I Am A Filipino
by Carlos P. Romulo |
|
| I am a Filipino, inheritor of a glorious past,
hostage to the uncertain future. As such, I must prove equal to a two-fold task -- the
task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to
the future. |
| |
| I am sprung from a hardy race, child of many
generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries the memory comes
rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as
their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and
the whistling wind, carried upon a mighty swell of hope -- hope in the free abundance of
the new land that was to be their home and their children's forever. |
| |
| This is the land they sought and found. Every inch
of the shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them
with a green-and-purple invitation; every mile of rolling plain that their view
encompassed, every river and lake that promised a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of
commerce, is hallowed spot to me. |
| |
| By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every
right of law -- human and divine -- this land and all the appurtenances thereto -- the
black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with
their inexhaustible wealth in wildlife and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen
with minerals -- the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without
number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them and in trust will
I pass it on my children, and so on until this world is no more. |
| |
| I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed
of heroes -- seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my
veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapu-Lapu to battle against the first
invader of this land, that nerved Lakandula to combat the alien foe, that drove Diego
Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor. |
| |
| That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that
flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put
an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever; the same that
flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gregorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of
Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of
Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst forth royally again in the proud heart of
Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacaņang Palace, in
the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication. |