Finding Home

The waves sounded like drum beats with sudden, angry movements of a woman's hand. Anger--one that has been kept in. Now it comes out in ragged gasps like buried sobs. Quiet then loud. Clapping one after another like dominoes on sand. "Ruin. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation." Elizabeth Gilbert's words resound in my head. There is no moon. Only stars. Millions of them shone against the curtain of black. The wind blows from the mountains. The colored flags, pale and shadowed in the night danced in the wind.  My bare feet dug into the soft, grainy sand, finding its respite. And while my body can find rest, my mind wanders with the question, "What will I learn this time?" Miss Ailyn tells me, "Gibutang man ko sa Ginoo diri." God put me here. Tears in her eyes, heart on her sleeve, she has done wonders for the community here. There is so much more to the story than what the national TV show, G diaries has show

We passed this place too many times in the past. A road sign planted at the corner where we turn right greets us every time we go to the mountains. Today we finally turned that right corner. The road is small but passable. We turn another right and we've arrived. We alight from our vehicle.  The air is cool. It is quiet. Water pouring from the clay pot fountain sounds.  We walk the tiled steps onto the veranda overlooking rich foliage, mountains and a river down below. The dining area is small, enclosed by glass windows floor to ceiling. We enter and homemade cheesecake greets us at the door,  Halo-halo too. We order lunch. I go outside again and explore the place. Numerous butterflies flit from one plant to the next. Fragrance in the air permeates from different herbs and spices. Citronella leaves are in a clay pot filled with water. Underneath, coals unlit rest. I walk gingerly, swaying this way and that,  careful not to disturb the green living things.    

"Ako po si Ronald, Surf Instructor 'nyo," he says. He holds out his hand.  He is slim in stature, around 5'3" tall. He has clean-cut hair and an easy, kind  smile. He is only 18  years old, a grade 12 student at the local high school. He lays the board on the sand and says, "Sir, Ma'am, 3 safety rules muna tayo, bago mag simula." (Let's know the three safety rules of surfing.) He proceeds to orient us with it in a clear, gentle but very firm voice. While he is laying out the rules, he looks at my husband. "Nakuha, Sir?" (Did you understand the rules?) He then turns to look at me.  "Ulitin ko Ma'am ha."(I'll repeat the rules.) He repeats the rules this time directing them  specifically to me. And then he looks at both of us and says, "Last time Sir and Ma'am ha. Para sigurado." (Just to make sure, I'll repeat it one last time.) Ronald reiterates the safety rules the third time. A good 15 minute

"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

"An enormous landslide on the way to the Alto Peak Campsite due to heavy rains," our guide said. What must it sound like when the ground gave out? The shifting of the earth, the breaking down after years of holding it all in? A climber bemused, "Yep, we do have a lot of baggage." We thought she was referring to her group's bags and supplies. And then she continued with a grin, "Emotional ones. " She sprained her ankle while descending from Lake Janagdan. Her load was too much for her size and yet she endured it until well, her ankle gave in. What loads do we carry when we march on that trail of no return? Why do we march on that trail of no return? And how much of it is ours to carry or do we need to carry, really? Or, do we take on that path so our baggages may be unpacked? So our former selves may be shed off by dust, mud, rain, mist, fog, sun, meager footholds, thin nylon ropes that burn our palms? Or because physical pain is

Dear Alto Peak, We saw you clearly this time from Mt. Aminduen. We also saw your deep valleys, your deep ravines and elegant ridges. Clear as day, we saw you. And you are beautiful. We also heard the wind that is your friend from the Pacific again, though not as loud but still as insistent. Her message crisp, clear saying, "Welcome back, my friend." Love, Bea Photo: Sulfur Rock April 29, 2017 Mount Aminduen Brgy Cabintan Ormoc, Leyte

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

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