Inspired by and written for fanfiction[dot]net/s/5251546/1/Log_of_the_End_of_the_World . Read it first please~

DATE:

I read everyone else's entries first. I didn't really care what Germany said. Since I got here I haven't said a word to anyone, and nobody bothered to get me to talk. They probably think I'm traumatized or mute now. Whenever I write, I'm always filled with the desire for someone to read it, so I hope someone does.

I don't really know how to gather my thoughts anymore though. Memories of war and death blend into the images of fallen buildings, peoples' limbs sticking out underneath rubble and debris, and the silence.

The worst part is the silence. It almost feels like everyone is only waiting to die, only wanting to die.

I always had this dream that I would slowly die off while Juan became the dominant representation of the Philippines. I would always remind him to be "the man of the house," and that he'd have to become more responsible when the time came. In the dream, I just had a really bad disease of some sort, but I had enough time to say goodbye to everyone and reminisce about my glory days with them. But the war was too sudden, too abrupt. It escalated way too fast and nobody had time to realize we were destroying ourselves, and that this time, we actually died. Juan jumped at the opportunity to fight for Alfred, even though he couldn't fight so well. Neither of us could, but we had to. I was hoping that Juan would end up staying in the Philippines while I fought somewhere else, that he wouldn't be there to see me die, and that from there, he could move forward as a nation.

That was my "new replaces the old" notion. But the war blew everything back into a broken, desolate time with no technology or innovation, where everyone starved to death or died because someone coughed on them the day before. Nothing new survived, at least not where I was.

I was there when he died. A bomb fell in a village while I was in China. I rushed immediately to where Juan was, but in my haste I kept tripping on the scattered dead on the battlefield. By the time I reached him, his eyes already could no longer see. He probably couldn't hear either. Or feel anything, now that I think about it. He was dead already. But he was smiling, because he knew that I'd run to him. He knew that it'd be better if he died with a smile instead of a contorted face filled with pain. He was wrong. It killed me inside.

The scariest part is that I didn't cry back then. I haven't cried yet even now. I don't know if that's just another thing the war did to me or if there really isn't any reason to be sad. Juan isn't here to see how broken the rest of the world is. He died halfway through the war and fought only in Asia. But then again, he won't be here when, if, things get better again. He won't be here to see the future that he was to live out.

The day I found the others in London was horrible. It had snowed and it was cold. I always yearned for snow in the Philippines, and I was always in wonderment when I visited Alfred in the winter. But the day I came here was shit. I had been walking aimlessly for weeks, in no direction in particular. I heard from some mortal people about China and Japan having been there and how they were bringing other nations with them to somewhere else. So I started traveling in the vague direction the group of people pointed for me. The journey didn't seem too long, so maybe I had been traveling fairly quickly. Unlike the people and places that seemed to fall apart at the touch, I was almost unscathed. I wasn't the one who died.

I didn't know when it started getting too cold, and I didn't realize I had reached snowy lands until my legs were too weighed down to move me forward anymore. I was numb anyway, so I didn't stop walking. I kind of regret not taking those boots from that one dead soldier I came upon. But it would've been too big for me and it probably felt colder for the dead man. It took me a while to find everyone. Of course they had all decided to stay in some underground dwelling for the winter, and I was so tired that even after I found it, I didn't really feel like going in or telling anyone I was there. I laid down on the snow and decided to rest. The snow was fluffy.

When I woke up underground, Yao told me that Germany had found me. They thought I was dead at first because I wasn't moving, but my heart was still beating so they brought me in.

I must've been the most unlucky nation there was. When I embarked to go to London, I had just missed China and Japan. When I got to London, Lithuania had just left. Antonio and the Italy brothers had left the day before. And apparently Turkey, Greece, and Madagascar left the day before that. Alfred wasn't even there.

That guy probably couldn't even die if he wanted to though. His states are too many, and so are his people. Alfred is too human not to at least fight death. He is too much of the hope that everyone lost, and too much of the dreams we all had. Alfred is too much of everyone, of me, of Juan, to disappear or to die. I haven't spoken to anyone because the first words I'll say out loud will be of Juan, and Alfred has to be the first to hear them.

Maybe if Antonio had only left a week or even a few days after he did I'd be a bit less pissed off. Just reading his log entry made me wish I could hope a little bit more. But he was wrong when he taught me Christianity forever ago. God didn't save us. Nobody saved us. Nobody could save us. And we couldn't save anybody. But even without God, there are people surviving. Even without meeting a single other nation on my way here, I met humans, trying their hardest to live. At least I can still believe in people. I think people who can die have the largest capacity to live.

I've realized that people work the best under the worst circumstances. Or maybe it only seems that way because nobody expects anything to come out of nothing? But when things are going great, nobody tries to change anything. Sure, there are people who try to invent new things and make life even easier for people, but we slowly lose what it means to be alive when we stop depending on ourselves. In a way, the war opened my eyes to this. I only wish that others could see it too. Everybody else is too busy breaking down inside or dead.

It's probably wrong of me, but watching everyone work around here now is pretty funny. Everybody's personalities are all wrong and the longer we live, the more they die as each day passes. It's like a badly-written situational comedy—how almost nobody speaks and the air is filled with awkward hesitations to say something, anything. It's hilarious to watch, but I can't even laugh because it reminds me too much of being happy. My sense of humor must have changed.

I don't know what kind of blessing anyone can give in this kind of situation. I've read a few, so I guess I can try one:

Work for the things that you can, wait for the things that you can't. Live with what you have control over, but accept the things that you don't.

This is my warning: Don't die. You can be killed and you can be destroyed. In that case, death is forced upon you. But if you chose death, you will die. Don't. When you do, though, die with a smile.

To Yao, don't ever regret living so long. Sure it sucks that you have to watch everything pass you by, but living means you can be there when all the good things come back and the new things arrive. I would never regret having an older brother like you for a little bit longer.

To Antonio, you were wrong about a lot of things, but you made me who I am. Don't you dare die while I haven't even had the chance to see you yet. Hopefully Romano keeps you in check and your stupidity doesn't make your health any worse. Wait for me.

To Alfred, fuck you. This is all your fault. Hurry up and get here so I can punch you in the face. You were always so important to us, so vital to our being, and you weren't even there to know what happened to Juan. I'm going to stay right here, in this God-forsaken camp that failed to plan ahead, and wait for you. I don't care if you run in screaming that you're the hero. But for once, please don't come too late.

To Juan, you should've studied more, should've been a bit more serious about life. Maybe then, you would have realized that you don't have to be any kind of "hero" like Alfred was, because you already are. I'm sorry for putting too much pressure on you. I always saw you as the future of our country, but only after you died did I realize we were only both the present. I miss you. And I hope that if ever there was another Philippines after me, another younger sibling, that he would be nothing like you, because it would kill me again inside to see that smile.

- Maria Cristina Gabriella de la Cruz

The Philippines

When I first made my Philippines OCs, I didn't know what to do except that I needed more than one. Not only are we too family oriented that I had to make a family, but throughout Filipino history I felt that the Filipinos would always have more than one side to everything that happened. After a while [after that dream I had of Tina dying; yes that was real], I decided that Tina would represent the older Philippines and Juan would be the newer one. Tina always holds the past dear so that the future, Juan, can be the one to move forward.

Here's some of their bio info:

Name: Maria Cristina Gabriella de la Cruz (Tina)

Age: appears 19 or 20 [she's technically a little older than Alfred, but she looks younger just because]

Eyes: black

Hair: black/really dark brown

(brief, undetailed) History: She's been trading with China since she was old enough to communicate with other people. She has a peaceful relationship with all the Asian nations, except for that one time in WWII when Japan took over. She has long since forgiven him. She is heavily influenced by Spain and loves him for bringing her European education, ideas, and culture. But because Juan couldn't get along with Antonio, she and Antonio had to fight against Alfred and Juan. When Antonio lost, Tina accepted Alfred, whom she secretly respected because of his strength and determination. But later on, she demanded independence for herself and her brother, so he let them go after he thought they could do well on their own.

Personality (before the war): She has always been respectful of her elders and held strongly to tradition and family values, wanting only the best for her little brother. She's a little tsundere towards Alfred because he destroyed what she had with Spain, but knows that both she and Juan are better because of Alfred. She's very independent, studious, a little shy, and tried a little too hard to make things better for other people. She's the stronger of the two siblings, but often held back for Juan's sake.

Name: Juan Andres Samuel de la Cruz

Age: 16-17 [but he's taller than Tina already]

Eyes: dark brown

Hair: black

(abbreviated) History: As long as he's know, he's been fighting off anyone who tried to take over the Philippines. He hated Spain for beating him and he tried to revolt all the time, although he always failed because he was actually really weak. He got an education and learned a lot because of Spain, though, but he still tried to fight back at Antonio who bullied him nonstop. He regards Alfred as a hero for trying and succeeding in making Spain leave. And since then, Juan had always wanted to be like Alfred. In WWII, Juan was again powerless against Japan, but Alfred saved him and Tina again. Since they have been independent, Juan has been moving forward and trying to catch up to Alfred.

Personality (before the war): Although a little weak at fighting, Juan was always optimistic and hyperactive. He knew how to be polite, but otherwise he was like Alfred and hated being under the rule of someone else. Juan always did his best to enjoy everything he did, but underneath his carefree attitude, he was always worried that his sister would someday disappear and that he'd become helpless again.