Initially, I planned a solo trip to Sagada. Not because I wanted to try the outdoorsy feels of Sumaguing Cave, or the memorable “hike” to the peak of Marlboro Hills, or shout my heart out while being engulfed with clouds at Kiltepan, but because I decided that I was going to appreciate Sagada before I vanish from the face of the earth.
This trip was my life’s metaphor.
I did not know that Sagada was a paradise for the active and fit men and women of the universe. I, however, have not visited the gym in the past 11 months before I made the trip, never exercised. I don’t even walk that much. When I’m done with work everyday, I would lounge around and stare at my phone or read a book. I was living a sedentary life. I thought I could just ride a habal-habal or tricycle from one place to another when we get to Sagada.
Never was I so wrong.
We had to walk. We had to freaking walk from our AirBnB place in Ambasing Rd to the pasalubong centers and cafes and restaurants all lined up beside the road. It wasn’t just a simple walk. We had to walk uphill. And because I had no workout prior to the trip, Joy and Prans would excitedly visit pasalubong centers, while I would focus on catching my breath. My left foot also would not cooperate. I felt like I had spindles all over my foot and that it was being sawed from me everytime I make a single step. It was painful. Yes, I dared question the universe why they don’t have tricycle in Sagada, but the place is just too beautiful to be polluted with diesel and noise.
The walking was painful but I never gave up. My left foot would hurt so much when we would trudge uphill. One morning, after a “cold welcome” from Sagada, and a change of plans and schedule, I experienced being engulfed by fog. I appreciated the beauty of the fog but I was bothered with my foot.
(The change of plans was because our trip for Marlboro Hills was supposed to be at 4:15AM but because our host wasn’t able to make prior arrangements, and when she finally did at the last minute, the jeep would not start, we rescheduled the trek to Marlboro Hills at 9AM instead.)
Since we woke up early for the Marlboro Hills trip and we have more than three hours of time to kill, we decided to eat breakfast first at Sagada Brew. At 6AM, Sagada Brew was close. Again, we walked uphill to St. Mary’s church since Joy wanted to visit a specific establishment that makes coffee. The walking hurt again. I felt like my left foot was being pricked by a million needles and I couldn’t do anything about it but to continue walking. I would rest for three to five minutes and then walk again.
When we reached St Theodore’s Hospital, Joy and Prans suggested that I take Flanax. I agreed wholeheartedly. I bought two caplets from the pharmacy and felt the relief after more than half an hour. Joy went to visit the coffee-making house alone and Prans and I decided to take photo ops beside a cliff, with pine trees as our background. The waiting and the rest was the best part of it.
Because when Joy came back, she “turned” me into a fan of a famous rainy day staple: champorado. Prior to that, I
don’t like champorado because it’s like sweetened lugaw with milo or chocolate. But when I tried that one bowl of delicious goodness, it was a small victory for all champorados in the world. With daing at that. Right then and there, I became a champorado fan.
After becoming a champorado fan, we went back to Ambasing Rd, ate breakfast at Sagada Brew and prepared for our trip to Marlboro Hills. I was not expecting anything for the Marlboro Hills trip. Before the trip, we met Kuya Popoy, our tour guide. In Sagada, you have to hire a tour guide when you go to various spots. And the universe gave Kuya Popoy to us, along with our red van driver Kuya Roger.
Little did I know that the red van that we would be riding was an omen for the kind of trek that we’d take before we reach the peak of Marlboro Hills. Because the trip was as painful as my feet muddled with orange soil. We had to take shortcuts on bushy areas. The shortcuts and the mud was not a problem for me. But the upward slope of the trek going to the peak was a pain. I had to stop so many times and control my tears because I didn’t want to be a crybaby.
Ginusto ko to eh! I told myself. And I kept praying: Lord, Lord, Lord, please don’t let me slip. I don’t want my Bench shorts to get muddied.
So I continued on. Joy would take photos of us walking while Prans, a mountaineer herself, would wait for me. Her presence, along with Joy and Kuya Popoy’s made me press on.
The journey was really cold while going to the peak of Marlboro Hills, and I felt like the clouds were just above my head. That made the trek fun.
But the pain on my left foot still bugged me.
It disappeared when we reached the peak, and were welcomed by bountiful servings of macaroni soup with bits of hotdogs and corn (?) from the natives selling food and water at the peak of the hill.
After I devoured the macaroni soup, I went somewhere near the view of the valley, sat on a rock, and wept.
And I wrote this on my phone notes: “I weep for all the bad things I’ve done. I atone. This is my journey and my life isn’t over.”
And then Prans and Joy came to see me and I cried even harder. I said the place is so beautiful and yet I fail to see life as it really is. That life is so much more beautiful and yet I have suicidal plans.
It was a vulnerable moment for me. I was one with nature, the nature spoke to me, and I cried my heart out. It was therapeutic. It was my wilderness therapy.
After wiping my tears away, and taking several beautiful photos, Joy said that I’m going to make more mistakes in life. I forgot half of what she said because I was focused on my own interpretation of what she said.
That we are going to make a lot of mistakes in life. The important thing is to learn from it, and not to beat ourselves too much because of those mistakes.
We went back after that ordeal, washed our feet with the water that we brought, and rode the van to Echo Valley to see the hanging coffins. It was a very steep descent and ascent to see the hanging coffins but I was able to manage it with the help of people around me. Kuya Popoy even joked here and there and it lightened the mood. Seeing the hanging coffins made me realize my own mortality.
We capped off our second day outdoorsy tour at Gaia Cafe where Joy took artsy photos and I pigged out on adobong tofu and vegetables. Prans had a delicious banana muffin. It was the best of times.
We went back home, took a bath, ate most of the stash that Joy brought during the trip, and slept. We did not go out for dinner but we stayed at our place and without the Netflix, we just chill-ed. Literally.
On our last day, I woke up early and took a bath. And then the battle started and this why there’s “this is a metaphor” on this piece. Ambasing Rd going towards the bus station is uphill right? And my backpack has 35L capacity. My pack was really heavy, and when we were trudging the road, my left foot started to hurt again. It was hurting really bad that I considered staying in Sagada for the rest of my life until such time that they decide to introduce tricycles there. But no, I did not push through with that plan.
I pressed on. I persevered.
I was determined to go home.
And so to encourage myself and to focus all my energies on one thing that I badly wanted at that time, which was to reach the bus station unscathed, alive, well, and without being carried by other people, I uttered these words while walking: This is a metaphor!
This is a metaphor. When my left foot started to hurt really bad and I wanted to quit.
This is a metaphor. When I was entertaining jumping on the side of the road and just die already.
This is a metaphor. When I would rest to gather my strength and come back, even if my left foot hurt more than ever, determined to finish the uphill climb.
This is a metaphor. When I shouted to myself and encouraged myself that I can finish the climb, that I can go home.
This is a metaphor. When I reached the bus station and there were people waiting, and I was able to sit down and I felt really, extremely accomplished.
This is a metaphor. This is a metaphor. This is a metaphor. It was my Sagada mantra. And it helped me survive.
When the bus was leaving, I started listening to worship songs and tears just flowed. I was saying goodbye to a beautiful place but I was saying hello to a stronger me.
The reward of the mantra? A sea of clouds whilst on our route to Baguio. Pure heavenly. Extremely majestic. Beautiful.
Grace alone.
Photo © Franciel Breis
The Prodigal Kid 