Finding Home

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

Memory of quiet,  rustle of trees as we tread  on broken branches and dead leaves Memory of ravines, Memory of tell me again, why did we come here? Memory of where is the end? Memory of how far? Are we there yet? Memory of relief at the sight of a clearing  small enough to fit five people Memory of the sound of the wind,  the feel of it like a cold cloth on our burning skin. Memory of fog, a gentle song closing in. Memory of a four-winged creature  fluttering up the trail with us. Come with me, it seemed to say. Come, sit, stay, breathe Memory of hands touching earth,  gripping tree trunks for balance,  heel digging,  mud on clothes even after an overnight soak, Memory of heart pounding out of one's chest, Memory of knees shaking, legs heavy,  temper flaring, silence. Memory of finally arriving Starving, feasting, story-telling, more laughter And then, Memory of "Yes, I will come back for you again." Lake Janagdan Brgy Cabintan Ormoc

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

The conditions were far from ideal. Rain, wind, mud, more mud, slippery trail. The cold, oh the cold. Seeping right through the bone. Like love in the throes of eternity. But we promised ourselves. And we followed through. So yes, also like love that refuses to be denied, Alto Peak, we will come back for you again very soon. March 30th, 2017 Alto Peak, Site D Brgy. Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

"I've lived here for as long as I can remember and I have never been to Mt. Aminduen." a local said.  I've lived in this city for more than a decade and I have never been to the mountains, I thought to myself. We chose a middle of the week day. We hoped the sun would finally come out as our good, old, reliable weather forecast system predicted it would. But of course it didn't. Torrential rain drenched us to the core.   "Leave no trace," the sign right at the bottom of Site D was spelled out in bold letters, but barely visible because of the fog everywhere. We trudged onto the peak. Mt. Aminduen, there you are, I breathed. The rain continued to beat on our backs, our faces, our ears. The wind gusts were strong, tremendous, painful even like needles pricking our skin. We had to stay low on the ground or else we would be swept away.  White density embraced the air. All we could see was each other's faces if we we were close enough. I clos

What must it be like,  if I stand on the patch of earth,  Right where the end of the rainbow falls? Would my skin be in rainbow colors too? Yes, beautiful, indelible tattoos Would I hear the wind, rain and trees sing? An orchestra of beauty What must a rainbow smell like? A waft of beautiful memories, Friends turning into family If I stick my tongue out, what must a rainbow taste like? Sweet, delicious A burst of  everything deep Profound conversations Like dark chocolate but better My fingers run through the colors, what must it feel like? Soft, gentle Tender, electric Kindness of strangers From faraway lands What must it be like, if I stand on the patch of earth Right where the end of the rainbow falls? Majestic light Colors on skin Singing trees Beautiful memories Friends, family Kindness Love, that is both Tender and Electric What must it be like? All of these.   Photo taken at Brgy. Milagro, Ormoc City, Leyte, Philippines

"I am terrible with goodbyes," I say. We take one last picture. The van drives away. We go back inside.  There are only two breakfast plates left.  The painting of a vibrant red rose greets me. Love, it seemed to say. The guest room is cleaned. A frame sits on the side table. On the wall, the white rose painting hung. Quiet,  it gently said. I am terrible with goodbyes. Time flies so fast. The days are too short. I need more than sixty minutes in an hour. The words flow. Laughter fills every room. Stories are told. Many of them, one after another. Movies. Food. Family. Travel. School. Careers. Passion. Love. Life. Home.  I am terrible with goodbyes. Tyler, our Dutch Shepherd looks at the bags and luggage lined up at the gate, whimpers. Or maybe it is just his ears bothering him. Garret peers into the guest room, eyes questioning.  "Where are they, Mama?' he seemed to ask. I remember the day. I am wrapped in an embrace so tight. I have never been hel