I long for home each time I remember Cambonton. It sits perfectly on the horizon, draped with a thick foliage of coconut trees; the decrepit wooden window of our room framing the panorama. There used to stand atop the hill a tall and hulking tuog, standing high in stature like a proud watchman with sharp aesthesia.
I dreamt of going up Cambonton, albeit daunted by a childhood fear of wak-wak who might cast a hex on me or extract my entrails; I wanted to see how our house and the Tugbungan neighborhood would look like from up there. But the hill was for me far distant – I had to cross the Marihatag River and its tributary Adgay River to get there and maneuvering a boat with a bugsay would just make go in circles without progressing any distance. And the fear of some human-eating creatures behind the depths of the river added to the excuse.
My close encounter with Cambonton happened two years ago - at its foot, near the riverbank during a video documentary project on a women’s group working on the rehabilitation and sustainable use of mangrove forests along the river.
The encounter brought me a whole new discovery - about the beauty of the place that I call home, about the river that puts the distance to Cambonton, and about how detach I was to this side of home. And I must admit too, that it was a discovery of my naivete, of lacking the courage to give in to the subtle conjuring of Cambonton mystic, and of the inability to look beyond the baffling calmness of the Marihatag and Adgay rivers.
Meanwhile, I’m up for another mountain trek in two weeks – back to the same summit I scaled five months ago. While other people can’t find worthy reasons why we should leave our comfort zones for some lengthy, exhausting activity, trekking has become a sort of a spiritual exercise for me.
Climbing mountains is not easy. It involves effort, perseverance, and a disciplined spirit to endure the climb - the same things you need to survive in a world of madness and muddiness.
But what becomes of a person upon reaching the summit is the greatest reward – triumphant over human spirit, transcending above fears and frailty. At the summit, one feels a true sanctuary – a place where one can walk in the clouds, reminding us who we are and what life really is all about.
The tranquil silence up there makes us hear ourselves too. Most often, we are drowned by exasperating noise brought by this crazy world and mountaintops are perfect respites for disheartened spirits.
But we don’t walk in the clouds all the time because we don’t stay on the mountaintop forever. But surely, when we get back to our real world, we bring with ourselves rejuvenated spirits and a clearer view of life, undaunted by trials that come along with reality.
03-28-10
Cebu City
