Dreaming of My Mountain

Reposting to move old blog.  Originally posted Dec. 8, 2005:

Just saw this photo in my cabinet last week.
Sharing the photo with me are my cousins Karlo and JP.  Karlo is married now and is expecting his second baby.  JP is in college.  We were then carefree kids holding plastic pistols and a plastic grenade.  Only a protruding rock prevented us from falling off this steep slope.
I still dream about my mountain — this part of the Cordilleras that I used to own.  I wonder how tall these pine trees have grown.  Can I forget my weekly adventures on this side of the mountain? 

Some weekends Karlo and I would hike from the Teachers’ Quarters at sunrise and try to sketch the mountains with the smell of fresh pine cones floating in the morning breeze.  Some days I played soldiers or any Huckleberry Finn-like adventures with the brothers Gener, Edwin and other neighbors.  If it rained, we would keep ourselves dry in a cavern under this one huge boulder, or, depending on where the rain catches us, we would seek shelter under a large culvert in the road to 745ML below.

From this site and at that age, the world was just so large, dynamic and bright.

I miss rolling on those grass and ferns.

I miss my mountain.

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