CAPSUNIAN ECHO

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐍 | 𝗙𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗔𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗛 

by Marya 

“Ang ating pag-iibigan ay muling masusulat sa huling pagkakataon.” - Carmela Isabella 

Most of the time, fans are patient. They wait in the quiet corners of social media, keeping screenshots of old promises, remembering small details from chapters long past. They hold on to hope like a thread, trusting that what they believed in will someday be returned to them.

For the followers of I Love You Since 1892, that hope was MarNella. It was a symbol of everything the story once stood for. Their names were etched into the DNA of the narrative, the faces behind the imagined scenes. 

That is why it hurts now.

When the official announcement arrived that another love team would take their place in the adaptation, it landed softly. But the pain it caused moved loudly through the community. Not because change is impossible. Not because people cannot adapt. But because something sacred was broken.

So when the production moved forward with different names, it felt like more than just a decision. It felt like abandonment.

People tried to understand. Maybe it was a business call. Maybe there were pressures too heavy to resist. Maybe things changed behind closed doors. But all those maybes still could not cover the weight of a promise that was once made so confidently.

Those who stayed since the beginning never asked for perfection. They knew the industry could be unpredictable. But they held on to the words that came from the very person who built the world they loved. When those words faded into silence, what followed was confusion.

What made it worse was not just the absence of MarNella. It was the absence of acknowledgement. The lack of explanation. The quiet shift that left loyal supporters feeling like they were no longer part of the vision.

The disappointment was not loud. It was tender. It was personal.

Many fans have grown with the story. They were there before it was popular. Before awards. Before screen talks. They were the ones who stayed during rewrites and long pauses. What they asked in return was something simple: for the vision to stay honest.

But honesty, it seems, became the first thing to go.

The character is still there, but the real portrayer isn’t. The setting remains, and the story moves forward—but something feels missing. What used to be a shared dream now feels unfamiliar. The connection once built on trust now carries a quiet ache. Is there still a possibility to make the imagination turn into reality—or has that chance already passed?

The love for the book remains. It is too deep to be undone by one decision. But love without trust becomes fragile. The kind of fragile that does not scream. The kind that walks away quietly.

Most of the time, fans will forgive. They will move on. They will find a way to support, even from a distance. But they will always remember the version of the dream that included them. The one that was promised. The one that never came.