Finding Home

"Millions", I gush at the sight of them. I only know them to be blue, never lilac-colored. The husband says, "Never mind planting this at home. We will come back to the mountains again and again." Kuya Ramil laughs at this. Again, everybody knows I am no green thumb. We go back to their house where the guides are gathering. Newly cooked Balanghoy immersed in Latik is waiting on the wooden table that Kuya Ramil himself built. Kuya Loloy, our guide when we climbed Lake Janagdan in May, had harvested coconuts for us before we arrived. I ask, "Are these from one of the coconut trees that Kuya Loloy said marked the end our grueling descent from Lake Janagdan?" I was already cranky and irritable nearing the end of our climb at that time. Kuya Loloy had to tell me, "Relax lang Ma'am. Smile." And I responded with something that was the complete opposite of what he had suggested. We all laugh at the memory. Kuya Danny then t

Flowers greet us every time we arrive. Bright orange, brighter than citrus fruits, soft periwinkles, fuschia pink, yellow ones that resemble that giant orb in the sky, blue violets too that remind one of dusk. As I alight from our truck, the wind, cold but not freezing, blows brushing gently my cheeks as if prodding, "Remember me?" The mountain air greets me too. "Ate Nancy, can these flowers grow in our garden?"I asked having not a single green thumb in my body. She is amused at my question. She, who has filled her home with all the above-mentioned beauty. Ping, the 17 year-old guide, who wants to be a teacher spent the week at our home doing part-time work, smiled. She knows there are no flowers like these in our home. There are only fruit trees in our backyard. Kuya Danny, the oldest of the mountain guides arrives. He is around fifty years old yet looks a decade younger, his jovial heart two decades younger. We recall a few months ago how h

Dear Wildflower of Cabintan, I don't have earth hands. Plants do not seem to grow from these palms. But I have eyes. Eyes that marvel. Nostrils that savor every scent of you. Fingers that are gentle so as not to hurt you. And fingers that are quick to type on keys to write about the beauty that is you. I hope, for now, this will do. Love, This amateur explorer with eyes that marvel, Bea Brgy. Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

The quiet The holding onto almost nothing And yet Everything Hung in the balance Of words and the loss thereof. April 12, 2017 Lake Janagdan Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

Dear Mountains of Cabintan, I have not forgotten you. I find myself returning to the memory of your crisp air, soothing wind, rich earth, frog song, bird hymns. My heart has been racing lately for all the good reasons. A dream has been made into reality. And if there is one thing I've learned from getting lost in the beautiful nooks and crannies and various parts of you, it is that I must resp ect all the trails that have led me to where I am today. I shall return to get lost again in your arms very soon. This amateur explorer, Bea Alto Peak Site D Brgy. Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

Dear 17-Year Old Guide, You walked as fast as the staccato beats of Djembe drums. My breath, in hurried gasps, my neurons stimulated to last me a week. Most of all, my heart, oh my heart, you made it bursting with fire and light. You said, "Nag-agad ra man ko ninyo , Ma'am." (I was only relying on your pace.) As much as I was flattered, it was the best this 36-year old body could do. Never mind that I am twice as old as you are. But really this letter is less about me and more about you. You, will go far. Your persistence and the fire inside you will bring you to places many people only dream of. Your light made me arrive at this realization-- That whatever dark place I am in, for as long as I do not stop putting one foot in front of the other, I will get to the other side. Perhaps that is why you and many others we have gotten the privilege of knowing are aptly called "Guides". You lead the way, clear the path as we trek and climb the trails.

Dry bag, water, food. Appropriate hiking gear- long sleeved dri-fit top, trekking pants, trekking shoes, bugspray. Two able feet. Two hands that don't mind getting down and dirty. Eyes that marvel. Lastly, Mindfulness and A sheer spirit of adventure. April 23, 2017 Hot Springs Brgy. Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

"Unsa na'ng naningog ron?" I asked our guide. (What are those sounds?) "Pakra na Ma'am," he replied.  (Forest Frogs) I thought they were birds. Their croaking was loud it was as if there was a whole orchestra of them. Probably there was indeed a whole orchestra of them. And then slowly the fog descended enveloping the entire lake. A slow dance of white water droplets to the rhythm of "Pakra" sin ging. Here I was all muddied and tired from the climb which they aptly described "assault" all the way up and then the very steep descent with only a nylon rope, muddy and slippery patches of earth as foot holds to hang on to for dear life. Here I was. And then somewhere hidden in the vicinity of the lake were "Pakra" croaking so loudly it sounded like choristers belting. And then the fog appeared slowly, carefully, intimately, quietly. In that moment, somehow I knew, the Universe, in all her ways that are simple

Dear Red-tailed Dragonfly, You flitted and flew about. I was poised and ready to capture your beauty but then you refused to appear in my frame. And when I put my phone away, you mischievously appeared. Somehow you told me, just sit and be still. Put that dang thing away. Open your arms, float in the hot tub of sulfur water, close your eyes and know I am here. You are here. Sit, Bea. Be still.  Alright, I will. Love, Me Hot Springs Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

"Just a 30 minute walk," Isaiah, our guide said. So of course we thought, easy breezy. But we forgot this was the mountains. The concept of time here is different. And so we trekked down, the Hot Springs already a clear image in our heads. We had no plans of doing Lake Janagdan or something like her anytime soon. We climbed down steep trails, crossed 3 rivers, tread on slippery rocks, stepped on uneven paths, wet, dry, mud before we finally reached the Hot Springs. "So tell me again, where did you come up with the 30 minute walk?" I asked our guide. He laughed. We laughed. It was a Sunday well-spent. If there is anything the mountains have been teaching me, it is that I do not know half of what I think I know and that whatever answers I have come to seek, I will find it in always, always going back to the earth. April 23, 2017 Hot Springs Barangay Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

March 30, 2 017 Alto Peak, Site D Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte Note to self: When people are heading to the sun and sand, you, on the other hand run to the mountains. When others seek the comfort of lush rooms and manicured views, you prefer the rawness, brashness of vines, ridges, ravines, steep climbs. When most people want big crowds, you choose the quiet, the intimacy of moments with people who matter more or with people who let you see what matters most. Yes, Bea, I think you are doing alright. Yes, you are. Now go on with it.

March 30, 2017 Alto Peak, Site D Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte You climbed up the mountain with shoes not meant for climbing. The weather was brutal. But you forged on, wet to the bone. You haven't been in good shape for quite some time now. No CrossFit. No Yoga. No nothing. All you had was hubris and maybe 30 minutes work of mobility. Still you forged on. Serendipity. This uncanny wisp has been holding the wheel leading you, directing you to this truth: Your imperfections make you whole.

April 12, 2017 Lake Janagdan Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte Our guide told us a story about men who have lost their way in the mountains, because they were brash, loud and arrogant, boasting of how well they know the mountains. He told us how his own father was bitten by a wild boar because he didn't make an offering to nature. "Halad sa Kinaiyahan, " he told me. Coming to the mountains, one would think as Thoreau did, "I went into the woods to live deliberately..." What did he mean? Perhaps what our guide meant. To not be careless or reckless. To be humble. To be mindful. To give respect to Nature. To honor the earth. Questions to ask now that I am back to the daily grind: What does humility mean? How should I live it? What offering can I, must I give to this life?

April 12, 2017 Lake Janagdan Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte Our guide said you are "Bonsai". To my knowledge, Bonsai are miniature representations of nature in a form of a tree derived from ancient Chinese horticulture then redeveloped under Japanese Zen Buddhism. Any tree can become Bonsai. Trees with small leaves make the ideal Bonsai, it has been said. Small creations from this vast, big realm of nature. A thought: How to remember every little thing that has taken hold of me on this magnanimous journey? Halfway through the climb up Lake Janagdan the sign said, "Take nothing but pictures..." So of course I took a photo of you, you beautiful creation. You, so named by our mountain guide as "Bonsai". How could I not? Bonsai, a miniature. Delicate in nature. Memories, precious and precarious, even more so. "Bon" a small dish or container. "Sai" a tree planted in the small container. How to not forget?

I remember the rain camouflaged the liquid on my cheeks. I don't know what made me tear up. Maybe it was the myriad of events that led me to this. Maybe it was the difficult trek down. Maybe it was the finally coming together of plans made long ago. Maybe it was the cold, the cold that seeped through the three layers I wore. I remember wanting the time to pass more slowly. I remember the gravity of water pounding on my back. I remember hearing bird call amidst the roaring current underneath. I remember not caring that my teeth were chattering. My lungs seemed to expand into this glorious, cavernous space. I remember breathing. Breathing like never before. March 30, 2017 Tres Aguas Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

What did Frost mean when he said, "I took the one less traveled by"? How does one define roads? And what is it to travel? I haven't been to many places. But I do know that in the few places I have arrived at, I take to heart the small details: fern colors that are not green but maroon, the air smelling of fresh Chinese pechay, rocks piled up creating this tapestry of texture, bird call amidst th e roaring falls of Tres Aguas, soda crackers and 3-in-1 coffee lovingly served to warm our shivering bodies while the wind and rain continues its tirade outside, our breath forming white smoke from the cold. And best of all, goodbyes that promise an inevitable next time. So again what did Frost mean? I don't know. But for me, roads are paths that call me out, to notice life more. And travel is one that leaves my body aching in all the muscles that ought to ache, my quads and hamstrings (ha! am I feeling it now!) and of course, the most important muscl

"When one touches the earth, one feels more alive," she says. And then she goes to the kitchen and makes tea. She comes out minutes later carrying a tray. Baby pink roses, various leaves float inside the carafe.  We talk about many things. The mountain air. Corn coffee. Basking in the moonlight in the rocking chair at midnight. Talking to God, the Universe, the angels.  The cold that runs deep to the bones. Family. The intricacies of relationships of a parent to child.  Friends. How we need only few. Only the necessary. The expectations to act in a certain way in a culture where outward appearances are overvalued. And the blatant determination to remain true to oneself. We talked about food. How she loves growing and making it. How we would love to eat it soon. How she does not mind the tediousness of preparation and cooking. Tedious, in fact is not in her vocabulary. But passion is. So is joy. These two are inseparable it seems. We talk about Yolanda. How being s