Homeward Whispers: The Homesick, Nostalgic JoseRizal and the Modern Filipino Diaspora

“It is true that the memory of past days is like a gentle balm that pours over the heart a melancholy sweetness, so much sweeter and sadder the more depressed the one remembering it is.” — Jose Rizal, My Life Away from My Parents, Reminiscences

Among the many subjects and topics of Rizal ripe for a student’s exploration, writings that can either mythicize him or humanize him, glorify him or criticize him. I simply want to write something that I feel motivated to write about and would enjoy, and one that resonates with me and perhaps others: the humble and heartfelt sentiments of one’s longing for home.

Within my circle of college friends, I gained a reputation as someone always eager to come home, planning my ticket bookings and baggage weeks before, they would tease me “si uwing-uwi na” to which I’d also humorously respond that when they experience being regions (as I am from Bicol) away from home, they will understand. “Mas maiintidihan pa ni Rizal kaysa sa inyo kung bakit uwing uwi ako.” I will jokingly add. Learning about Rizal’s life and reading him for the past few months, I have grown confident in the notion that, in sentiment, there is not much of a difference between a probinsyana away from home and a national hero separated from his nation. Indeed, remembering past days can bring nostalgia, a bittersweet feeling, ‘like a gentle balm that pours over the heart a melancholy sweetness’; memories of home can be soothing but also intensify a little sadness, especially when you are far away. Detached from our origins, we are both striving to grow and learn, hoping to someday make meaningful contributions to the places we have left behind.

In this paper, I aim to explore the nuances of Rizal’s melancholy and homesickness, tracing some of their manifestations in his life and travels, relying mostly on primary sources such as his diaries and letters to gain a direct insight into his thoughts and feelings. While my access to archival resources and physical copies for historical references might be limited, I hope that these primary sources can sufficiently serve as a glimpse into his nostalgic attitude. Moreover, I intend to briefly draw parallels and write my contemplations on the modern-day Filipino diaspora, juxtaposing one’s longing to return home versus the aspiration to leave.

The Young Aching Rizal

When one looks into the young life of Rizal, one ought to discover that even in his earlier years, he already showed signs of being sentimental, nostalgic, and emotional. One of the first moments that he was away from his family (as well as most of his travel recollections that are cited later on) can be read in his diary collection Reminiscences (1961), published by Jose Rizal National Centennial Commission. In the chapter “My Life Away from My Parents, My Sufferings,” he narrates when he was sent to Biñan at age 9 to continue his studies.

From time to time I went to Calamba, my hometown. Ah, how long the way home seemed to me and how short the way back was! How I looked for pretexts to stay longer in my town…I picked a flower, a stone that attracted my attention, fearful that I might not see them again upon my return. It was a new kind of melancholy, a sad pain, but gentle and calm that I felt during my early years. (p.17)

In his reluctance to leave, seeking excuses to prolong his stay, each little item picked up became a symbol of attachment, fearing he might not reencounter them upon his return. This form of homesickness embodies sadness and gentle tranquility, marking his early years with a nostalgic ache for the comforting embrace of his hometown. In another passage, Jose recalls how he and his cousin Leandro went sightseeing in town. Rather than finding joy in the sights, Jose felt sad and melancholic because of homesickness:

In the moonlight, I remembered my home town, my idolized mother, and my solicitous sisters. Ah, how sweet to me was Calamba, my own town, in spite of the fact that it was not as wealthy as Biñan. (p.15)

Much like any typical child who only wishes to be brought back home, he naturally recalled memories of his hometown, Calamba, particularly reminiscing about his beloved mother and caring sisters. Despite Calamba not being as affluent as Biñan, Jose still found immense sweetness and fondness in memories of home. Later on, he spent years at Ateneo and UST, often away from family during semesters, yet there were occasional opportunities to visit home. So, one might infer that it was when he left Manila in 1882, at the age of 21, that he genuinely began to feel the weight of being far from home once again, experiencing the sadness of moving considerably farther away.

Upon leaving Calamba, Rizal writes in detail, “Calamba’s houses, her cultivated fields, her makiling, all her simple and picturesque beauty…” (p. 52), marking those images before departing. Similarly, as I left for college, I vividly recall gazing back at Mt. Isarog, seen from our balcony, and sensing that things would never remain the same when I leave. Naga City, my hometown, will now solely be a place for occasional visits; it will no longer be where I will stay and grow. When I return to visit, my experience of the place will be tainted by the experiences I’ve had elsewhere, and my perception of Naga will not be the same as how I once viewed it while growing up there. I was weary of my future, though not knowing what it is, I know that it is for the good. Perhaps Rizal’s departure marked the same significant move, intensifying a sense of distance — leaving uncertainty about what he would become and what remnants of his former self would remain. With this, one joins Rizal in his writing — “Oh, how much sacrifice for an ephemeral good! (p. 52) …And in the meantime, I fly after my vain idea, a false illusion perhaps.” (p.55)

Travel Reminiscences

“I weep on separating from my country, the seat of all my affection.”— Jose Rizal, May 1882, Reminiscences

While aboard the Salvadora, Rizal continues to compose his final farewells to his country. It is quite striking to discover further that he even drew a last-minute sketch of his view of the city, Manila’s appearance, from the departing steamer.

The ship weighs anchor at last. Its propeller moves, sweeping the water and leaving behind it a lengthening wake. My motherland, my town, I leave you; you will disappear and I’ll lose sight of you. I take a pencil and though imperfectly, I like to fix on paper the shore of Manila. My hand runs nimbly in obedience to my heart, and I draw. (p.55)

Perhaps to some, in the present years, it will be photographs of family accompanying them to the terminal, a folded Jollibee paper bag that contained their ‘baon’, or a packet of local candies from a friend; however, for Rizal, it was a sketch. The need to capture the image of his last glimpse of home by drawing it with a pencil, despite knowing it will not be perfect, reflects our tendency to cling to the last memories of what we are departing from — a heartfelt gesture driven by emotions. During nighttime, Rizal continues to reminisce:

In my town perhaps they are looking at the same moon as I do. Perhaps my mother and my sisters, looking at it, are thinking of me as I’m thinking of them. (p.57)

Aboard the ship, Rizal copes and busies himself with bird watching, counting children, tending his seasickness, playing chess, drawing sketches, watching passing mountains and islands, and conversing with passengers, yet amid these distractions, he still occasionally reflects on the family and country he left behind. Nevertheless, he now observes how time gradually alleviates the pain of his farewell, “what mysterious remedy it carries to heal any wound of the heart.” (p.60) However, his emotions were not solely tied to homesickness but even loneliness. For instance, when he leaves the ship for a trip to Marseille, France, he recounts loneliness from separating with co-passengers he grew fond of:

Since I left the ship, whenever I was left alone ordinarily I felt a void that I would like to fill up. Naturally, having been brought up among family and friends, reared in the warmth of love and affection, now I find myself suddenly alone, in a hotel magnificent indeed, but silent nevertheless. I thought of going back to my country for at least there I am with companions and the family. I slept then half-tearful and steeped in profound melancholy (p.84)

Upon arriving in Europe in June 1882, Rizal, in his rented room from a “modest, humid, dark, and poorly ventilated” house in Barcelona, writes to his family how he had been so accustomed to luxury and comfort that he became dispirited and sad when he remembers that their house back home was a thousand times more decent than where he was staying. Further, he writes that a thousand sad thoughts “invaded my mind upon finding myself in that world hitherto unknown to me, without friends, without relatives” and especially when the landlord came, whom he described as “rough, coarse, ugly in appearance.” (National Heroes Commission, 1882). Interestingly, isn’t this experience oddly reminiscent of students boarding in college? Furthermore, is not the sensation of homesickness, the feeling of isolation, and uncertainty about the future still so vainly familiar among students today? In January 1883, Rizal in Madrid further wrote such feelings to his diaries, of not knowing what “vague melancholy and indefinable loneliness, smothers my soul.” (Rizal, 1961, Reminiscences, p.88)

I am arriving in Spain, alone and unknown; the first stage of my unknown journey is there. What am I going to do and what is going to become of me in the future? I know I would meet friends, but despite this, no one is capable of overcoming the emotions that a new country produces in a young heart. (p.87)

In May 1883, one year ago before he departed the Philippines, he writes:

Yesterday, one year ago I left my home to come to this country [Spain]..I kept recalling all that had happened to me since then. I took my diary and read it, which reminded me of faded impressions. Though sick, I’ll continue my diary because I see that it is most useful and above all it consoles the soul when nothing more remains of its former treasures…It is exactly one year ago that I left my country! Should I curse or celebrate this day? (p.89)

However, despite such feelings, one cannot also overlook Rizal’s optimism in his travels, much like a youth eager for adventures. In a letter to F. Blumentritt in March 1887 (Alzona, 1961), Rizal tells Blumentritt that he will be leaving Berlin even though he does not know yet where he will go:

I don’t know yet where I’ll go. I have in my blood the wanderungslust (strong desire for wandering) of the Malayans. I always have it. Humor and opportunity for this! (p.33)

From this point, it is crucial to note that the sadness experienced from leaving does not entirely erase or invalidate the feelings of excitement, joy, and curiosity during our longing — such feelings can exist together simultaneously — perhaps one might find themselves in the middle of an unfamiliar street on a beautiful spring day, experiencing nostalgia and wonder at once. What we can derive from here is that Rizal’s student life abroad is similarly parallel to what some of us feel when we are away from our homes; that when we think about Rizal’s life abroad, it is not always days of aspirations and achievements, but it was also tinged with sadness and melancholy, of longing — and that he was also able to cope from it, perhaps through journaling, sightseeing, conversing, studying, among many others.

There are numerous similarities we can draw from his experiences. For example, despite being occupied with his travels, Rizal’s dedication to his diaries remains all the more fascinating. It brings to mind some of us who similarly express our thoughts or vent their rants through journaling. For those away from home relying on allowances, Excel sheets became fundamental in tracking our expenses. In his travels from 1884, Rizal also lists even the mundanest of his expenses — how much a bath cost him, a dish, a newspaper, a postage stamp, a supper with a friend, a box of matches, lottery tickets, buttons, or a shoe polish (Rizal, 1961, Reminiscences, p.93–96) — even tracking the money he receives from those who owed him. It might also come as a surprise that in some letters sent to his family, Rizal frequently complained about his allowance from home, which was occasionally delayed and insufficient (National Heroes Commission, 1884).

Rizal’s letters to his family during his time abroad, from 1882 to 1887 and then from 1888 to 1892, overflowed with vivid descriptions of his encounters and experiences. However, it remains evident that every detail he shared was also infused with a sense of melancholy and profound yearning (Ocampo, 2013). He often sought ways to reconnect and gain a sense of home. For instance, in October 1882, Rizal in Madrid asked for food from his family in the Philippines, which could be edible remedies for homesickness:

Tell me when you write what things you are sending or will send me. It is not necessary however that you send me all the things I mention above. I believe that the tamarind, [bagoong, pickled mangoes], and guava or mango jelly would be the best, although it is not the mango season… (National Heroes Commission, 1882)

From time to time, he requests that they update him on random family members while in Madrid:

If sometimes it may occur to you to write me, tell me something about the affairs of the family, for although I can’t do anything for it, nevertheless I’m sufficiently interested in it to wish to know what is happening. I would be happy. (National Heroes Commission, 1883)

Either because of continuously speaking solely Spanish or other foreign languages while abroad or due to a lack of people to converse Tagalog with, he asks his family to correspond in Tagalog instead. This was apparent in a letter from his sister, Saturnina, acknowledging his request:

Dearest Brother, I have read that you want to hear the Tagalog language, or our language, in order that you may not forget your origin… (National Heroes Commission, 1883)

While in Germany in 1886, Rizal constantly wrote to update his family on his trips, Christmas in Europe, and asked his family to keep on writing to him.

This is how I have written you, filling four sheets of paper without saying anything, which shows that one can write even when one has no news to tell. Please write me. (National Heroes Commission, 1886)

During this period, his hometown was struggling with agrarian unrest, resulting in him receiving fewer letters from his family around 1886. In his subsequent letters, one can witness his earnest requests for them to continue updating and corresponding with him. Consequently, he now fervently expresses his heartfelt longing to return home, particularly acknowledging the desire to assist better if he were present. Rizal emphasizes this sentiment in another letter in June 1886:

It is my serious and ardent desire to go home, for it seems to me that I cause too much expense and I wish to help the family in whatever way I can. I’m tired of Europe and I’m afraid to ruin the family, for they say that business is very bad. I wish to go home as soon as possible in order to be with you. (National Heroes Commission, 1886)

When these experiences of Rizal are brought into the common light, we are reminded of his vulnerability, youth, and inherent humanity — the desire to explore new places comes at the cost of feeling guilty when things are not going well at home, his craving for local food resembles how immigrants plan trips across states to visit the nearest Jollibee branch or how I buy damp pili nuts in Baguio, Rizal listing expenses and being thrifty abroad — at one period, he wrote to his sister Maria, in December 1882, where he admitted not having taken a bath since the middle of August due to the expense involved (National Heroes Commission, 1882) — how we yearn for ‘chikas’ from family members and friends, and how we also long for them to write to us too; complaints and reproaches about delayed or insufficient allowances, or even forgetting specific translations in our native language because we have become accustomed to speaking another. Such a striking similarity exists between today and the experiences of even a century ago.

One can further explore his sentiments and homesickness in the poem he wrote while he was in Germany entitled “To the Flowers of Heidelberg”, the text brimming with nostalgia, inspired by his afternoon’s musings in Neckar River and his yearning to be with his country (Guerrero, 1963). The poem conveys Rizal’s request for the flowers to speak for him when they arrive in his homeland; however, in the last stanza, he expresses concern that the flower’s fragrance might fade as it will arrive far from its origin, perhaps symbolically conveying the guilt of serving another country rather than his own.

In March 1887, during his correspondence with Blumentritt, Rizal sent a self-sketch to his friend, noting in his letter that when he was making the drawing, “I was very sad because I was all alone and sick and I was longing to go home. I still feel the nostalgia but not as much as before.” (Alzona, 1961, p.151). This intimate and candid expression from Rizal brings to mind my own experiences of homesickness and an anecdote from Saint de Exupéry’s (2018) “My Little Prince”. In the story, it is mentioned that when someone is profoundly sad, they find solace in sunsets. The narrator once asked the little prince if he was sad on the day he observed forty-four sunsets, to which the little prince remained silent. During my earlier weeks in Baguio, I recall watching several breathtaking sunsets setting on our window as our dorm faces the west. If someone were to peruse my phone gallery, they would notice that from July to October, it is filled solely with pictures of the sky. However, I also recall that my homesickness usually intensified, especially during those gloomy months of Baguio, when it was always raining, and there were days of little to no sunlight. So perhaps the snowy, somber weather in Heidelberg, while he wrote the poem, may also account for Rizal’s heightened sadness and nostalgia. In March 1886, he wrote to his family that it had been very cold and snow fell during that time in the mountains and the city. However, in another letter come the last few weeks of March, he corresponded of a change in spirit:

Winter is over and this is now spring. Here the changes of the season are greatly appreciated for a great contrast is noted in the change. After the cold of a severe winter, after so much ice and so much snow and so much fog…Now my windows are open; I hear and see the children playing noisily in the square whose trees are beginning to sprout again. This is so beautiful that one feels like singing. (National Heroes Commission, 1886)

Sometimes, weather, it is true, does influence how we see and feel things, and it is nice to know that even our national hero, Rizal, might also be susceptible to these natural shifts. Finally, as we near the conclusion of this part, it is noteworthy that by August 1887, Rizal was finally granted the opportunity to return home. In a letter to Blumentritt in April 1887, Rizal announced that his father had permitted his return to the Philippines. Despite the long years of his longing for home, upon his departure from Europe, Rizal did not scorn to bid a poignant farewell, he writes: “Despite everything, I feel a sweet melancholy for having to leave the beautiful, free, cultured, and civilized Europe, but I will be more useful in my country than here.” (Alzona, 1961, p.183). It was a fitting farewell to the land where he envisioned ourselves equal to the colonizer, the country where he learned to love the land of his birth even more.

Having delved into Rizal’s life in the preceding paragraphs, examining his sentiments from 1882 to 1887 while being away from his homeland for the first time, we can glimpse his humanity from one of many angles. Did he have flaws? Did he have the tendency to prejudicial thinking? Did he indulge in youthful antics? Were there times he was problematic? Was he ever drunk? Does he cry? Are there moments of intense sadness or hatred? — answers that one can read within his writings. As Ambeth Ocampo (2021) puts it, Rizal’s unfortunate fate was to become a national hero in a country that does not read him — a disposition that I am also guilty of because, truthfully, this has also been my initial encounter with some of the texts I have outlined. And I have learned that one way to honor him is to truly read him, study him as a man and himself, and not objectify his life. By drawing parallels between our lives and his, we might understand that he may have once felt for what we felt too, that there is flesh in our fossilized heroes; in this context, that is simply the humble, gentle sentiments of missing home.

Reflections On The Modern Filipino Diaspora

In Rizal’s time, one can infer that the opening of the Suez Canal, the influx of liberal European ideas, and the ascent of the middle class played a crucial role in the departure of the affluent ilustrados and are factors for their travels and diaspora abroad. Nowadays, when dwelling on homesickness, it also juxtaposes the prevailing trend of Filipinos seeking opportunities abroad, highlighting a pertinent dichotomy: the contemplation to leave versus the longing to return home.

While browsing the internet, I frequently encounter posts on PH Reddit communities with titles like “How to Leave the Philippines Forever” and “Mission Objective: Leave the Philippines After Getting Your Degree,” among many others, that when you sometimes search with keywords: PH, Reddit, Abroad, you will most likely come across discussion threads on immigrating for good. My auntie, who grew up in the US, was once asked if she would still return to the US even if she had sufficient funds to live comfortably in the Philippines. When she responded with a yes (and that the question is not about money, but quality of life), it made me ponder what life she envisioned, what kind of life Filipinos truly deserve, and when we might experience it. Why does it seem easier to attain a desirable life abroad than in our own country? So, in such discussions, I cannot do anything but feel how it saddens me, and it makes me wonder whether our attitudes toward leaving the country might have drastically changed. Have the aspirations of our youth differed? Are our degree choices influenced by the international opportunities it offers? Has the child who once dreamed of becoming a doctor to aid the needy locals realize that seeking a life overseas is more pragmatic? Instead of experiencing the sorrow of leaving one’s homeland, like how Rizal “weeps to leave his country, the seat of his affection”, why does it appear that the predominant emotion upon leaving is relief and happiness?

The term “diaspora” traces back to the Greek word “diaspeirein” illustrating the natural but forceful separation of seeds from their origin; Diaspora typically involves substantial migration due to various factors like coercion, including economic motives, better employment, while also having a lasting connection to the homeland (Aguila, 2015). According to the Commission on Filipinos Overseas (2021), data from 2000 to 2013 reflects the ongoing dispersion of Philippine society. Alarming statistics from 2013 indicate that among the 10 million emigrants, nearly half of the Filipino diasporic population have chosen permanent migration. This substantial trend reflects a significant shift in the landscape of the Filipino diaspora, indicating a noticeable change in how the population is choosing to engage with their home country; it also underscores how the enduring presence of homesickness can be an intrinsic part of the Filipino diaspora experience, a poignant truth ingrained in migration — that despite the eagerness for new opportunities abroad, there exists a profound emotional connection to the homeland, resulting in a complex duality within the diasporic community.

As Filipinos venture abroad for work or opportunities, they grapple with the emotional weight of leaving behind familiar landscapes, cherished traditions, and beloved family members. Despite pursuing a better life or economic stability, homesickness manifests as a reminder of what is left behind. But, over time, distance from home may also result in fading memories and growing comfort with new environments, complicating reconnecting with one’s roots. This notion reminds me once more of Rizal’s poem about the flowers of Heidelberg, illustrating how akin to a flower losing its fragrance when removed from its origin, there is a fading essence when one is distanced from its roots. Such constant flux creates a polarity that underlines the Filipino diaspora experience and highlights its multifaceted nature.

What prompts aspirations of leaving? In discussions with friends, financial considerations emerge as a primary driver. In online forums like Reddit, individuals cite the pursuit of better work-life balance, whereas academic discussions on Twitter often emphasize educational opportunities. My distant relatives attribute it to the availability of safety nets, particularly free healthcare and retirement provisions. Clearly, the motivations for leaving are varied, but at the end of the day, migrating prompts are a delicate balance between the pursuit of a better life and the emotional ties that anchor individuals to their roots. Ultimately, discourse on the Filipino diaspora embodies aspirations, economic prospects, and an enduring connection to one’s heritage. Reflecting on this complexity often leads me to ponder innocently: Would our ancestors have disapproved, or like me, could they only feel saddened by Filipinos seeking a life away from their birth land, even if it promised security, fulfillment, or the opportunity to live a life they truly deserve? Even to me, it remains a lingering, uncertain thought, yet by examining this divergence, the narrative encapsulates the new challenges brought by the duality of yearning for familiarity and the pursuit of new horizons — resonating with Rizal and many other Filipinos longing to be home, while also acknowledging the contemporary contemplations for a life abroad.

I only wish Rizal had included his sentiments about such topics in his writings because, at this point, I am simply curious and would really want to know: What would Rizal say about all of this?

But, of course, how can I demand such insights from someone whose context is rooted in a different time?

Conclusion

Sometimes, even as I write this paper, mostly perhaps due to awe, I find myself momentarily forgetting that Rizal was real, that he is not fictional or a mere figure in the articles I have read. He is not confined only as a poster on a classroom wall. That he had lived the same time my great-grandparents did. That he was also young once and felt for the longings of home. When I was young, my dad would sing to me “Lolo Jose” by Coritha — “Si Lolo Jose, si Lolo Jose, si Lolo Jose ay matanda na, ngunit mahal ko pa si Lolo Jose, kahit siya ngayon ay laos na”. The song says to honor and cherish Lolo Jose, who was once a great leader but is no longer in his prime. Initially, I thought my father was referring to Jose Rizal because, as a child, it appeared whimsical to call Jose Rizal “Lolo”, but it was never explicitly stated if the composer truly meant “Lolo Jose” as Jose Rizal. Lately, when I have reflected on it, I have consistently found comfort in my interpretation: that it can certainly refer to Jose Rizal, and looking at it that way humanizes him.

Heroes, because of how we tend to perceive their statues only as relics, often seem distant. Their towering reputation, narrated in history courses and textbooks, makes them seem more far-fetched, creating an intimidation that hinders us from grasping their humanity. These figures, cast in bronze statues, make it hard to truly connect with their stories and understand who they were as people. Bringing them back to life beyond statues, markers, museums, frames, and pages can be challenging. Yet, in exploring Rizal’s notes from his life abroad, I encountered a small sense of that humanity, a comforting glimpse during moments in his travels, naivety and homesickness that resonated with someone so mundane and young as me.

In Rizal’s time of unfamiliarity, we glimpse his humanity, mirroring our own. This exploration invites us not only to celebrate his aspirations, ambitions, and genius but also to seek moments where we can recognize and relate to ourselves, perhaps even in his nuanced experiences of sadness, longing, and vulnerability. It is within these shared sentiments that we find a connection that goes beyond time, linking us more closely to what were not only the grandest but also the most mundane, seemingly smallest moments that made Rizal the first Filipino.

— My final paper on the Life and Works of Rizal, January 2024 (unedited)

Reddit posts mentioned

Reddit. (2023). r/Philippines — An appropriate title. (Mission objective: leave the Philippines after getting your degree). Reddit. https://shorturl.at/jtxW0

Reddit. (2022). r/Philippines — How to leave the Philippines forever. Reddit.https://www.reddit.com/r/Philippines/comments/x6bpv4/how_to_leave_the_philippines_forever/

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References

Aguila, A. (2015). The Filipino Diaspora and a Continuing Quest for Identity. Social Science Diliman, University of the Philippines Diliman. https://journals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/socialsciencediliman/article/view/4798

Alzona, E. (Trans.). (1961). The Rizal-Blumentritt Correspondence Vol. 2 Part 1 [1886 -1889]. National Library of the Philippines — Digital Collection, Jose Rizal National Centennial Commission. https://nlpdl.nlp.gov.ph/ED10/monographs/1961/398-30390/bs/datejpg.htm

Commission on Filipinos Overseas. (2021). Statistics | Commission on Filipinos Overseas — Office of the President of the Philippines. Cfo.gov.ph. https://cfo.gov.ph/statistics-2/

Guerrero L. M. (1963). The First Filipino : A Biography of José Rizal. National Heroes Commission.

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Ocampo, A. (2013). An edible cure for homesickness. Inquirer.net. https://opinion.inquirer.net/47367/an-edible-cure-for-homesickness

Ocampo, A. (2021). Rizal Without the Overcoat: Magisterial Lectures. Areté Ateneo.https://arete.ateneo.edu/connect/rizal-without-the-overcoat

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National Centennial Commission. https://nlpdl.nlp.gov.ph/ED10/monographs/1961/102-12713/bs/datejpg.htm

Saint-Exupéry, A.d. (2018). The little prince. (I. Testot-Ferry, Trans.). Wordsworth. (Original work published 1943)