Descendants of one of his sisters.
You'll see a lot of Rizal's letters, some mga love letters niya sa iyang mga chicks...
You'll also see his clothes. Mubo ra man diay si Rizal. Looking at his clothes, he can't be more than 5 feet tall.
But what he lacked in height, he compensated for with his extraordinary intellect. They say he spoke 22 languages fluently, that's just so amazing to me.
....ah it is so very romantic! I've written so many papers on Rizal and reading about him from western academians praising him and reading the interpreted version of El Filibusterismo and Noli Mi Tangere...it really makes my spine tingle. Its almost crazy because the image I have of the man is like...almost a divine one. To me, i cant help but see him as a christ-like figure, he died for his people--and faithful to God to the very end!! Dios Mio!!
I sometimes get side tracked and forget that he was also but a man...with the same ailments as you and I, the same sins, vices and human needs as well. When you talked about his clothes and letters----my immediate reaction was "Dr. Rizal wore clothes? " hahaha, but you know what i mean, 'te.
Seriously tho---i plan on visiting this museum---it will probably the closest way of me ever getting close to the Great Rizal. The man that I've obsessed and passionately read about through these years....
One of the greatest quotes I adore of his was his from his last work, "Mi Ultima Adios"
¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
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The english translation is:
Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun,
Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our vanquished Eden!
To you I gladly surrender this melancholy life;
And were it brighter, fresher, gaudier,
Even then I’d give it to you, to you alone would then I give.
In fields of battle, deliriously fighting,
Others give you their lives, without doubt, without regret;
Where there’s cypress, laurel or lily,
On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom,
If the home or country asks, it's all the same--it matters not.
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