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Thank you dito, Brianna Villena at Sofia Abellera

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Salamat dito, Briana Quilla

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Salamat sa pagtulong, Mark Jansen

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Gusto ko nga pala bigyan ng credits yung mga kasama ko sa paggawa nito na sina Jeanna Pendon at Dana Trivilegio

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Leaving Europe was a difficult choice, but my life there had become unbearable due to deepening tensions with Marcelo H. del Pilar and others in Spain. I felt isolated and drawn back to the Philippines, wanting to be closer to my beloved homeland and family. I set out for Hong Kong, hoping that I could still work for change while being near those I cherished most.

As I boarded the steamship bound for Hong Kong, I found unexpected companionship with a group of missionaries—Italian Franciscans, French Jesuits, a bishop, and Msgr. Venturini—all heading to China. They offered me insight into their work and ideals, and I found myself enriched by our conversations, perhaps understanding more deeply the beliefs that sustained their commitment.

Once in Hong Kong, I reunited with my family in one of the happiest Christmases I had ever known. My father, brother, and brother-in-law arrived just before the holidays, and my joy was complete when my mother and sisters joined us. Those days were precious, filled with warmth and laughter—a Yuletide like no other.

Settling into Hong Kong, I opened a medical practice, becoming an ophthalmic surgeon and general practitioner. My work was well-received, and I was soon recognized in the British colony as a reputable doctor. One of my greatest joys was operating on my mother’s cataract, restoring her sight so that she could read and write again. Seeing her happiness and gratitude renewed my purpose.

Alongside my medical work, I continued to write and advocate for reform in the Philippines. I penned works such as Ang mga Karapatan ng mga Tao (1891), A la Nación Española (1891), and Sa mga kababayan (December 1891). I contributed articles to The Hong Kong Telegraph and wrote Una Visita a la Victoria Gaol (1892), Colonisation du British North Borneo, par des Familles des Iles Philippines, La Mano Roja (1892), and the constitution for La Liga Filipina. Writing these pieces was my way of staying connected to our cause, even from afar.

My 31st birthday on June 19, 1892, in Hong Kong felt like a turning point, though it brought an uneasy premonition of my own death. I decided to prepare letters for my family and friends, to be read in the event of my passing—a quiet acceptance, perhaps, of the risks that lay ahead.

Finally, in May 1892, I chose to return to the Philippines. After Lete accused me of being too comfortable in Hong Kong, I felt it was time to rejoin the struggle directly. I also hoped to confer with Governor Despujol about my Borneo colonization project and to establish La Liga Filipina in Manila. I informed the Governor of my intentions on June 21st, pledging myself under the protection of the Spanish Government. Yet, as my sister Lucia and I sailed homeward, we remained unaware of the treachery unfolding behind us. The Spanish Consul General, who had guaranteed my safety, sent a cable to Despujol stating, “the victim is in the trap,” while a secret case was filed in Manila, accusing me and my supporters of “anti-religious and anti-patriotic agitation.”

I returned home with hope and purpose, yet also a sense of foreboding, ready to face what lay ahead.

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The end of my engagement to Leonor Rivera left me adrift, so I traveled to Biarritz, France, seeking a respite from the ache in my heart. I stayed at Villa Eliada, the home of the Boustead family, where Nelly Boustead lived. The Bousteads were well-regarded in European society, and their circle allowed me to meet various artists and politicians, giving me new insights into European thought and culture.

During my time at Villa Eliada, I poured myself into completing the final chapters of El Filibusterismo. This setting—isolated yet refined—was ideal for reflection. Here, I could sharpen my thoughts on the oppressive Spanish colonial system, which was a central theme in both Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo. Biarritz offered me a quiet, contemplative space to let the final messages of my work crystallize, helping me channel my pain into my writing, turning heartache into purpose.

It was also here that I came to know Nelly Boustead. She was the daughter of Eduardo Boustead, a Filipino-British businessman, and her company was a refreshing change. Nelly appreciated my modern outlook and progressive ideas, rare in women of that time, which made our conversations lively and meaningful. However, there were complications. She was a committed Protestant, and while some say I proposed to her, I was firm in my Catholic faith, unwilling to convert. This difference became a barrier to our union. Further complicating matters, Antonio Luna, my fellow propagandist, was also drawn to her, and this nearly led us to a duel. Yet, I knew escalation would only divide us, so I avoided further conflict.

After a few weeks in Biarritz, it became clear that Nelly and I were not destined to be together. I bid the Boustead family goodbye, grateful for their warmth and the sanctuary their villa had provided. I left Biarritz with a mixture of sadness for yet another romance that could not be, but also with a sense of purpose. The peaceful environment of Villa Eliada had given me the clarity to complete El Filibusterismo and renew my commitment to my homeland.

Returning to Paris and London, I felt both rejuvenated and resolute. I shared my completed manuscript with those who supported our cause, further fueling our mission for reform in the Philippines.

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I was frequently disappointed and heartbroken, especially as I struggled to find justice for my family. With the support of the Asociación Hispano-Filipina and countless allies, I protested the abuses committed by Governor General Valeriano Weyler and the Dominicans against the people of Calamba, my own family included. Yet, my appeals were only met with “honeyed words,” empty promises without action.

The death of my dear friend, José Ma. Panganiban, due to illness, left me deeply mournful. I wrote a eulogy in his honor, a small tribute to a spirit that was as vibrant and committed as my own. His passing was a reminder of the ever-present shadow of loss, which seemed to follow me throughout my life.

I faced many trials that tested both my resolve and my restraint. Once, at a gathering, Juan Luna, overcome by drink and emotion, insulted Nellie Boustead, a woman I respected. My sense of honor couldn’t tolerate any slight against her, and I challenged him to a duel. The others intervened before things escalated, and Luna, later sobered and regretful, apologized. I accepted his apology, understanding the power of reconciliation.

Another duel arose with a man named Retana, a Spanish scholar who dared to defame my family in print. I sent him a letter challenging him to defend his words, and aware of my skill with both gun and sword, he ultimately conceded, agreeing to leave my family’s name untouched.

Even in love, I suffered. I received a letter from Leonor, telling me that her mother had arranged for her to marry an Englishman. The news left me heartbroken, my spirit crushed by a fate I could not change.

My role as leader of the Filipinos in Europe demanded constant discernment and courage. However, when the community became divided between my vision and Marcelo H. del Pilar’s, I knew that continuing as ‘Responsable’ would deepen the discord. Though I had been chosen to lead, I abdicated to preserve unity among us. I left the city, boarding a train, knowing that sometimes, sacrifice is the only path to peace.