Author: Hannah

January 23, 2014

The man I wish to date

I could meet him in one of those backpackers’ hostels I frequent during my travels. He’d be hunched over a stack of guides and maps trying to make sense of the foreign land we’re in, or he could be sharing a table with other travellers he just met a few hours before I arrived. He would look as plain as I do, with our comfy shirts and shorts, and those trusty worn-out Converse or trekking sandals. He would look as carefree as he would want to be, a happy deviation from his usual greys and blacks for work.

He would try to strike up a conversation. Maybe ask me where I’m from, or if I’m new to the place as well. Or I could approach him, try to ask directions perhaps. Maybe he’d ask if he can buy me a drink during happy hour, or perhaps I could offer to buy him a beer.

We would share travel stories – from the newbie mistakes to the most unfortunate tales on the road. We would end up laughing at them, but learning from each others misadventures.

Or… I could have known him all my life. Maybe I grew up with him and eventually lost touch. Then one day, I bump into him at a coffee shop away from home. We reminisce, and hit off. Or I could have met him when I was still in university, or out on the streets back when I was still part of the student movement. Or maybe, we were thrown out at the same beat before. Or he could be a friend of a friend. For now, I’m not really sure.

But what I’m certain of – he would be someone who also aches to experience the world. Like me, he does not want to be a ‘tourist’ when he travels, but he longs to become a ‘local’.

Sometimes he travels to escape, which I also do, and finds nothing wrong with that. He loves what he does back home, loves his job and all the shitty things that come with it, but recognises the need to getaway sometimes.

But most of the time, he travels so he can grow. He knows that the world is the best teacher, and that he hungers to learn and experience all the world can offer.

We would go places as a couple, but he would not hold me back from seeing the world alone. Instead, he would be as excited when I plan that solo trip to some beach I have been eyeing forever, while making me promise that one day we would go back and enjoy the sunset together.

He would want to go climb mountains with his outdoor buddies, and I would not stop him. He will continue to see the world with his friends, so he can continue to grow as an individual. And when he comes home, he will bring back a lot more stories he would enthusiastically share with me over a beer or two. He would tell me how much he enjoyed the trip, but that he was thinking of me, and that he would want me to join him on some of their future climbs.

He would not stop me from jumping off some cliff. Instead, he would want to jump off the cliff with me, basking in that moment of free fall and trusting that it won’t be our last jump together.

When all else fails and I would want to drink my sorrows away, he would not tell me that alcohol solves nothing. Rather, he would head out to the nearest liquor store to buy me my poison – and would be there to share a bottle or two. As I drink all the crap away, he would be there beside me, making sure I don’t do something I’d forever regret – like running out on the street naked. He would listen to all my drunken stories and find them adorable. And when the liquor has done its wonders, he would put me to bed and lay beside me – wrapping me in his arms, an assurance that I am never alone.

And when the morning comes and I’d experience a hangover that would make me swear off alcohol, he would have a glass of water and aspirin ready. No ‘I told you so’ or ‘what good did it bring you’, but a genuine smile and a warm hug to make me feel better.

He’d rather see me face my fears, and get hurt than see me scared for the rest of my life. He would be protective of me, just like how protective he is of everything he loves. He would opt not to stop me from facing my demons but he would make sure to patch up the wounds and kiss the pain away when I fall hard.

Being career-oriented as I am, he would respect what I have earned through my hard work. He would make sure I know how proud he is of what I have achieved. But, he would be my anchor to other things more important than my career. He would be my reality check – that life is more than just my career, and that life is more than just me.

He would be my constant reminder that life is better when it is shared with someone you love. And though our journeys would encounter rough seas, he would hold my hand and remind me not to fight the tide, but to ride the waves.
-Hx

January 18, 2014

After the storm: Typhoon Haiyan

Some images pubbed by the Financial Times.

Together with an Al Jazeera 101 East team, I flew to Leyte Island almost a week after Typhoon Haiyan first made landfall. The briefing before we were deployed for coverage was to expect the worst. As the helicopter slowly descended toward the stricken city of Tacloban, I saw the worst I had in mind was an understatement of the destruction that spread out below me.

I was on Leyte island for five days, but it felt like I had been there for a lifetime. Every sundown it was as if death blanketed the city. Every sunrise brought new hope, but that flicker of hope would always be tempered by the feeling of hopelessness in the face of such destruction.

The images, stories and the experience will haunt me forever. This catastrophe is something we could, and must, learn a lot from, but never forget.

The storm may be over, but the destruction Haiyan left in its wake is still creating waves.
(More images here.)
-Hx

January 18, 2014

Scarred for life (and for the better)

This is what you've learned: all the wounds, burns, and scars—the visible and invisible—do not make you imperfect. They are battle scars, trophies even. They are reminders that at one point, or several instances too many, you loved too much and got hurt but you lived through it. So you continue to venture out of your comfort zone and throw caution to the wind. If you get scars and burns while you're at it, let them tell your story of a life well lived.

January 18, 2014

Kalinga: Closer to heaven

Originally pubbed by Inquirer.net.

MANILA, Philippines — Blame slow news nights. When there is not so much to do, I and numerous friends would end up chatting about places on our must-visit list, our frustrations about being cooped up in our offices, and our individual soon-and-not-so-soon travel destinations.
One painstakingly slow night, Don, a friend who mans the night news desk for a local news website, started posting photos from his recent escapade. By impulse, I pulled up the Facebook chat window and started cussing at him. I told him it wasn’t nice to show off. He just laughed. Okay, I was just envious.
That fateful night, it was decided – we had to scratch Kalinga off our bucket list.
Two weeks later, we were at the Victory liner bus station in Kamias, waiting for the last trip to Tuguegarao for the night. I braced myself for the 12-hour bus ride – one of the longest I was to take at that point in my life.
Armed with anticipation, our measly budget, and the insatiable need to see the world, we were off to our four-day Kalinga adventure.

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It was one long ride, made even longer by the five-hour lag caused by a delivery truck that blocked the road somewhere in Nueva Ecija. It was a painful wait, being stranded in the middle of the road somewhere unfamiliar, but the view and the company of our fellow commuters were enough to at least make us see the bright side of things.

Roughly sixteen long hours after, we finally hopped off the bus in Tuguegarao, only to transfer to a crowded, open-air van to Tabuk. The two-hour ride was a breeze compared to that of the bus, especially because if I was not asleep, I was mesmerised by the view of the mountains and the fast-encroaching sunset.
We got to Tabuk just before dark and were dropped off by the good driver at Tampco Inn which would house us for the night.
Tampco Inn had the friendliest staff. Their rooms were comfy, clean and very affordable for travellers. To top that, our room had a balcony which gave us a splendid view of Tabuk.
Being the night owls, we had trouble snoozing off early so we decided a few songs at Tampco’s karaoke and a bottle of beer would not hurt.

We were up rather early the next day, hoping to catch the sunrise while enjoying the well-known Kalinga coffee. The Tabuk sunrise did not disappoint, and was a good sign of a great trip ahead.
Before taking on the road to Tinglayan, where our guide would meet us, we were lucky to witness the parade in celebration of the Kalinga day. After taking a few stills, we were seated rather not comfortably at the top of the jeepney which would bring us closer to our final destination.

We had the option to seat inside the vehicle, but who refuses an adventure of a lifetime? The top load had the front row seats to seeing the jaw-dropping mountains of Kalinga, so we braced ourselves for the not-so-easy ride.
We met a nice local, Lara, who made the ride easier and saved us from getting our heads cut off. Aside from having to anchor yourself so you won’t fall off, you had to look out for low-hanging wires and tree branches along the way. The locals were kind enough to shout you have to duck when there was danger. My reflexes were rather poor at first, but I managed to survive.
It was heart-racing and nerve-wracking, seeing that your feet dangled at the edge of the cliff while the jeepney tried to maneuver its way safely on the sides of the mountain. But the unhindered view from where I was seated made me fall in love.
Three hours, a numb butt, and painful arms later, we made it alive to Poblacion, Tingalayan where Kuya Francis, a well-known guide, met us.
The next part of the journey was the one hour motorcycle ride to Butbut. It was a strenuous ride for me being one not to ride motorcycles, but I was not one to back down on a challenge. Upon disembarking, the hot exhaust pipe of the motorcycle left me with a burn and a story to tell.

Then the difficult hike started. It was literally taking the steps to heaven. Kuya Francis was kind enough to help me with my bags, or else throwing those heavy things off the cliff was an option.
After thirty minutes of walking, I asked where we were headed, and our guide pointed to the mountain behind the one in front of us. Maybe an hour of walking and countless stops passed and I asked again, and he motioned to the peak of a mountain, saying that Buscalan was nested there. I thought he was telling me crap because there was nothing there except trees and clouds. Well, it just meant we had to climb higher.

The landscape during the climb kept me going. I knew that the higher I go, the better the view.
We got to Buscalan before I passed out (okay, passing out was not an option) and we were greeted by the warm smiles of the natives. I was so thrilled seeing native pigs run free without care, as if they were just dogs.

We stayed with Fang-Od, 93, the oldest tattoo artist of the Kalinga tribe. She used to be the last mambabatok, until recently she passed on the art to her granddaughter, Grace. Fang-Od has attracted a number of travellers and tattoo enthusiasts who braved taking the long journey just to be inked by her.
The night was spent getting to know the locals. Their stories of their everyday life amazed me – reminding me how strenuous the life in the city could be. Before we called it a night, we basked in the comfortable silence we shared with our guide, under the breathtaking Kalinga sky.

We were up early the next day, psyching ourselves up for the long hike down and the painful hours we had to endure back to Manila. Farewells were exchanged, and after a few offers from the locals for me to just stay there and find a husband (and just politely smiling back in response), we began our journey downhill.
Before we completely lost sight of the village, we took a moment to catch a final glance – and both whispered a promise that we will return the soonest chance we get.

More images here.

-Hx