Macro Journals

Sunday, January 25, 2015 Cagayan de Oro City (CdeO), The Philippines

The only other time that I recall feeling this relaxed on a Sunday is when I am in my own hometown. The sky is blue, sun is up high and bright and the wind is gentle. The perfect background music is the rustling leaves in this tree-filled neighborhood which is in perfect harmony with the incessant and vibrant chirping of myriad birds. But since I am not in one of the high rises in Makati anymore,  I get to have a bonus: a neighbor who heartily belts out his videoke playlist. Earlier it was Maybe This Time, now it’s This I Promise You. It’s not that his singing is bad but I hope that this will not be routinary. On weekends, I prefer bird music over a friendly neighbor’s free concert performance. 

It’s almost a month since I moved out of the Metro but work still feels like vacation. I get to discover something new almost everyday. It helps that the officemates I go out with on client calls during the weekdays are keen on giving me geographical lectures while on the road. 

CdeO is big. There are many places to check out. Food is incredibly cheap. Most importantly, the locals are accommodating. It also helps that whenever I miss Greenbelt or that side of town, Centrio is not bad as an alternative.  But who wants to hang out in a mall when there’s always a promising adventure that awaits whenever you discover a new joint outside the city center or hear of a weekend or after-office getaway. Soon, Northern Mindanao and other neighboring cities will be my playground. I am extremely excited about the upcoming road trips especially those around places like Bukidnon. 

It’s the unfamiliarity with my new location that makes work extra fun. My current friends are those from the office and clients that I have met so far. Almost all of the handful of friends I’ve met years back who are from this city are not based here and those who are here are also busy most of the time. My only assurance is that CdeO is known as the City of Golden Friendship. We’ll see about that. 

The birth pains of relocating include finding a new pad with an extremely kind landlady, spending on new appliances (for the nth time, at least for me), familiarizing yourself with the roads, making sure that you know where the nearest grocery store or ATM is and knowing where the nearest laundry shop (or better yet hiring a reliable laundrywoman). 

What makes all these relocation challenges bearable is the fact that when you are secured with yourself, it gives you confidence when you deal with strangers in an unfamiliar territory. Furthermore, you also get to understand that kindness is universal and reciprocal. People are very much willing to help if you will reach out and ask. It’s only when you have a certain level of security that you are able to present your best self. You will be surprised at the amazing reception that you’ll get from those you’ll talk to. Also, as far as getting around is concerned, I have to say that I will be forever grateful to Waze. 

I woke up today thinking about Zamboanga. I miss my hometown.

It’s probably the Fiesta photos on Facebook and Instagram that elicit this nostalgia of colors and vibrancy. It could also be status updates about parties and get-togethers after work or school. I know that for the whole month of October, especially on the first two weeks, the schedule in the city is erratic. Everybody is somehow thinking of the Fiesta; whether it’s the annual procession leading to the Fort Pilar Shrine or the preparations and celebrations at business establishments, in the streets or at home.

It could also be all these Chavacano posters, video presentations or simply the status updates in my mother tongue. They remind me of the Chacavano Song Festival obscurely shown on either RPN or IBC network. Young and old compete (in Lantaka, always in Lantaka Hotel) then Former Mayor Maria Clara, herself immortalized by her very own Mi Ciudad de Zamboanga (aside of course from her ternos), would announce and award the singers and songwriters.

ABS CBN would also always come out with a weekend special, a sort of synthesis of the revelry. Normally, it would be shot at Fort Pilar, the National Museum or Pasonanca among others. I remember Irene Covarrubias (who for me still did the best delivery among local anchors) and Lynette Marcos (a gracious and beautiful lady who screened and interviewed me for a local award in 2007) hosting this feature at one point. If you missed on some events, because obviously there was still no Facebook annoucnements at that time and if I’m not mistaken posters were scarce and less flamboyant, you could see what happened and who won what in this television program. Actually, if you are lucky, I remember IBC or Skycable airing some of the events real time.

While I may not have witnessed the streetdance– one of the biggest highlights– every year, my parents would always bring me to the open market at the former Main High School campus (now housing the beautiful Bangko Sentral building) leading up to the Acacia-lined and historical street of Petit Barracks. I have a theory that the reason why I love the weekend markets in Salcedo and Legazpi is because as a kid, every October, I was exposed to something similar (aside of course from the yearly AdZU Fiesta which will be another journal).

There were all sorts of food and novelty items: Fiesta shirts, toys, balloons, shades, jewelry, china, clay products and many more. They also seemed to have come from everywhere! One, most of the businessmen don’t speak Chavacano and two; a lot of the products I saw were not from my hometown. I don’t know who organized and put them all together there but I know that it was one of those treats I looked forward to every year. It was noisy, crowded and festive! I am such a nerd as a kid and having read up on barter, merchants and locals converging in one place, I’ve always imagined that this activity outside the Fort Pilar shrine was something like that. It was a history-in-the-making bustle and I was a part of it. I did enjoy choosing and getting what I wanted and what was permitted which was mostly food and cheap sunnies or wristwatches but I will honest in saying that I was an observer who imagined a lot. I saw the businessmen as modern-day travelling merchants, selling their goods to curious locals. In my mind, they still wore colorful tunics and were exotic and foreign travelers and their boats were docked on the nearby shoreline (which is now the Paseo del Mar complex). Of course they probably arrived in Zamboanga by bus or really old ships like Sulpicio or one of those less popular MVs but well, I indulged myself with this imagination.

I’ve often branded myself as a citizen of the world instead of one specific town or province or country. I think it is mainly because of that incessant desire to discover more of humanity in general by experiencing culture and history and exploring the diversity of places. But I will admit that my birthplace will always be special. It’s not only because that’s where my family is based, where old, close friends come from or where some of the most unforgettable memories happened. It’s because all that I am now as a young man was shaped by my experiences back home. They were all not dulce, but it’s precisely that phalanx which gives me a better understanding of myself and my views.

I probably have about a dozen drafts for my write-up to this album. But none doesn’t feel right or seem accurate enough to describe what I saw and how I felt. The situation has improved though. From about 100 thousand internally displaced persons, the number is down to 25,550 individuals or 4,775 families as of June 30. 67% of these individuals and families are in the ‘Grandstand’ (Joaquin Enriquez Sports Complex). It is truly a gated, secluded community of harsh and desperate realities.

Like most of us, I am lucky. I am lucky to have not been born or exposed to extreme conditions like what the IDPs are going through. I am lucky to not have come from a marginalized group.  

It could have been me. It could have been my family in one of those dilapidated tents or temporary shanties. It could have been me at the City Council building; enduring the scorching heat of the midday sun to queue for rice donations. I could have been that kid who, as usual, had no slippers or clothes while playing in a muddy, filthy street. I could have been one of those men asking for referral slips from Camp Managers so my sick family can be checked and attended at hospitals for free. I could have been that little boy, trying to make out of what paper and pencil are left to try to write or draw my thoughts. I could have been the one who was judged second class, mendicant, unproductive and hopeless. But I am lucky.

  I wish I was a Vanderbilt so I could be like Anderson. Then I’d have my own news program where I can talk about the plight of the IDPs. Or maybe a Bunuel, so I can be like Diego who will feature how everyday life is in Grandstand. A crazier wish is to be one of Bill and Melinda’s children, so I won’t have to worry about earning and saving but will focus instead on professional philanthropy or social service work. Even the chance of thinking or wishing about these is sheer luck. I could be thinking and wishing for something simple and practical but I am lucky to have been privileged with these kind of imagination.  

Among the lucky ones, those I consider heroes are the young and determined social workers. They choose to work for more hours than they should be working. They chose to live in tents where beds do not have mattresses or rest rooms are not comfortable. They chose the challenges at the evacuation center, dealing with thousands of needy individuals, than to go home and spend time with their respective families after a day’s work.

It was raining when the plane landed at half past seven in the evening. This was unexpected Zamboanga City has always had some sort of a Middle-eastern vibe in terms of the weather. More importantly, I did not bring clothes for the cold. 

As soon as I stepped out of the plane, there was something about the air that felt right. It was chilly, something that I am fond of. It didn't smell anything as it gently brushed my face. It was pure. It was nostalgic. It felt that I was home. 

There was nothing much at the arrival area of the airport. The lavishly designed iron gates still reminded me that this was built during the Marcos regime. The red brick design was not only old, Spanish-Zamboanga, it also reminded me of the airport in Laoag, Ilocos. The airport's character, though, lies in its Maranao-inspired roof design. This tells anyone who comes to Zamboanga that they have reached Southern Philippines.

While Zamboanga used to be the seat of Spanish government, the fact remains that it is located in the culturally rich and diverse island of Mindanao. The entire edifice is a metaphor for me. The pillars, bricks and exquisite gates are the migrant influences that support the magnificent series of triangular roofing which may have been inspired by the Torogans of the Maranao upper class. The mix was well thought of. It was a promising picture of great elements put together to create a masterpiece. 

As if to remind of the laid-back life that I awaits for the upcoming days, which is not a bad thing by the way, the same (or same-looking) set of conveyor belts brought back memories of flying back and forth to my hometown. I remember one time, it was also raining when it arrived. While waiting for our bags, we were informed that the conveyor was not working. All of our bags were still in the cart just outside the building and I can clearly see them on top of each other. Since the conveyor was just separated by an old wooden gate from the cart outside, the passengers rushed to the cart and every man was on his own. There was little assistance from the airport personnel, everyone grabbed their bags by themselves. 

That incident reminded me of two things. First, we are not yet as advanced and efficient as we think we are compared with other highly urbanized cities like Cebu and Davao. I can only imagine several factors involved why that incident happened. Second, Zamboanga, while a big city with one of the highest population in the country, is still that "small" town where people don't demand much and would rather do things on their own then move on with their life.

Maybe because we are too far from imperial Manila or people just don't care a lot about the Southern Philippines but this sort of neglect (I think the airport is a national issue under DOTC) has taught us to improvise and make the most out of the resources available.

Sure we dread the reality that our airport is not as polished and efficient like the one in Davao and we are vocal about it. But I guess for many Zamboangenos, the basic is enough. And this is something that I always tell myself whenever I go home, that basic is key and I'm going to survive. I like this reminder because it makes me realize that no matter where I'm at, where I am going or whatever crazy circumstances that I'm in, focusing on what's most important and essential gives clarity. Then I'd find myself thinking and feeling that everything is actually not bad as it seems. 

I have never been this excited about coming home. This is the first time that I am returning for a vacation since I decided to come back to Manila two years ago. Though I flew home a couple of times last year, the reason for both occasions was sad and tragic.

It's also a conscious decision not to come back, at least for some time. I have a love-hate relationship with my hometown. I like that its laid-back. But I don't like that it has been slow-paced, in so many aspects, for a very long time, Furthermore, almost all of my close friends are not in the city anymore. Like me, they have also decided to venture out. Some of them had not even come home for years. 

I decided to come home because it's my mom's 50th birthday. I think it's a milestone and something that our family should be elated about. When we were talking last Christmas in Manila, I know my parents sensed that I seem to not have the intention of coming home. I am eternally the good son, or at least I want to be because it makes my parents happy, so I told them right there and then, without even thinking about it, that I'm coming home for her birthday.

It's also just timely that I'm coming home months after the violent, month-long siege that paralyzed the city and wreaked havoc and fear among its residents. I am excited to see how are the evacuation centers now. I want to see for myself the conditions of those displaced and hopefully, I'll be able to volunteer and do something even for a day. 

I also promised myself to come up with some sort of a photo-essay album about my hometown. A lot of friends in Manila and abroad are curious about Zamboanga and ask me about it often. But a lot of them are also cautious. I don't blame them. So I will also take on the role of a field photojournalist in this trip. 

It’s June 30 today. Six months had passed. It’s halfway through 2014.

  How is your heart and how is your love life? Don't ask me coz I asked you first :)

  For the corporate citizens, most especially those in sales, today is a very important day. Half-year targets will be reckoned and semi-annual performance review is around the corner. It is really stressful! At the end of this day, don’t you just want to hang out with a special person and just talk about today’s events? Someone whom you can rant your heart out; someone whom you can honestly, truly, sincerely, unconditionally say is yours? 

  At this point I congratulate all those who are in relationships. Those with husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. However, those that are in "complicated" relationships do not count. To be honest, I think that's more stressful than someone's target quota at work  (if you are doing sales). It's uncertain! And anything uncertain makes you anxious and restless which will bring out the zits in you.

  If there's something I'm envious about people who have partners, it's the fact they have a constant person to talk to. I know it's hard work to keep things together but the upside is, you know that someone is just an FB messenger, Viber, text message, or a phone call away. You don't have to wait until your friends are available so you can discuss things that you want to talk about. And you will never be alone at anything else.

  Having said that, there is actually and absolutely nothing wrong with being single. It works for some people. It's honestly fun as well! No attachments. No expectations. No compromises. No obligations and responsibilities. You're free and independent! 

  But days like this, yikes. Days like this make you feel that the other side may work out just fine if not better. There are days like this when you actually want an attachment. There are moments when you feel that it's okay to expect and you're also willing to do something because it's expected of you. There are times like this when you feel that you can compromise and you would like to entertain the idea of feeling obliged to or be responsible for someone. There are days  when you feel that you have all the love in the world to give, but the problem is, you don't have anyone to give it to.

  Last night, I was having a conversation with a friend who is in a complicated relationship so this friend is technically single according to my standards.

  My friend's advice? "Why don't you copy the City of Makati, Make it Happen!" This was followed by, "You live in your High Tower and those other people live in their respective High Towers. How can you possibly expect to communicate with each other?" (I made some minor changes here because last night, we were talking about a specific someone :P) 

  I'm sure confidence or self-esteem maybe a reason why some people opt to stay in their High Towers (albeit not true for some). It might also be the fear of being rejected. Being turned down is possibly one of the most hurtful, traumatizing and offensive experiences a person can go through. Feeling that you're not good enough and thinking about it (if you're OC, you might be actually looking at every detail or aspect of what you have done or who you are to try to figure why) will make anyone insane. And maybe for some people, they just feel that their Towers are the highest so everyone is at their mercy. Others may be possibly looking for Towers higher than their own. I think, it's a ridiculous and unforgivable thing to measure Tower heights.

  I look up to people who are in relationships. I think it's a brave thing to create something special with a stranger. There's a lot of courage when you risk and take chances, take that leap of faith and just be optimistic that it's going to work. 

  I wish there was a handbook that talks about formula or calculations or procedures on how NOT to be single and be successful at it. There might be several publications out there but I doubt if they resonate true with everyone. There is probably nothing formulaic when you have to deal with feelings. I think you need to spend time, communicate and be with someone in order to fully understand the person in his/her entirety. I doubt if that's something that's explained in detail from How-to books. 

  Every single person out there know that flirting or "complicated" relationships or MU (if this 90s thing still exists) is not the real thing. And every single person knows what needs to be done to get that real thing. (Maybe I should email Fear Factor. One great challenge for single contestants would be for them to gather that courage and approach the people they like!) 

  So it's July 1 tomorrow. Six more months, 184 days. Carpe diem single ladies and gentlemen! Maybe we should. Maybe it's time. Good luck! 

The first thing I did when the elevator opened this morning was to check myself on the mirror. Vain I know. But I just woke up and discovered I misplaced my monthly dues check so I have to rush and pay immediately.I did not have time to shower and fix myself. I was checking my new hair cut. And it was messy.

After a floor, the door opened and came inside a bunch of other residents, about four of them. I caught a glimpse on each one and noticed that not a single person was smiling. Or more accurately, everyone looked stressed and sad. I began to think if I smiled at myself in the mirror earlier. I did not. I was concerned about my unfixed hair. 

Then we reached another floor and another. The pattern is the same. Residents would get in without saying a word, which I feel is normal, but everyone doesn't seem to have a sunny disposition this morning! It's supposed to be rest-day Saturday! 

The elevator can accommodate 11 people, we were around that number and I'm sure our combined weight was heavy. But what was heavier was the silent and smile-less interaction. It was really more of a half-a-second glance and then we go on with our lives. 

My friends and relatives who would come and visit have previously asked if I know any of my neighbors. I told them that aside from my broker, I don't know anyone. They were very surprised. I told them that it's the norm. 

A high school classmate who went to Makati years ago told me, after showing her around Ayala Avenue, that the people look sad. 

Maybe if you reside in one, if not the most expensive city in the Philippines, you'd also feel stressed. Rent is exorbitant. Food prices are out-of-this-world and people can be bitchy so in many cases, you have to be assertive and you may need to "bitch around" as well. 

I think that's the downside of living in an urban jungle.

Sure we don't experience black outs or water interruption, well except if they need to do some scheduled maintenance. Convenience stores and some restaurants are open 24 hours, there are always public transportation. There are usually no petty crimes though there have been a significant number of people jumping from buildings since I moved here in 2008. 

But people always seem to be in rush or thinking what's next or even way ahead of what's next. When we step back and try to see ourselves, we may discover our hollow-looking versions. Our relationships with neighbors, especially if you live in condominiums are, well, we don't really have any relationships. So if you want to be with friends, you'd have to grab a cab (now via phone apps) or drive to get out of the house. Then find a place to dine, maybe a movie to watch, proceed to a club or bar to have a drink if you're in the mood or maybe just chill with wine or coffee. That makes life here expensive. That pressures us to work and keep and focus on our jobs. That perhaps explains why on a Saturday morning, we can afford to look stressed. It won't be though this afternoon, because personally, I'm getting out of the house.

The case maybe different for people with families or husbands or wives or those who are cohabiting with boyfriends or girlfriends. I hope! But that's a different blog, and if theirs is a different story, I might need to explore that. Insert wink emoticon here.

On my way to the Admin office, I saw Mang Tony, the building plumber, who was the first to greet me with a smile today, "Good morning Sir!" What a happy fellow! What an outlier in this building at this time of the day! Though I must say, that on my back to the lobby, I saw him again and he was walking like a zombie. He was probably thinking of his next job so he didn't notice me thus no smile or recognition. 

Maybe to remind me that I can choose not to be a zombie, the guard at the lobby also greeted right before I got in the elevator. He asked whether I don't have work on a weekend which led me to saying that my face is big (there's a gigantic mirror in the lobby) to which he quipped that it was probably my teeth which I thought did not make sense. He was bright and sunny like the earlier Mang Tony. Or maybe it was just his job.

Written on September 14, 2013.

I wish I can relate to Facebook, Twitter and Instagram posts about food trips, travel, weekend parties, songs, TV shows or celebrity news. While I usually find these trivial and unnecessary, it is this kind of normalcy that I desperately wish I had right now.  While weekdays resumed last Monday in most parts of the country, a text message from my mom saying that our hometown is being attacked woke me up. It was never the same since 6 days ago. I could not concentrate at work. I was desperate for news whether the situation was improving. I have been constantly in touch with my family making sure that they are safe. It irritates and scares me if it takes a long time for my parents to answer my calls or respond to my text messages. While the rest of the nation go through their routine, those of us from Zamboanga who are based here and have family and friends in our hometown have sleepness nights and unproductive days. Our thoughts are at home where over 50 thousand people have evacuated and are currently enduring deplorable conditions at temporary shelters. Meanwhile, there is still no good news of a settlement and solution.  The Joaquin Enriquez Sports Complex, where most evacuees are, is filled with homeless, hungry residents. Exhausted but kind-hearted, brave volunteers are there to give food and alleviate their condition. The Grandstand, as we call it, is where locals do early morning runs in its rubberized oval and play all sorts of sports. It was made for the 1992 Palarong Pambansa and has since become the main venue for regular sports and social events in the city. It is bustling with young and old on any given day, swimming, playing basketball, football, badminton, martial arts and others . Students from nearby Western Mindanao State University and Zamboanga West High School also go there to hang out. It pains my heart to see its current state.  Makeshift tents have been built, most sleep on the cold concrete bleachers, evacuees who have nothing but their clothes and few personal items are desperate for any form of relief. The only refuge in Grandstand are the children who run around, play and laugh. They excitedly queue for soup or other relief items as if all of these were just a game. They are oblivious to the severity of the situation, its long-term effects and how this will change their life forever. These innocent children perhaps think that this will come to an end, at some point. If this was a game then it has to have an ending. I wish I can be as positive and as naive, maybe even hopeful that it is going to end the soonest possible time.  Like most of us, I don't know why this happened. What I am sure of is that violence will never be the solution. It will only spawn more misunderstanding and mistrust. Armed struggle will never be an act of bravery but the opposite. It is irresponsible and short-sighted.  We have exerted all efforts to try to bring attention to what is happening in Zamboanga since it started. We equate the attention of national media to the importance of resolving this tragedy and ending it. It took days before the situation had remarkable airtime. This makes me realize that we are not that special. We will not be able to command exclusive attention to our grief and hopelessness considering other issues, which are always serious and never-ending. We know that the world will not be able to understand what we are going through. But we do not wish for the world to experience what we are seeing, hearing and feeling now. The lives of our families and friends are at stake and the future of our city is again uncertain.  We did not choose this to happen to us. I did not want my birthplace and hometown to be a war zone. But there are many questions that do not have answers and there are many realities I cannot change. In times of crisis and amidst despair we have to get our act together. We are abled people. The whole nation might not be able to share our struggle but there is much we can do ourselves. Hopefully we will all realize that despite of uncontrollable circumstances, there are still situations and realities we have a hand on. We can all do something, in words or gestures, so this will have a conclusion.  Zamboanga's sons and daughters may be tired and frustrated but we are also determined that we can do something, somehow, so this will be over and we can all move on.

It was a light, relaxed evening last night. Travel involving the sun and sand in the Philippines usually consists of jampacked days and wild nights. This time it was different.

l took the afternoon off from work to catch the noon flight going to Legaspi City. l was excited about this because not only do I get to see Mt. Mayon and Cagsawa Ruins but also I’ll be able to cross out from my bucket list one exciting adventure- swimming with the giant whale sharks of Donsol.

As soon as the plane reached the airport, I could see from the window the infamous volcano. I should say that like all other nerds in school, the picturesque natural wonder has always interested me, along with the story of the buried church in Cagsawa due to the destructive and terrifying eruption of the volcano.

It was imposing. And the shape was a perfect cone indeed.

When we reached Cagsawa, the sight was to behold. Behind the centuries-old remnants of an ancient church, the volcano stood with all majesty.

A number of tourists were talking pictures and l can see why. It was unbelievable to see something so destructive and flawless at the same.

We took the afternoon van to Donsol in order to get more time to rest for the swimming the next day.

After an early dinner at the hotel, we headed to the pool with cocktails on hand. It was quiet. All we could hear were the occasional chatter from the guests, the maybe countless birds who seem not to get exhausted from all the chirping and the waves. I was reminded of the front desk who said that there was not much of a nightlife because they want to make sure that guests are up early and ready for the swimming time with the sharks.

Normally, I would turn on this app on for the sound of birds and waves once I’m in bed. They put me to sleep. Although almost all of my friends make fun of me because of this, I find it necessary so I can go to sleep easily.

Tonight however, there was no need for the app. Real birds were chirping. The sound of the waves splashing on the shore was very soothing and near.

We had our longest conversation in this trip over breakfast at the hotel on the last day of our trip. They were mostly about high school moments, those things that even if you know you might have talked about in the past but you continue to bring up. Maybe there's always a fresh take whenever we talk about them on different occasions and in different times. Maybe it comes with age, that we tend to have different perspectives of those unforgettable experiences that glued our friendship.

Probably we are also interested to know our versions of our high school saga, those little things that did not mean much to others but was a big deal for some. And because we have grown together, respect each other and value our relationship, whatever issues our 13-16 year old selves had back then now just seem as perfect material for humor and laughter. 

It does help to talk about them after enjoying a bumpy (this is an understatement) 4x4, ATV and sand surfing at Paoay's sand dunes that ended up along a beach with a sentimental sunset. Or simply all those experiences, from the local food that brought excitement to our taste buds, to the colorful history of the places we visited and the seemingly small, insignificant moments but are most of the time the ones that define and solidify our bond. 

Photos by our friend JC Tuclaud.

Follow him at [email protected] 

I have heard about how unreal the rock formations are in Ilocos Norte and was recently amazed when I saw my friend's pre-nuptial photos. It was a sight to behold. But the more or less 5-minute journey on top of a pony going to the breathtaking view was also unforgettable, at least to me. 

My pony went ahead of the four others who had my friends on them. The guide was an old man, and I particularly picked him because I thought he was the most experienced. Albeit  tiny, riding a pony was something I didn't want to miss. Summer was scorching as well in this part of the country and I didn't want to have a long walk. 

I was uncomfortable by the sheer size of the animal and my body weight. But my guide assured me that his pony was strong enough that it usually carries him and his wife. I was relieved.

The ride was smooth. I was even taking pictures of the sites. I asked my guide if we could wait for my friends. He advised against it saying that ponies have the tendency to panic more when they are with a group.

When we were almost at our destination, I felt that I had bonded enough with the pony that I gave my guide the camera and asked him to take pictures while I take care of the pony myself. It was fun. It was different than riding a regular horse. I felt that I was too conscious of my body weight unlike when I'd be on a horse's back where I feel I have to keep my best posture like a real horseman. 

I noticed that there was a shoot going on near the rock formation. My guide, who was still busy taking my photos riding the pony, told me that it was for a TV show. That explains the number of people and guides walking past right us. One of the guides who was walking slightly ahead of, maybe trying to be comfortable with the summer heat, removed the shawl on his neck to try to fix it. The next thing I knew was my pony's from legs went up in the air and I fell hard on my butt. 

There was a commotion and the pony was panicked and was trying to run. I could feel the pain on my behind but my mind was on my left foot which was stuck in the pony's strap. My instinct tells me that I should try to kick as hard as I can until it goes off. Otherwise, the pony will drag me in the rocky terrain. I was scared.

Finally, on my third kick, my foot got off, and the pony run wild. The guide who removed his shawl came to my rescue and next thing I knew, the first aid team from the TV production and other guides crowded on me. They were checking for wounds, scratches, asking if my back was fine. They were actually more worried than I was. They started cleaning up my legs, removing the soil and dust. It was only then that I realized I had scratches on my legs, hands and a long but non-threatening cut on my right leg.

My friends then started to arrive with their respective guides. Three of them were medical students on their senior year so I know I was lucky. they let the first aid team did what they supposed too but they were giving some instructions as well. 

It was unexpected. Who would have known. And I was pretty confident with my pony!

I didn't want this to spoil the trip so when I assured everyone that I could handle it, we proceeded on. And despite of the incident, I'm  glad we did this trip. Kapurpurawan Rock Formation is out-of-this-world. 

I could not help myself trying to do the jump shots at Kapurpurawan and even on our next stop at the Bangui Windmills. Ilocos is lovely and sometimes it comes with a price. But maybe it's worth it! The experience reminds me that maybe I'm right in traveling and daring while I am young. I would not have been able to survive if I was already 70 years old!

Photos by our friend JC Tuclaud.

Follow him on [email protected]

As a UNESCO-heritage site, Vigan is known for its centuries-old, Spanish era houses lining up the cobbled Crisologo Street (Calle Crisologo). The mansions are picture perfect anytime. 

During the day, they make old photos from history books come to life. And at night, they are perfect for lovebirds who are up for romantic, tranquil, night strolls at the lamp-lit street. 

When going to lovely places such as Vigan City, it is best to bring along a good camera. And we are fortunate that our friend who has a passion for the lens is enthusiastic not just on the city's picturesque beauty but also on our vanity. We couldn't help it. The place was just too beautiful.

Aside from the mansions, several other activities and surprises are in store in this underrated northern city. One must not miss the pottery village where anyone can be taught on how to make one (did this on my last trip), the historical churches and their food. Bagnet, which is a nationally-acclaimed dish of crispy, deep-fried pork belly comes from Vigan. The most unforgettable dining places were Cafe Leona and Grandpa's Inn restaurant. And have I mentioned that the best way to get around is to be on horse-drawn carriages?

All photos by our friend Jan Carlo Tuclaud.

Like in any other cold cities, it's best to stay indoors at night. Nocturnals rule the evening until dawn, and in Baguio there are plenty. 

Days before our trip, I asked a friend based in the city if there were any clubs in Baguio similar to those we are used to in Metro Manila. Initially, he said there's none. Maybe sensing my frustration, he quipped that there are two newly-opened nightspots in one of the city's grand hotels. 

My friends and I first went to 18BC. From online reviews we thought we'd be able to grab something for dinner. Unfortunately, there was none on their menu. It was more of a chillout place for live band music perfect for a post-dinner, laidback group date. WE knew we weren't going to stay there and after maybe three to five songs, we left and went to the newly-opened clubs.

Initially, we wanted to go to Nevada Square. Everyone we know has told us not to miss it. Accordingly, it's the center of Baguio's nightlife where barhopping can be done-- literally. I don't know that yet because on the way, the cab driver showed us the two clubs my friend mentioned. As soon as we saw the crowd outside and the place's flashy signages, we decided right there and then, without even consulting each other that we would be spending our night in there-- in Spade and Verve.

Here's the thing, I wanted a lot of Zedd, Avicii, Swedish House Mafia and maybe David Guetta that night. I didn't get 100% of what I expected. Their playlist and the DJ were not the best. However, they had it at the venue, the lights, the beautiful people and well, everybody was jumping when jumping had to be done! There were also a lot of Koreans. We were told that there's a considerable Korean population in Baguio. While they are a fun bunch, they can be rowdy and obstructive at times, but maybe it's just cultural differences. 

Traveling with high school buddies will most of the time make you feel and act like you're still teenagers-- carefree, daring and sometimes a little irresponsible (or stupid) :)

So for this trip, we didn't book our accommodation in advance. We've been told that it's easy to find one from the fixers at the terminal. When we finally chose our hotel, I asked the guy, "Does that room have an AC?" and with a puzzled look he said "Oh no Sir, it doesn't". This was followed by a panicky "It doesn't have an AC?!" response from my companion and me to which our other friend quickly responded, "You don't need an AC here. It's cold. The last time I was here, our rooms also did not have that". And with an in-your-face kind of confidence, the friendly fixer said, "Baguio is centralized air-conditioned." Okay.*

It wasn't that cold. But the 15-20 around this time of the year is exactly what Baguio was made for. The wind was gentle but cold, especially in the evenings. And it smelled clean, fresh and natural.

For breakfast, Pan de Sal from Cafe by the Ruins was not only rich more importantly, it was enormous. The restaurant changes its menu regularly, depending on the available produce during the season. My Mountain Braised Duck lunch made me so full I could have skipped dinner. But this was vacation so dinnerless weekdays do not apply. Besides, we had to have the burger at the infamous 50s Diner where we endured the seemingly endless queue.

Like other tourists, we did the usual itinerary especially because it was the first time for one of our friends. My only condition was that I will never have a photograph with the pink horses at Mines View Park. It's just to circusy as well as cruel to those Albino horses (I hope I'm right).

Visiting one of BenCab's babies, Tamawan Village, was a treat. And in true Bencab/artist fashion, we had our portraits made by the village's resident sketch artists.

It may be the cold that makes the city still laid-back during the day despite of the apparent commerce. But as the sun sets beautifully on the mountain ranges of Benguet Province, the colors of Baguio's blooms attracting all attention during the day is matched by the colors of its unpredictable nightlife.

*The first time I went to Baguio, our hotel room had an AC. I thought, like in other places, it was the standard. Well, it's the opposite! 

All photos by our friend Jan Carlo Tuclaud.

Since yesterday, I’ve been thinking if I should get the latest iPhone 5s or just wait for iPhone 6 which is expected to be available after this year.

I have also been stressed by the thought of either ditching my current phone network or switching to a new one because of internet connection concerns.

When I was window shopping yesterday, I couldn’t help noticing the IPad Air and iPad mini. I want either one but couldn’t decide on it.

Then about lunch time today, a friend sent me a message regarding a shady job offer. He has been wanting to get a job for a long time but because he didn’t finish college, it has been very difficult for him to get a regular job.

I felt disgusted about my problems. When you listen to other people’s stories, it truly gives you a sense of perspective. I actually felt bad about myself and my concerns.

I honestly wanted to help him get a job but I really don’t know how. Everything I think of requires a college degree and he is cash-strapped therefore he can’t go to school.

He was touched by my gesture but he doesn’t know that listening and talking to him made me feel guilty.