Silvering

I am not a big birthday celebrator. The last time we went extra in celebration to the point that we invited guests (not our usual) was in 2020 for my debut. But this year, to mark my passage through the quarter-life phase, I booked an escape from my hometown for five days.

My good friend Art and I refer to our 25th birthday as silvering. I even titled my first book (a compilation of essays about navigating your twenties) the same. But just when I thought I had mastered being twenty-something, my ideological bubble popped. The pain was foreign to me. It hit all my soft spots and more but harder as the days went.

Heartbreak is a killer of peace of mind. Heavy thoughts flowed in my dreams and continued throughout the days. I was sinking in my bed. Complete lights off was unbearable. The dedicated playlists and journal of random to treasured moments turned sadness enabler. I remember attending work and related gatherings, questioning whether the people around me or those I welcomed as the secretariat read in my eyes that my sanity was purely masked.

The valued routine was unreturned. So, I created a workaround. I jogged again since the pandemic, went out with close friends, and watched movies for all the healing sense they could offer. But even with the attempts, the patches were temporary. I needed a break. A good friend and workmate advised that I head to Siargao instead. But despite the predicted breaking down, I thought Baguio was calling me.

Baguio (my version)

In Baguio, I called back the sense of independence I knew in me before entering a serious relationship. I rented a room in Amsing, Pacdal, just one jeepney ride from the Plaza. My day usually started with having breakfast at the McDonalds, Session Road, or as simple as getting a cup of mochacchino at 7-Eleven. I planned my itinerary but pursued most based on my mood.

I hopped into jeeps and learned about routes from random people instead of submitting to taxis like usual. I took meals alone and sat in wide spaces. My version of the Baguio tour included visits to new and familiar spots I missed during my previous visits. Importantly, I dedicated more time to processing my emotions wherever the pain caught me.

In my room or at parks, I carried a pocket notebook titled “Baguio Notes (June 2024)” and poured my heart onto the pages. It knows my anxious yet survivor self. #BreatheBaguio is true. When haunting memories hit me, I breathed in and out exaggeratingly as a habit. There, I re-learned that prioritizing myself and keeping my phone off is peaceful. That getting a discounted book and losing myself in the park is rewarding. And that ignoring a swarm of couples challenging the Baguio curse is possible.

I broke down from time to time. The most memorable was on the morning of my 25th birthday while preparing for an early mass at the Lady of the Atonement Cathedral. I spent the whole morning at Burnham Park writing a poem about being 25 yet still spilling my coffee. More about openness to life and its lessons and committing to self-care.

The first time I visited Baguio, I favored it over my hometown for its fresh perspectives. I still hold the same truth today as I write this fully healed. From a vacationist perspective, it is a friendly place with options for everyone. For the broken people, it can be an avenue for healing and knowing what you truly need. This year, for a couple of mature perspectives.

This year, the hardest lesson to learn is befriending my self after giving it away. Painful as it is, I am here for the lessons.