My story is about a land. And its people.

I used to be just a lush, verdant land, experiencing life through my children. I drank the light of the sun with the leaves of my trees. And let moonlight play upon the rivers that run through my lands to the seas. I breathe sweet air for and from my plants and beasts. And fly through birds who were my jewels upon the wind. And swim through the fish who were my jewels upon the waters.

Then the first of my people came.

I was awash with joy as I felt their love for me, for taking them in as my children. They held celebrations when I grant them a successful hunt, or a bounteous harvest. And I heard them pray when they get scared of the storms and volcanoes. They soon learned and became stronger. And held their own as they forged friendships with strangers who come upon my lands, to explore, to trade. And sometimes to become one of my children.

And then I met my first husband.

He came upon me wounded and lost. I helped him regain his strength and his bearings. He found me beautiful. And wanted to keep me to himself. My children objected and drove him away. He became angry. He said he wanted me. Needed me. And thus he shall have me, whether we want to or not. He came to me again, the next time more forceful than the last, until at last I submitted.

We were married for three centuries.

He told me how to run my people. He taught me Christianity. He made my children build palaces of stone for us to live in. He made my children build ships for his trades. He cut down my trees. Killed my animals. Tore my mountains. And destroyed the spirit of my people. He made my children slaves. To kiss the crucifix he wears. To bow upon the ground he treads. He had his way with my daughters, who could do naught but cry. He was using my lands. Using my people. Using me.

Soon I had enough.

My tears ran. My voice cried out for justice. My anger burned. Soon the anger burned in the hearts of my people. Soon they they stood up in rebellion. At first he just slapped me and laughed. I kept fighting, yet I cannot drive him away. I realized that I may never defeat him, that he may always own me, but I’ll keep fighting anyway. Soon he grew tired of my resistance. But he didn’t set me free.

He gave me to another.

I was wary at first, and most of all frustrated. I have been fighting to be free, only to have me married to another. Am I to face three more centuries of subservience? Yet when he approached he seemed gentle and kind. My second husband gave me education. My people gained knowledge, as it was freely given, instead of seeking it in other lands as a foreigner. I might have grown to love him, but I never had the chance to be really sure…

For I was snatched away.
My second husband tried to rescue me, to win me back. But the monster was powerful, and successfully made off with me. I suffered as his prisoner. He was more cruel than my first husband. He beat me up and raped me gain and again. I wasn’t his wife nor his slave. I was his prisoner. My life then was nothing but to hide. For once I were to be found he would hurt me yet again.

I was surprised when my husband came again. This time he succesfully reclaimed me. Apparently he had friends to help him win me back. He told me he and his friends banded together to defeat my tormentor and his allies. I was his again. I was still unsure if I loved him, but I accepted him, and he was happy enough with that.

Still, I felt restless. The need for independence still burns within me, even if my people were not oppressed nor tormented as before. I asked him to let me go. He said he can’t, for he thinks I was still not ready. I went to his lands, and saw its wealth and progress. I should have felt assured that my people would be safe, for I saw his white children happy and prosperous.

But in my travels I met strange people, with copper skin. I asked them whose people they were, and they showed me their mother. She looked as if she was once a proud chieftess, but now she is in rags, living in this small dusty corner with her children. I felt horror when she told me she was the true mother of the land, but her husband now rules it, and that the white people, her stepchildren, now enjoys the wealth that was once theirs. I looked at her people and all I thought was “That could be my children…”

At home I went to my husband and demanded for my independence. He wondered why I suddenly opened the subject again. I told that I met the true mother of ‘his’ land and her people. I told him that I never want to be like her, that I have been fighting for centuries so I will never like her. I may not be as strong as he is but I am willing to be as strong as I should be for my children.

With this, he let me go.

And here I am now. Stumbling in my independence, like a toddler who suddenly had nothing to hold on to to stand up, to walk. I could hear other people laughing at me everytime I fall down. They jeered at me, telling me I shouldn’t have left him, that I still needed him. I didn’t mind them. I plodded on. I struggled on, me and my children, as together we journey to find ourselves…

THE END