How do you impart an experience, without the romanticization? Is it possible? Where do I even begin?
Shangri-La
Island hopping
Sinulog
Tuburan
This place is built into my memories. We live multiple lives, right? It’s a wonder being able to go back to a place from another lifetime. It’s still how I remember it, not without changes, but there’s enough there to catch glimpses of my childhood. Enough there to make this part personal.
I’ve always loved Molobolo, loved the way the trees tower over the springs, loved the coolness of the water. My last memory of being here was of the sisters speaking to each other in hushed voices, talking about the spirit that lived in the great tree. That’s something that’s largely gone now–superstition seems to have faded away. It’s not something that leaves physical marks on a place, but its lack thereof is noticeable anyway. I don’t know, the belief in something more goes hand in hand with the wildness of this land.
I have very distinct memories of this cemetery, mainly that it used to be filled with human bones scattered everywhere. There’s a little rotunda that was filled to the brim with bones and skulls. It looked like a fountain of skeletons. As mama says, “it’s so much cleaner now.”
