, but the light kept her features hidden.
A strong gust of wind swept through, carrying white flower petals that swirled around her like a delicate dance. Her hair flowed with the breeze, and she seemed to speak again, her lips moving, but no sound reached Erik's ears. The wind's echo and the birds' songs drowned out everything else.
"What's happening? Why can't I hear her?" Erik whispered to himself.
The woman gestured toward the mountains, the river, the sky, and the animals, as if sharing a story. Her movements were graceful, almost joyful. But then she paused, her hand clutching her chest.
Her smile faded, replaced by a look of sadness, as if a heavy worry had settled over her. The world grew quiet, the air still.
Erik's heart tugged. He wanted to help, to understand her trouble. He stepped forward, but before he could reach her, she looked up and smiled again, extending her hands toward him.
Was she offering something? Asking him to follow? He couldn't tell. Her lips moved, but her words remained lost to him. Frustration welled up—he couldn't even tell if his own voice worked when he tried to speak, or if his words were just thoughts trapped in his mind.
Desperate to understand, Erik reached out, hoping to grasp her hands and find answers. As he stepped closer, she spoke again, her voice suddenly clear: "The motherland calls for your help. Will you answer?"
Erik froze. "Answer?" he murmured, staring at her gentle smile. "What do you mean?"
Before he could ask more, another gust of wind forced his eyes shut. When he opened them, the woman was gone. Instead, he stared up at a ceilingless roof.
His hand was outstretched, reaching for nothing. He was back in his small, sweltering hut, lying on a woven mat, soaked in sweat. The familiar heat of his home pressed against him.
Erik sat up, rubbing his eyes to shake off the dream. He glanced around the tiny house, patched together with wood and bamboo, typical of their quiet village in Ifugao.
Alone, as usual. His parents were already out working the fields.
The dream lingered in his mind, vivid but confusing. He could recall every detail—the flowers, the wind, the woman's voice—but her face remained a blur.
"Weird dream," he muttered.
He stood, folded his mat, and hurried to the kitchen to splash water on his face. Erik Lumagbas was thirteen, small for his age, with striking black hair.
He lived with his family in a modest village surrounded by Ifugao's mountains and forests, where most people earned a living growing vegetables. Their small plot in Lingawin helped supply nearby towns, but it was a hard life.
Unlike other kids his age, Erik wasn't rushing to school. He was getting ready for work. Dressed in an orange hoodie and pants, he locked the door and ran to a nearby warehouse. There, workers were busy loading sacks of vegetables onto a truck.
"Late again, Carrot Boy!" shouted a burly man from the driver's seat. "Hurry up, or we'll leave you!"
Their group wasn't a major supplier, so they had no steady buyers. They traveled for days—sometimes four to six—hoping to sell everything their families had grown.
Erik wasted no time, grabbing a basket of carrots his father had harvested and hauling it to the truck.
Minutes later, the truck rumbled off toward the city markets. Erik sat on the sacks, munching on boiled carrots for breakfast. With nothing else to do, he stared out at the passing roads, the dream still flickering in his thoughts.
Erik's Thoughts
You reap what you sow. That's the first lesson you learn as a vegetable farmer's kid. Every carrot we sell is the result of my family's sweat and care.
We rent a small plot of land, plant the seeds, tend them for months, and harvest them to sell in city markets.
I join other farmers to hawk our goods, though our leader wasn't thrilled about it at first. "Too young," he said.
But I've been at this long enough to handle buyers and dodge cheats.
Being away from home for days is tough. I miss my family, and it's lonely sometimes. But I love seeing new places, different cities.
Hauling heavy baskets is hard for my small frame, but I have to do it. We need the money. My parents borrowed for the seeds and the land, and after all the work, we barely keep enough to get by.
It's exhausting. The same struggles, day after day. No guarantee of profit. I don't know how long we can keep living like this—scraping by, barely surviving. Being poor in a poor village feels like a punishment.
I'm grateful for my parents and the life we share, but it's not enough to call myself lucky.
I have two younger sisters, five and eight. I want them to finish school, to have a better life. That's why I stopped studying to work with Mom and Dad.
I dream of them going to high school in Manila, where people say everything is modern and full of opportunity. I want our family to live there someday. I don't know how much money it'll take, but I'll work hard for it. No matter what.
Still, I wonder—can people like us ever have a comfortable life? Do we even have the right to dream in a country stripped of its freedom, ruled by foreign laws?
End of Thoughts
The truck slowed at a checkpoint guarded by Spanish police in gray uniforms. They inspected passing vehicles, checking IDs and jotting names in a booklet. The government set up these stops to keep rebels—Filipinos who opposed Spanish rule—from entering towns and causing trouble. Some rebels were just bandits, robbing trucks like Erik's to disrupt the Spanish.
Erik's Thoughts
We're far from the cities, so I don't know much about what's happening in the country. At school, they taught us the Spanish have ruled the Philippines for nearly five hundred years. Some Filipinos fight back, calling themselves rebels.
But what's the point? They say Spain has millions of soldiers. How can anyone win against that? There are rumors the Spanish have magic or special powers, making them unbeatable.
True or not, it doesn't matter to me. They don't bother us much here, and honestly, their presence keeps the bandits away.
Freedom? What does that mean to someone like me? Would my life change if the rebels won? I don't see the point.
Why risk everything for something so distant when we're just trying to survive?
End of Thoughts
At the checkpoint, Erik watched the driver hand money to the police. It was a bribe, separate from the taxes they already paid. They had no choice—pay up or face trouble. The elders taught them to stay quiet and comply to avoid danger. It was a tradition passed down through generations of farmers.
For Erik, the bribe was just another cut into their meager earnings. But he didn't dwell on it. He'd grown used to it, believing the police protected them from rebel attacks. It was a small price to pay, or so he thought.
End of Chapter One