April, 1893
(translated from Spanish)
I am tired. I have placed the last missing component to build the machine. Still it gave the most monstrous-sounding whirs with no progress at all. I am still in Dapitan, of the same year, and the same date.
I have no wish to escape my predicament-living here in Dapitan has been soothing to my soul. But I could not also neglect the call of invention. Time travel has been written about by many authors for quite some time, so there must be some grains of truth in it. Being away from my family has certainly affected me in many ways; in times I believe that the impossible can be conceived.
I started the machine once more. If it does not work then I may have to keep it away for a while. The boys under my tutelage took fancy with the concept of fencing, as I recounted to them one day. Now they want to engage in the art. I may need to start them with arnis instead of buckling with sharp metal. It will do well to build their young bodies, discipline their mind.
The whirring stopped. I felt uncertain with my feet-it seemed like an earthquake happened, so fast-I was disoriented. I looked at the device and its dial was rotating so fast, all was a blur.
I blinked. The desk at the far side of the room was still there-with the piles of books I have set aside for my recreational reading, as well as my favorite inkwell and fountain pen. There is also my old-fashioned quill-a feather so black it rivals the moonless night sky. But the walls are different. The other things in the room, like the lace curtains on a four-poster bed, the carpet of pink that looked so soft to the feet upon treading, I do not recognize. The walls were white. There was a tocador (vanity), in yet a soft shade of pink. The air was cold as if a ghost has come to visit. I was fastened to the floor; it was no longer the gleaming wood of my house, instead it was white tile. I still I tried to rationalize with myself. Did the machine work, finally? Did my efforts come into fruition? If then, where am I? In my frustration, I have neglected to choose the timesphere on which to travel, and so the place.
There was rustling from the four poster-bed. I just stood there as if I was cemented to the ground. Then a slender ankle jutted out; it slid into a pair of fluffy shoes-or slippers? and another foot followed suit. The toes were lovely, the nails gold. A shriek, so earsplitting, then ensued from the occupant of the bed.
"Sino ka?!" It was a woman's voice, inquiring about my identity.
I blindly grabbed the device and hit the button to revert to my own time, without making any conscious effort to see the face of the person who made the noise.