My future Journey

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: The Song in Quiapo

1.

The week leading up to the Feast of the Black Nazarene passed in a blur of preparation and anticipation. Aera spent every free moment reading her great-great-grandmother’s journal, memorizing the map’s next clue, and practicing how to use her compass—though she’d already discovered that more often than not, it pointed toward whatever needed her attention most, not just the direction on the map.

Kael was just as excited as she was, insisting he’d be her “official journey helper” and spending hours drawing pictures of what they might find in Quiapo: golden churches that glowed in the sun, children singing songs that could make flowers grow, and even a magical bird that would guide them to their next destination.

“Will we see the Black Nazarene?” Kael asked one evening as they packed their bags for the trip. He’d heard stories about the centuries-old statue and the thousands of people who gathered to honor it each year.

“Maybe,” Aera said, carefully folding the cloth that held her singing stone. “But the map says we need to listen for the child’s song. That’s what we’re really looking for.”

Their parents had decided to come with them—not to take over, but to make sure they were safe in the crowded streets of Manila’s oldest district. Elena had packed a bag with extra pandesal, bottles of water, and a first-aid kit, while Marcus had made sure they all wore comfortable shoes and carried small whistles in case they got separated.

“Quiapo will be very busy tomorrow,” her father said at breakfast on the morning of the feast. “There will be thousands of people there, all with their own reasons for being there. Remember to stay close to us, and if you see something that calls to you—something that makes your heart feel warm—trust that feeling. That’s your inner compass working.”

2.

The jeepney ride to Quiapo was unlike anything Aera had experienced before. The streets were already filling up with people hours before the procession was set to begin—families carrying candles, vendors selling flowers and prayer cards, musicians playing drums and brass instruments, and groups of people walking together, singing hymns in loud, joyful voices.

As they got closer to the Quiapo Church, the crowds grew thicker. The air was filled with the scent of incense, fresh sampaguita garlands, grilled banana cue from street vendors, and the earthy smell of thousands of people gathered together under the morning sun. Aera held tightly to her mother’s hand with one hand and her compass with the other. The needle was spinning fast at first, then settled firmly toward the church plaza.

“There it is,” her mother said, pointing ahead.

Aera’s breath caught in her throat. The Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene stood tall against the sky, its stone walls glowing golden in the sunlight—just as the map had said, the “city of golden churches” was real. The church’s bell tower rose high above the surrounding buildings, and the sound of bells echoed through the streets, mixing with the voices of the crowd.

They made their way through the plaza to a spot near the church steps, where they could see without being in the thickest part of the crowd. Kael’s eyes were wide with wonder as he watched people light candles and offer prayers, as musicians played on makeshift stages, and as groups of children ran through the gaps between the crowds, their laughter mixing with the singing.

Aera pulled out her journal and flipped to a page where her great-great-grandmother had written about Quiapo: This place is the heart of Manila—where people from all walks of life come together to hope, to pray, to share, and to celebrate. Here, you will find that the most powerful songs are not those sung by famous singers, but those that come from the hearts of children who believe anything is possible.

She looked around, listening carefully for any song that might stand out. There were hymns being sung by choirs, folk songs being played by musicians, and even the rhythmic chants of people carrying images of the Black Nazarene. But none of them felt like the “child’s song” the map had mentioned.

“Let’s walk around the plaza,” her father suggested. “Sometimes the things we’re looking for find us when we’re not staring too hard.”

3.

They wandered through the side streets surrounding the church, where vendors had set up stalls selling everything from religious items to street food to handmade crafts. Aera stopped at a stall selling wooden carvings, and the vendor—a man with kind eyes and calloused hands—smiled when he saw her looking at a small carving of a six-pointed star.

“For you, young lady?” he asked. “That symbol means hope in my family. My grandmother used to carve them for children who were starting important journeys.”

Aera’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know what it means?”

“It means that every point leads to something different—knowledge, courage, kindness, creativity, community, and love,” he said. “Together, they make up the star of a life well-lived.”

As they moved on, Kael tugged on Aera’s sleeve. “I hear singing,” he whispered.

Aera listened carefully, and sure enough, she could hear it—a clear, pure voice singing a song she’d never heard before. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it cut through all the noise of the crowd like a ray of sunlight through clouds. They followed the sound down a narrow alley between two buildings, where the crowds were thinner.

At the end of the alley, in a small clearing next to a wall covered in colorful murals, a young girl about Aera’s age was sitting on a wooden box, singing to a group of younger children who sat on the ground in front of her. She had a guitar made from an old oil can and a piece of wood, and her voice was filled with a warmth that made Aera’s chest feel full.

The song was in a mix of Tagalog and English, telling the story of a seed that grows into a tree that provides shelter for everyone—birds, animals, and people alike. As the girl sang, she made gestures with her hands, and the younger children mimicked her movements, their faces bright with joy.

When the song ended, the children clapped and asked for another. The girl smiled and started tuning her makeshift guitar when she noticed Aera and her family standing at the edge of the group.

“Would you like to sing with us?” she asked, her voice soft but clear.

Aera nodded, walking forward slowly. “What’s the name of that song?”

“I call it ‘The Seed Song,’” the girl said. “I made it up when I was helping my Lola plant vegetables in our backyard. She says that every time we sing it, more seeds grow strong.”

“What’s your name?” Aera asked.

“I’m Liza,” she said. “I come here every week to sing for the kids—some of them don’t have much to smile about, so I bring my songs. My Lola says that music is like water for the heart—it helps everything grow.”

As Liza started singing another song, Aera pulled out her compass. The needle was pointing directly at her. She looked down at her pocket, where her singing stone was tucked away, and felt it growing warm against her skin.

4.

After Liza finished singing, the younger children ran off to play, and she sat down next to Aera on the ground. Aera pulled out her journal and showed her the map and the six-pointed star symbol.

“Wow,” Liza said, running her fingers over the page. “My Lola has a necklace with that same symbol. She says it was given to her by a woman who traveled all over helping people—she was a doctor and a teacher, and she used to sing songs to the children she treated.”

Aera’s eyes widened. “Was her name Aera Lim?”

Liza thought for a moment, then nodded excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly what my Lola says. She has a photo of them together somewhere—her Lola and your great-great-grandmother, sitting under a mango tree and singing.”

She stood up and gestured toward a small house at the end of the alley. “Come on—my Lola would want to meet you. She talks about that woman all the time, says she changed her life by teaching her to read and write and by giving her seeds to plant in their garden when they had nothing to eat.”

They followed Liza through the alley to a small house with a rooftop garden full of vegetables and flowers. An old woman was sitting on the porch, shelling peas into a bowl, and she looked up as they approached. When she saw Aera, her eyes filled with tears.

“You look just like her,” she said softly. “Your great-great-grandmother—she had the same eyes, the same way of looking at the world like you’re ready to build something good.”

She went inside and came back with an old black-and-white photo. In it, a young woman with bright eyes and a gentle smile was sitting next to a girl who looked just like Liza—Liza’s grandmother—under a mango tree, with a guitar in her lap and a group of children around them.

“Your great-great-grandmother taught me this song,” she said, starting to hum the tune of “The Seed Song.” “She said that songs and seeds were two of the most important things we could share—they help us connect to each other and to the earth.”

She pulled out a small cloth bag and handed it to Aera. Inside were dozens of small seeds, each one wrapped in a tiny piece of paper with a word written on it—courage, kindness, creativity, community, knowledge, love.

“These are the seeds she gave me all those years ago,” Liza’s Lola said. “I’ve been saving them and growing them ever since. Now it’s time to pass them on to you. The map your great-great-grandmother left—does it talk about the edge of the sea where the waves speak?”

Aera nodded. “Yes—after this, that’s the next stop.”

“Then you need to take these seeds there,” she said. “Plant them where the waves can reach them, and listen to what the water has to say. Your great-great-grandmother believed that the sea holds all the stories of the world, and if you listen closely, it will tell you what you need to do next.”

5.

As they made their way back through the crowds to meet Aera’s parents—who had been waiting patiently nearby—Liza ran up to her with something in her hand. It was her makeshift guitar, made from an oil can and wood.

“I want you to have this,” she said. “So you can sing the songs wherever you go. My Lola says that when we share our gifts, they grow stronger for everyone.”

Aera hugged her tightly. “Will you come with us to the sea? When we go to find where the waves speak?”

Liza’s face lit up. “I’d love to! My Lola says I have a journey of my own to take too—maybe we’re supposed to take it together.”

When they reached the plaza, Aera’s parents were talking to a group of people who were organizing a community garden in one of the empty lots nearby.

“We were just talking about how we need someone to help teach the kids about growing things,” her mother said, smiling at Aera and Liza. “Would you two be interested in helping?”

Aera looked at Liza, then at the seeds in her hand, then at her great-great-grandmother’s journal. She thought about how her great-great-grandmother had started small—teaching children under a bridge, planting seeds in empty lots, singing songs to bring people together.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We’d love to help.”

That evening, as they rode the jeepney back to Santa Ana, Aera held the guitar in her lap and the seeds in her pocket. Kael was already asleep, his head resting on their father’s shoulder, but Aera was wide awake, thinking about everything she’d seen and heard that day.

She pulled out her journal and wrote: Today I learned that the child’s song isn’t just one song—it’s every song that helps people feel less alone, every song that brings us together, every song that makes us believe we can build something better. Liza and I are going to start teaching the kids in Quiapo how to grow their own gardens and write their own songs. And when we’re ready, we’ll go to the sea to listen to what the waves have to say.

She looked out the window as the city lights passed by, and she could see the stars starting to appear in the sky—one of them a bright six-pointed star that seemed to be shining just for her.

Her journey was already building something beautiful, one step at a time.