Journal 2083: Where Do Broken Hearts Go

Journal 2083: Where Do Broken Hearts Go

edited by: Gelai Alera

After long hours of sticking my butt to my seat on the bus with my ears crackling due to the high altitude we were going, I survived the first challenge (of waiting twelve hours) and reached the place of “where do broken hearts go”—the beautiful and serene place of Sagada.

Got lucky to occupy two seats to bend my knees (left) while enjoying the view with my Nova.
"Welcome to Sagada!" (right)

It was kinda amazing to see how marvelous our nature is—wide stretch of rice terraces and soaring mountains hiding behind sea of clouds. The splendor adds to the nostalgic feeling of spending this vacation by myself—a time that I spent contemplating about life and temporarily getting away from the stress of the city. Imagine yourself having a hot cup of chocolate drink while watching how the fogs and clouds dance together in the air. The cold, chilly feeling makes you vulnerably think of spending it with someone who can give you that tight hug and hear that person’s heartbeats. But then, I checked in the reality that I was alone in this journey and I had to make the best out of it!

A good shot of Sagada with clouds and fogs everywhere. 

Calm and green.

Photo taken while waiting for the sunrise at Kiltepan Peak, Sagada. 

Our bus arrived at the beautiful town of Sagada at exactly 10:30 a.m., with pine trees spread across the place and tourists with their bonnets and hand-woven scarves on. Clad with my jacket, scarf curling around my neck and my sling bag with pen, notebook and enough cash, I spent the day walking around the place and taking shots of beautiful scenic views along the area. 

The beautiful Church of Saint Mary the Virgin with its majestic and colorful glass-paned windows, is sitting below the town, with tall trees and flowers dispersed around it.

Excuse my face.

This 56-year old church sitting below the town. 

I went inside and spent a couple of minutes there. The time inside made me look back to how I’ve been—all the sablay and sabaw moments, challenges I lost and victories won, my best and worst times, the people I made upset, friends whom I’ve hurt, and those who both I love and love me. I also reminisced those moments that taught me valuable lessons. I looked back on those days when I did stupid shits and those moments of when I hurt someone. I thought of those moments where it came to the point that the pain that I caused to others also caused me the same, if not greater, pain, for some reasons: first, I keep them to remind myself that all things I do have their respective consequences; and second, I’m desperately trying to put back things that I broke like a shattered vase in to place, gluing the pieces back even it causes me to bleed. It’s also like a rushing rope with my hands holding onto it. I don’t want to let it go because of the fear that I would lose it forever, thinking that the pain is worth the fight since it is still with me. But then, I got to the point where I think, that sometimes,holding onto something does more pain than letting go. So, I tell myself that I have to let go of the thing that hurts me, but never forget what it taught me. Whenever I fall, I must stand up again to continue what fight remains in me. (Well, if you are reading this, I badly want to say that I am really sorry. I cannot undo what happened and all I can do is to be better today and tomorrow.) Likewise, my mind always stumbles on those people that never leave my side. Those people who are there to guide me whenever I get lost and help me to stand up whenever I fall. Those people who can hear the voice inside my heart even when I’m not speaking at all—if you are also reading this, I just want to say thank you and I’ll always strive to be a better person. I stepped out of the church and continued the walk under the pine trees.