Aguinaldo was one or if not, the longest standing man to outlive their colleagues, friends, and soldiers from 1890s.. he was the last to die at 1964, surpassing Rusca, 1945, Quezon, 1940, Vicente Enriquez 1936 and Mabini 1903
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Aguinaldo leans from a balcony... 1937, it's been 2 years since he lost to Manuel Quezon in presidency of the new government.. and... 34 years since... he last stood side by side with his secretary, who was full of wit on advices as they lead their compatriots together.
He puffs out some cigar's smoke... listening to the screams and laughters of kids outside his mansion. He pulls away, walking deeper into the room, sitting on a rocking chair, swinging his problems away.... the same way... he would see Pole ponder by a nearby window, either reading his favorite novels, or appreciating the view... that Miong has always thought... was as pretty as him.
As if Pole sitting by a window is an obra maestra that no one in his eyes could ever compare with. His tired, old eyes lifted its gaze, following the pocket watch that he refused to not look at no matter how many clocks he's bought and put around the house. The clock he refused to let go nor stopping on basing his time on no matter how many hours it was behind. The effort to memorize his routine and the sun's shine, just because he no longer wants to look at any clock but what's in his old, veiny hand.
"I wonder if you'd like this sovereignty.. that our men had worked hard for us to finally achieve, Pole," he murmurs along with the cold breeze, his thumb caressing the fading... small cut out picture plastered inside the pocket watch's cover.
He closes his eyes as if in the breeze, he felt the familiar weight on his shoulders and the perfect tune of a hum, as if it was just like yesterday.
"Lo siento,"