Disclaimer:
I’ve been keeping this story for over a month now ruminating whether to immortalize this or keep it for myself as an inside joke [or perhaps a lovely story I will share when the time’s right]. But it’s been a while since I last wrote an entry and thanks to the blog of a colleague [which I can’t even understand, because it’s French], I suddenly had the urge to spill the beans and just let the words flow! [Ok, here we go]
It was August last year when I booked a solo flight to Ilo-ilo to attend a regional board meeting and do a mini solo backpacking spree across Visayan Provinces when it got cancelled the last minute. Reason? I was in a transition; I was about to plunge in a rather strange [for me, at least] yet fascinating job and my first day happened to be the date of my trip. Coincidentally tragic, I mused.
So I just held off this dream and waited for the right timing [and reason, too!] to set off again in this journey. It took me six months to find the urge to pull this off, but for real this time. Thanks to my cousin, Kuya Mike, for inviting me to attend our hometown’s Fiesta, I figured that could be a good enough reason for me to go back AFTER 9 YEARS and fulfill my deferred trip.
I tagged along a friend who happened to be as restless as I am and planning came so smoothly [and slowly] I didn’t even realize it’s already April. I had two things on my mind when I decided to do this trip: (1) Go back to my roots and (2) Know my direction. The first thing will only be possible if I will meet [for the first time] my uncle; the oldest among nine children, the priest, the one who knows the truth. The second thing takes time, it always takes time. But I was patient, I was happy I slowly acquired patience over [tough] time.
Airport Drama
I guess the adventure started where it must start: At the airport. Flight’s at 10:20 in the evening and I arrived an hour before boarding. My friend messaged me saying she’s still in Quezon City, traffic’s horrible, no taxi anywhere, hope is nowhere to be seen. Time is ticking and she’s still finding a cab going to the airport. I figured I might have to do this alone…unless a miracle will happen.
At quarter to nine she just hailed a cab but was stuck in a traffic. This is crazy, I told myself while walking towards the boarding area, totally sold to the fact that I must go alone. At nine I’m already writing, trying to convince myself it’s okay, I’ve done this already anyway.
But at 9:20PM I went back to the check-in counter, tried convincing the lady to just let me check in my friend before they close at 9:30 to no avail.
“But it needs personal appearance and ID Ma’am” The lady replied while showing her sweet wicked smile.
9:25PM, no text… 9:28PM she appeared, walking carefree with a winning smile on her cheeks. She made it. We made it. A miracle indeed. How the driver was able to fly in less than an hour with Friday night madness traffic in the metro remains a mystery. But praise all mysteries. At least for this one!
I guess this kicked off the luck and charm in our trip. An overflow of synchronicity and sheer luck was with us the whole time. So the adventure began…
The Tourists
We arrived in Iloilo at midnight. Thanks to my buddy and dear friend, Lea, we had a place to crash and a company to enjoy with. We thought we could already call it a day; with all the airport hullabaloos and adrenaline rush, we could only wish for a warm bed and a hot dinner meal.
But Lea took us by surprise, starting the trip on that same time, driving us around and showing us the beauty of ilo-ilo at night.
She started telling tales about each place; from the oldest to the first, I was in awe and obviously caught by surprise that I know little about my father’s hometown.
What a shame. But at least I got to know it, it’s not yet too late (I like this part where you convince yourself it’s not yet too late. Such a powerful word. Yet) 
Now this one I adore the most. She told me about Molo Church, a Feminist Church in the heart of the City where all saints are women and the Virgin Mary is the one shining at the altar. A gazebo was also built to give praise to the Greek Goddesses, in which the one below I instantly became fond of. 
It was also at this time when I saw the ad glinting “Anong first mo?”
That time I felt like tearing up. What’s my first this time? I didn’t bother answering it. Instead I remembered and put it in my pocket [figuratively] so I could bring it out at the end of the trip and maybe by that time, I will have an answer.
Pilgrimage
I guess the question I saw that night gave me the hint on what this trip will turn into. “Anong first mo?”
Before the trip I was in the midst of an insanely small yet powerful decision making process. I’ve told myself maybe this break will help me put things in its proper perspective and it might also give me the courage to do it.
I was never a fan of making decisions. I always let things happen as it should be because I thought that way I can minimize liability, I can shove off blame. But just like before, I was, again, in a transition. I’ve come to a point where I need to woman up and make a decision.
“I think,
the hardest part isn’t the time when you need to decide
but the time when you need to stick to your decision,
carrying it like a cross on your back,
feeling its weight,
remembering its worth.
I think,
decisions are how you carry it,
you stick to it,
you claim it.
It’s making no room for regrets,
for blame,
for guilt.
It’s when you take it wholly,
fully,
unconditionally.”
I guess this is the reason why the journey in the city turned into some sort of a pilgrimage. I was looking for strength, for guidance, perhaps some divine intervention. It was a journey meant to become a better version of myself. To make peace with time and rediscover…me.
The journey began by following the usual path up north. We started driving from the heart of the city to the outskirts of Ilo-ilo bordering Antique. It was a pilgrimage in every sense of the word… With maybe some fun in between. But it was serene, it was calm, it was how it should be.
First stop is in San Joaquin Church.
San Joaquin Church, located in San Joaquin, Iloilo, was built by the Augustinian Order in 1869. It is known as the only church in the country with a militaristic facade, incorporating the bas-relief mural Rendicion de Tetuan.
– Wikipilipinas
With the noon heat piercing through our skin, we squinted and marveled at the beauty right in front of us. We took time to appreciate every detail of art and history enclosed in each corner of the church.
After a while we went ahead to the second church. But on our way, we stopped by a cemetery. It’s funny to even think we’re visiting a “cemetery”. But see for yourself the architectural extravagance of Campo Santo De San Joaquin and for sure you will also stop and praise its beauty. We went inside and saw the mortuary chapel locked by a wood. Out of instinct, I slowly removed the wood, opened the door and voila, La Pieta…
Built during the Spanish-colonial period of the Philippines, the San Joaquin cemetery was initiated in 1892 by Fray Mariano Vamba, the last Augustinian parish priest of the town.
A statue of Jesus with his arms outstretched stands on top of a Baroque-style gate, and on each side of Christ, two columns with angelic figures are poised as guards. In addition, sculpted heads of two cherubs and a skull representing death marks the entrance of the cemetery.
After entering the gate, visitors are by the mortuary chapel or “Campo Santo,” decorated with stone carvings of floral and leaf patterns. Inside is a small yet beautifully made sculpture replica of “La Pieta.”
– Explore Iloilo
We took photos after photos then went to Miag-ao, Stopped by U.P. Miag-ao [just because] and ate the best Buko Pie by Nang Palang’s while relishing the autumn-ish leaves of the summer.
Second stop, THE Miag-ao Church.
The Church of Saint Thomas of Villanova, commonly known as the Miagao Church, is the Roman Catholic parish church of the town of Miagao in Iloilo Province. Completed in 1797, the church is famous for the artistic sculptural relief carved on its facade. In 1993, the church was designated as one best examples of the Baroque Churches of the Philippines and included in the list of World Heritage Sites by UNESCO.
– Explore Ilo-Ilo
The moment we arrived, a wedding ceremony was about to happen. And out of sheer curiosity, we decided to stay and watch [at least] the entourage. The wedding was bursting with bright green and deep blue, little girls were whirling around, adoring their beautiful gowns and flower-made tiaras. Organizers were everywhere, checking if things were going smoothly as planned. The bride was outside, waiting in her car, for the moment she’s been waiting for [maybe all her life].
Then the music started. And everything became surreal. I wished them happiness. I wished them forever [whatever that word means for them].
We went for several churches more. Most of which were locked [that we just opened], with no one inside but the paintings, murals and sculptures of all its holiness.
I wondered… This is already amazing yet it just stood for hundreds of years… Imagine looking at the places where it all began. Imagine looking at the churches built in Spain, in France, in Italy. Imagine the people who founded it, who built it with their blood, their faith, their being. Paintings which survived the war, sculptures and architectures which survived disasters. The heritage preserved, locked in each piece…Imagine seeing it.
It was a journey I haven’t done my entire life. To quietly go through the depths of your being while breaking the judgement, to dig deep and be clear with your heart’s desire, to be one with His glory, this is the first I was yearning for.
Slowly, I’ve come to realize that I really have to do it. Not because I was told, but because this is what I believe in. It became clearer and clearer when we journeyed back home.
NEXT: Tina: Of Going Back To Your Roots
Lou x Raine 