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by Anjenelle Amante
After a three-day, tranquil experience in the land of pines where the weather is pleasingly cold, tourists who crave for the sugary taste of peanut brittles, strawberries and other native treats flock and echoes of a historic past linger softly in the present, I am back to the place where waking up to the soothing aroma of brewed coffee is a recurring experience.
It was as if I slipped into a time warp when I thought of the events that transpired during my stay…
Every wind blow never failed to bring biting cold to my already chilling body. Upon arrival at Baguio City, I had to snuggle in my jacket to take solace on what little warmth it could offer. It was a good thing that minutes later we (a classmate, two teachers and I) were riding on a taxi towards the hotel. Otherwise, we could have frozen from so much cold.
At daybreak, we began to explore some historic and picturesque spots in the city. I felt a cross between excitement and exhaustion. Though I couldn’t contain my eagerness to see the marvels of the city, I was aware that my body needed rest for being weary from the eight-hour trip. Ironically, I even managed to pose for some pictures. Maybe I got carried away by my companions’ lively spirit. Maybe it was my subtle sense of adventure that kept me going or maybe, it was the weather plus the mystifying beauty of the scenic spots that captivated my elusive eyes.
After eating our breakfast and roaming around downtown, we checked in at the hotel. Hours later, we were taking the zigzag road to the Philippine Military Academy. Thereafter began our thrilling search for the perfect pasalubong. All the while we were imagining each receiver indulging to the sweet taste of peanut brittle, strawberry jam and lengua de gato to their hearts’ content. The hunt was as exciting as shopping for on sale clothes at the flea market. But we had to hurry back to the hotel where the three-day training-workshop was about to commence.
I engaged in all the activities, absorbed all shared information, interacted with other participants and downrightly delighted in every minute of being a tourist lost in rapture to pleasant sights.
The people were warm to visitors, vastly accommodating even. They were more than willing to answer queries and tell stories about particular landmarks. The combination of heartfelt welcome and the entertaining company I was with intensified my desire to stay there for as long as I wanted. The idea was hilarious, I know, because we were supposed to be there for only three days. But then, I seriously considered moving to the place. The trifling reason: my passion for chilly winds and cold weather. It was an idea that I later found to be totally absurd.
When the entire event ended, I was reluctant to depart. I even told silly laments to my classmate. However, just like a campus setting, I knew that the bell has rung and I, inevitably, must return home.
The ride on the bus back home was another story…
I came to realize many truths… However agreeable the weather in Baguio was, I still prefer the torture of enduring the sultry heat of the sun on a typically warm day, the glorious feeling brought by the sudden outpour of rainfall in the midst of summer and appreciating the slightly cool winds brought by – ber months in Batangas.
I have always longed to start the day taking a sip of kapeng barako and smell its invigorating aroma. Whenever I go to different places and people ask me about our very own balisong, I was always willing to talk about its first-class features. It was an emblem that would forever be a part of our identity– something to take pride of.
While lost in these thoughts, I obliviously dozed off. I woke up with a strong longing to reach home without delay.
I finally got home in the wee hours of the night. I was awakened by the daylight straining its way into the slightly opened window. I got up with a feeling of wholeness, knowing that I was back to the place where I left the pieces of myself.
I was just away for three days but I never knew three days could be such a long time. I was surprised how I missed everything (especially my books which cluttered the same old desk) and my siblings at home– at our place.
I’m aware, however, that Batangas isn’t a perfect place. |Some areas get flooded when the rain falls. Some vendors cheat. Street kids are everywhere, following people around with their palms up. There exists a growing number of out-of-school youth. A lot of people are pessimistic.
Despite having such flaws, I would still choose Batangas over Baguio or any other place. Besides, I believe that these imperfections can justly be surmounted by its inherent splendor and the inner goodness among its people.
Batangas may not be a perfect place. But this is home – my home. I’m just so glad that this is the home I will always have to come back to.
