Come you, May. Come you may read.
I couldn't help but think of what I did on the first day of this month together with my friends, whom I was getting to know up until now. The restlessness, adventure, and magical moments speak so much of my experience in that place called Tabogon. I invited them to my "spot"—in which the sentimental Gen Zs termed—that is my favorite among any other places I have visited. Well, it was literally a spot, a wind and a wide window overarching to the horizon of what you can see. Figurative, isn't it?
At exactly 4:00 A.M. in the morning, we prepared the things and food we would need for a one-day stay in one of the most isolated mountains in Tabogon, Cebu, and rarely is how you define it if someone asks how often people visit the area. It is indeed a lonely spot because it is too far from the town, which you would need to walk at least almost an hour to reach the peak—for those that are new to climbing steep mountains.
We rode from San Remigio, Cebu, to Dakit, Bogo City—the entrance to the place we would visit—and it took only twenty-five minutes before reaching it—not to mention the driver whom we pressured because we were desperate to meet the sunrise above the mountain but never did. From Dakit, we headed to Manlagtang, Tabogon, with a landmark of a wide covered court, signatured by kindergarten facilities where the young natives study. It was almost quarter to five in the morning when we reached the court, and the adventure—or let me say misery—begins at the back of that towering court.
Behind the court of Manlagtang lies the path to the top of the mountain I cannot reach with my breath, whilst walking. But I tell you, in the very beginning, the place is already a landscape of fantastic and magical features, where nature takes your breath and the earth breathes your heart to your own content. Towering coconut trees, green grasses (literally), a sunbeam, and an unknown path would welcome you warmly for your journey. Silence is what you can only hear, and the birds are your only companion, except the scarecrow the natives made for their crops. It was my first time taking scarecrows as cute, gentle beings rather than what horror movies portray. They also served as our guide when we headed back to the town, with their color-coded long sleeves.
Walking is where the adventure really begins, from the heaviness of our bags to the weakness of our knees and very bones. Yes, it is actually fun walking and trekking, but what made us not enjoy fully the journey is our bags fully equipped with unnecessary things—such as the teapots we didn’t use because we didn’t have things to make hot water—and camping equipment we thought would help us relax but ended up getting us tired the whole day carrying it to the top. The direction or slopes of the path are alternately different; sometimes we would walk downward for a moment, and sometimes we would walk upward for a longer time—thrice the times we walk on straight slopes. We walked at least 30 minutes before we saw ourselves in a kubo (a traditional hut) that the natives built for the visitors who would want to relax for the time being. Given the limited time before the end of sunrise, we immediately headed to the top. That took us fifteen minutes in total before reaching, because the more we walked to the top, the slower our walk became due to the steep hills we encountered. For the record, we walked forty-five minutes in total with heavy bags loaded with things like Doraemon, and when we reached the top, everyone was already dizzy and tired and had any other effects that a non-warmed-up trekking would leave to us.
We prepared our food immediately after we had ourselves back. As planned by the group, we only bought food that is complementary to the nature trip we would have, and that's the history of our vegetables and fruits in the photos paired with ready-to-cook food. We had plenty of food and snacks for the day, and the group was so happy about that. Yet, when the realization that we didn’t have enough water hit, everybody's smiles turned downward. We only had six liters of water for the whole, scorching, and burning day, with no access to a water pump or rivers (if there's any). However, it made the best meme-ory, for the group calculated every cup of water a person needed to drink and divided the water gallon into six—pertaining to the times a friend could only drink for the whole day. With not enough water, our snacks and food were not that useful to eat, but still, we ate and thought of the problem every after we felt full. It was indeed a survival for all of us, but a fake one.
We made the remaining hours memorable by scribbling figures in my sketchpad, talking about anything but life—because we already had enough—contemplating, and answering the call of nature by just using the leaves since we forgot to bring tissues and alcohol. What highlighted our activities that time was when we picked different kinds of flowers and put them in a paper that, until now, is kept in my cabinet. They all dried there, and I think they kept all the memories we made by drying while I was touching them multiple times in the mountain. We had a good therapy in the area, and sometimes we would walk barefoot to soothe our bodies. Sometimes, we would intentionally get dirty, and oftentimes we would want to burn our skin to mark our friendship.
I also had a good read of the books recommended by my fellow writers—traveling the world of Ikigai under a tree squeezing above the tent we installed and making the world move slower than it actually is. I had enough time to put value in the hours I have spent in the place, and up until now, I still can remember the hue of the clouds that day, the end of the spring. Sitting with the view of an endless horizon allowed me to recollect the moments I have had before in that place—the love I made with a friend, the escape from reality, and the bond with my family. Almost all corners of that tiny spot have something to do with my memories and the people I brought there; it holds deep meaning of how fleeting meeting people is and the temporary comfort they give.
When the clock hit 4:00 P.M. in the afternoon, we started packing our things and prepared for a tiring journey again. But this time, it was much easier than going to the top, and the only challenge we had was how much length of time our knees could endure when walking downward without slipping on the slippery ground. Eventually, we reached the town before the dark and stepped our feet out of the entrance. It was dark already when I got home—tired and sleepy.
The feeling of being satisfied and full of life every time I leave a certain place I learned to love motivates me to visit more places. I guess it is the reflection and lessons I could earn that drives the thought. Ever so often, we stumble upon unexpected places that we aren’t sure of liking, but in a glimpse, the place just lights differently whenever our souls attach themselves to the heart of the place. It is like a firefly lighting itself when disturbed by our own kind hands—symbolic and magical.
My experience in that place holds so much love in my heart that I could visit it again and again in different seasons. It was the best of the times I had deep reflection of myself and the life I am having, like a mirror I have to find in such places I could adore. I, for a long time, with no doubt, would search for other places that I could share with you, my dearest reader. And tell you the beauty I find out.
Again and again, I will find those kinds of places, with heart, with love, and with meaning.