Text and photos by Prime Sarmiento
[Note: This is my entry to “Your Life-Changing Travel Story” travel writing/blogging contest organized by Wego in partnership with Cebu Pacific Air, the Tourism Promotions Board, and ABS-CBN Choose Philippines.]
This is not about a cool weekend escape from Manila's heat. This is not about the bargaining frenzy in ukay ukay [second hand items] stalls. This is not another rave on Good Shepherd's ube jam. This is not about picking strawberries in La Trinidad. This is not about communing with the Pink Sisters.
This is not about nights spent in the many bars and pubs in Session Road, smoking, drinking, chatting and listening to home grown bands. This is not about having coffee in one of those bohemian cafes with walls covered with paintings, black and white photos, installation art, and shelves brimming with beaded jewelry and freshly baked bread and bottled strawberry jams, and I thinking how I can possibly afford them, pack them, bring them all the way to Manila, as a gift to my family, as a gift to myself.
This is about Baguio. This is about travel. This is a travelogue. But this is not what you might come to expect from a travelogue.
This was about being stranded in Baguio, in October 2009, at the height of typhoon Pepeng. This was about me, staying in Baguio, worried on how will I ever pay my bills if I get stranded here for weeks.
This was about me going to SM and panicking that I would end up sick and hungry if the heavy rains continue because no stores, not even SM, would accept credit card payments because the typhoon caused some connection problems. This was about me being ridiculous, worrying over something as trivial as a credit card, inciting me to do another round of my drama-rama.
This was about me in my loser mode, stuck in my room, watching tv reports of flooding and landslides and evacuees crying for help. This was about me frustrated over the absence of internet connection.
This was about my cold sleepless nights, of a whole array of blankets, socks, jackets and mittens that failed to keep me warm.
This was about me having breakfast with L, the innkeeper, discussing the latest news – that Baguio city was now isolated as bus companies canceled their trips to and from Manila owing to floods and landslides.
This was about me keeping calm. This was about me suddenly remembering all those stuff that I read in my books on Buddhism and yoga and other new agey things. This was about me letting go of my inner control-freak.
This was about me accepting that I was powerless, that there were some things beyond my control.
This was about me learning to go with the flow.
This was about me learning – finally – the real meaning of letting go,
This was about my decision to shut off the tv. This was about me treasuring the silence that comes from within.
This was about me praying. This was about me thinking of ways to help the typhoon victims. This was about me realizing that I can do something worthwhile.
This was about being a journalist and how I was lucky enough – nay privileged – to be in a profession where I can actually make a difference.
This was about me getting out of the rut, stepping out from my room and intent on doing a job I'm supposed to do.
This was about me going to evacuation centers to check on the typhoon survivors. This was about me interviewing local officials and development workers helping the victims. This was about me learning about a soup kitchen that was set up to provide hot meals to the survivors in the evacuation center.
This was about me filing an in depth feature on the typhoon, hoping this report will at least show to the world what is happening to the victims and how we can all help them. This was about me calling my editors to give updates and feedback.
This was about meeting with a fellow journalists in one of those dark, noisy bars, exchanging what we know, seen or heard about the typhoon. This was about me listening to another crying journalist, recalling her interview with the relatives of the victims of a landslide in Benguet.
This was about me thinking of something beyond I, Me, My.
This was about being grateful of daily miracles.
This was about waking up one morning, greeted by sunlight, clear skies and warm weather.
This was about a hot mug of brewed coffee, a time and space to write.
This was about a walk in the Botanical Garden, grateful of the pine trees, the flowers, the birds that chirp.
This was about me being thankful to be alive, having another day to fulfill my soul's purpose in this lifetime.
And finally this is about journeys and their capacity to heal and transform.
