The day had been a whirlwind of discovery for Puti, filled with awe and wonder at the richness of the world he now inhabited. As dusk settled over the village, the warm glow of the setting sun bathed the torogan in shades of amber and gold. Inside, Puti was still grappling with the weight of his newfound reality.
Everywhere he looked, he saw wealth that would be unimaginable in the time he came from—gold, silver, diamonds, and precious stones were abundant, their luster reflected in the jewelry worn by his family and even in the intricate decorations that adorned their home. Puti himself was adorned with bangles of gold embedded with diamonds, earrings made of pearls, and a necklace strung with gems of every color. It was a world of opulence, a testament to the prosperity and power of his people.
But as night fell, a deep unease settled over Puti. He couldn't shake the memories of what he knew was coming—the exploitation, the subjugation, the loss of everything his people held dear. The colonizers, especially the Spaniards, would soon arrive, and they would take advantage of the generosity and wealth of this land, stripping it bare and imposing their will upon its people. The thought of it made his heart ache with a profound sense of dread.
He needed to act. He could not allow history to repeat itself without a fight. But what could he, a child, do to alter the course of events that had already been set in motion centuries ago?
Driven by this urgency, Puti called for his alipin, a servant named Dimaya, who quickly appeared at his side, her eyes downcast in deference.
"Dimaya," Puti said, his voice firm but gentle, "I need a small piece of coal and a plank of wood that I can write on. Hurry."
Dimaya nodded and quickly left the room, returning moments later with the requested items. Puti took the plank and the coal, his mind racing with ideas. He needed to outline a plan—a way to strengthen his people, to prepare them for the trials that lay ahead.
He began to scribble furiously on the plank, the coal scratching against the wood as he listed his thoughts. Defense. They needed stronger defenses, both physical and strategic, to protect their lands and their people. Education. His people needed knowledge, not just of their own history and culture, but of the world beyond their shores. They needed to learn to read and write, to communicate with the wider world. Craftsmanship. They were already skilled artisans, but they needed to advance their techniques, to create weapons and tools that could match those of any invader.
As Puti wrote, the symbols on the plank were not the ancient baybayin script of his people, but the modern alphabet he had learned in his past life. The letters flowed from his hand almost automatically, the familiar shapes forming words and ideas that had no place in this time.
So engrossed was Puti in his work that he did not hear the soft footsteps approaching until his mother, Dilag Baga, appeared beside him. She looked down at the plank, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Puti," she asked gently, "what are you writing? I do not recognize these markings."
Puti paused, realizing that he had been using a script that was entirely foreign to this era. He looked up at his mother, her face illuminated by the soft light of the oil lamps that flickered around them. She was a picture of grace and wisdom, her eyes filled with a quiet strength that he admired deeply.
"This," Puti began, choosing his words carefully, "is a new way of writing. It's from a place… far away. It can help us communicate in different ways, make it easier to learn and share knowledge."
Dilag tilted her head, intrigued but still puzzled. "But why do we need this new writing, my son? Our baybayin has served us well."
Puti smiled, setting the plank aside. "Mother, the world is much larger than we know. There are many dangers, but also many opportunities. If we can learn new ways, we can be stronger, more prepared for whatever comes our way."
He took her hand and guided her to sit beside him. "Let me teach you, Mother. These letters, they can help us record more, share more, and even understand others who might come to our shores."
Dilag watched him closely, her eyes searching his face for answers to the questions she could not yet articulate. There was something different about her son, something beyond the fever he had suffered. His words carried a weight that was unusual for a boy his age, a wisdom that seemed far beyond his years.
"Very well, Puti," she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. "Teach me."
And so, under the dim light of the lamps, Puti began to teach his mother the modern alphabet. He showed her how each letter had a sound, how they could be combined to form words, and how those words could be written down and preserved. Dilag was a quick learner, her hands graceful as they traced the unfamiliar shapes on the plank.
As the night deepened, Puti felt a sense of hope growing within him. This was just the beginning—a small step toward something much larger. If he could teach his mother, he could teach others. And if they could learn, they could prepare. The future was uncertain, but with knowledge and preparation, they could face it with strength and resilience.
For now, Puti would focus on the small victories, like teaching his mother this new alphabet. But in the back of his mind, the larger plan was taking shape. He would change the course of history, not through grand gestures, but through the quiet, steady work of building a stronger, more educated people.
As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, Puti and his mother finally set aside the plank, their eyes heavy with sleep but their spirits high. Dilag embraced her son, her heart swelling with pride at the thought of the young man he was becoming.
"Rest now, Puti," she whispered. "Tomorrow is a new day, and you have much to do."
Puti nodded, exhaustion finally catching up with him. But as he lay down to sleep, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The wheels of change were beginning to turn, and he was at the center of it all.
The dawn of a new era was on the horizon, and Puti Baga was ready to face it.