From the Vantage Point of the Gods
Wow.
Almost two years since my last post.
And now my blog is finally coming back to life.
Don't worry. This isn't about the elections or anything socially relevant according to most people my own age who go around shoving their sociopolitical beliefs down people's throats. This is about the burning pain in my bilateral thighs and how totally irrelevant it is to the rest of humanity.
I'm not really sure where to start, so I'm just gonna wing it like everything else in my life.
When I was in college, I was always overly excited about field trips. Those field trips, however, weren't like the ones we knew in grade school where we visit some dead person's house and learn all about the antique things he used to save the country. That's a hard no. When you're a BS Biology student and your college is a Center for Excellence according to some standardized excellence metric system (which is a big fucking deal), there's a big possibility that you'll go home in a body bag after a field trip. That I looked forward to back then 'cause when you're under 20, you're always in some sort of a delusional state wherein you think the world is fucking scared of you and won't dare hurt you.
So there I was, thinking that I'm doing the world a favor by computing the lichen population density in some garden in Baguio and then taking a photo afterwards with a (probably) dead starfish in a beach infested with black and lethally dangerous sea urchins in Pangasinan. I was more happy than tired. Back in those days, I didn't mind climbing mountains and diving in open seas in the name of science. I thought I was invincible and that I would be for the rest of my life.
Five years after my glorious plant counting and animal sacrifice days in college, I was invited to a team-building trip similar to what I used to do in college. Well, minus the counting stuff attached to trees and preserving plants that are served in ridiculously expensive restaurants as salad. It's just simple mountain climbing, appreciating nature, and getting to know your teammates better and nothing else.
I'm just gonna say it—I was dead terrified and I was too big a pussy to admit it.
After the open invitation, I spent the next two weeks formulating an impossibly convoluted and clever plan to get out of it while acting in front of my teammates like I was more excited about it than they are. It's five years after college and a lot has changed since then. First of all, I'm heavier now than I was then. Secondly, I've already accumulated about 60% of the things that are expected to go wrong in an obese 26 year old's body (i.e. high blood pressure, gouty arthritis, and the sheer will to spend a summer weekend locked in an air-conditioned room with a tall glass of iced tea and a George R. R. Martin paperback). Most of all, I'd snapped out of what I'd like to call the Under-20 Superhuman Delusion.
The illusion is shattered. I'm not invincible. I never was. I was just young, wild, and had a full-functioning, only-a-little-bit-alcohol-soiled liver. Most importantly, I'm fully aware now that the world is a nasty son of a bitch who's out to get me.
But I am nothing if not proud, so I sucked it up and showed up for the team building.
For the record, I was ready to die.
Before I continue, I just want to congratulate you for making it this far on this post. It's gonna be a long road from here so if you don't give a shit about how I made both my thighs burn like all three of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons breathed on them (which is now painfully obvious), this is a good time to stop.
So there I was, all suited up for the hiking trip and smiling like an idiot hoping my teammates would buy it. We had a little breakfast first in a Jollibee along the way which bit a whole fucking chunk off our itinerary 'cause the cashier is incapable of getting the orders right while the rest of the crew are busy not making an effort to speed things up. Yes, this is a shoutout to all the Jollibee branches out there with the shitty service. It's not your food or McDonald's that's fucking you over; it's your crappy crew training. Straighten the hell up before your loyal customers start to bite that equally shitty Chicken ni Joy campaign by your sworn nemesis. Okay, moving on. It was dusk when we arrived at the bottom of the trail. The place smelled like old, moldy trees soaked in morning dew. Against the roar of engines from the main road, you can hear the soft whisper of flowing water, slapping and rolling on stones from a distance. It felt like a different world and for the first time in the last two weeks, I felt at peace. And so our journey to the top began.
I spent the first 30 minutes of the hike forcing my 26-year-old body to remember my 18-year-old stamina. I filled my head with happy thoughts coated in pep talks and pretty Instagram photos that will make me look like a cool recreational athlete. As my legs started to burn with every effort and breath, my line of sight started swimming. I could swear that for a moment, all the trees on my vision field shone like still-standing, bioluminescent, green jellyfishes. I held onto the first rock I trusted enough to hold my weight, sat down, and kept my mouth shut. I closed my eyes and started convincing myself that I wasn't dying. Breathe in, breathe out. As I felt my heartbeat climb to my temples, I half-listened to the conversations around me.
"Kaya niya yan. Pahinga lang." (She can do this. She just needs to rest.)
"Gusto mo tubig? Chocolate?" (Do you want some water? How about chocolates?)
That time, I decided I was done. "Fuck the pretty Instagram photos, I ain't dying for them," I told myself. After catching my breath, I told my teammates that I'm going back. They all stared at me like I just said the most stupid thing ever. One of my teammates who volunteered to be our trek guide gave me a hard no in a nice way. A lot of conversations happened after that. Our team ended up splitting into two groups—one that will go on and one that will help me get my fat ass to the top of the goddamn mountain. After the first group left, my group and I just sat there and listened to the forest. When I was breathing normally again, to my surprise, I stood up and said, "Let's go."
I'm not really sure how that happened. All I can remember are the funny conversations my group and I had about everything we can think of talking about. We stopped a whole lot either because I was out of breath or because my legs are cramping. We only had two big bottles of water and I drank 80% of it, and I held on to my teammates for most of the climbing like they were rocks on the trail. For all that, I heard only jokes from them. Well, some of those jokes are subtly about my weight and gouty arthritis but nonetheless, I felt like crying. More on my feelings about that later after I'm done with the story.
I'm not sure how long it took but before I know it, we're halfway there. We stopped to catch our breath when one of our teammates from the other group called to check on us. We let them know we're almost there and that I went back, too tired to continue. Countless jokes and photos later, we're on top of the trail. Everyone was pretty surprised to see me as they weren't expecting me there. As I raised my middle finger to the world and to all those who ever told me I was too fucking fat to climb a fucking mountain, my eyes welled up with tears of joy and pride (that I quickly wiped away because it'll ruin the moment). My teammates showered me with applause and congratulatory words. I felt like I was surrounded with about a hundred pairs of my parents telling me how proud they are of me. And for the record, creation is goddamn beautiful from up there.
"Big and heavy as you are, you continue to surprise and scare the hell out of me with all the things you swore you could no longer do," my subconscious told me as I marveled at the world's beauty 664 meters above sea level. The lactic acid was already eating away at my muscles then but for the first time since our little conquest began, I didn't care.
That was just the start of yet another one of the most fun and fulfilling team-building trips I've ever had in my whole life as a dedicated taxpayer. We drank our asses away that night and drowned our livers in barbecue, junk food, and intoxicated conversations and songs like we're kings of a newly conquered land. Despite the badly planned and poorly maintained resort that we booked for after the hike, we had a lot of fun that's more than enough to make me forget (but not enough to not make me point out) the common bathroom with one working faucet, one pail, and one dipper for all the female guests to use. Yes, this is a shoutout to Villa Filomena in Indang, Cavite. Let it be known that you suck and you're the reason why I'm finally done with public resorts, thank you very much. And no, your pretty river at the bottom of three filthy swimming pools is not the bomb. I've seen fucking better.
So I guess I've come to the tear-jerking portion of this post.
Brace yourselves.
To the man who never stopped teasing me from the first day the team-building trip was planned to its last day, thank you for not sanctioning my wanting to give up the hike even when you wanted to. You would've taken into consideration first my safety if it weren't for you wanting to save my dignity. Thank you for not telling me to go back. Because of you, I have a kickass Instagram photo on top of a mountain that I can stick to everyone's face and a beautiful memory that no supercomputer can erase. I love you, Bae Algie (BEST BAE AND BOSS EVER) to the moon and back.
To the men who stuck with me through painfully steep trails and merciful clearings, thank you for giving me all the water. It's just dawning on me now what a dick move it is not to bring your own fucking water on a hiking trip and drain everyone else's supply. Thank you also for constantly telling me that I can do it. If it weren't for you guys, I would've been that loser who stayed in the van because she got tired in the first 30 minutes of the hike. You're the best, Mawel, Tope, Daryl, and Mike (my personal khalasaar on the way up Mt. Pico de Loro).
To the rest of the team with whom I've already shared a lot to date (including this fun and unforgettable experience), thank you for believing in me. We may not have enjoyed this experience as one group the whole time, but I just want to let you know that I've drawn strength from each and every one of you while my body was trying to convince me to just suddenly shut down. I've had my fair share of teams and colleagues in my life as an employee but never have I had such a bunch as fun, smart, caring, supportive, and loving as you. I may have done something really awesome in my life to deserve you guys. I honestly don't remember what it is, but I'm glad I did it. Well, whatever it is. I love you, A-Team, across all galaxies known and unknown.
Before I wrap things up, I just want to shout out to my fellow biggie brothers and sisters out there. Going up a mountain while fighting off thrice the average gravitational pull is crazy, dangerous, and even deadly. I can't even begin to explain the pain you're going to feel and more. It's not going to be pleasant, but you know what—I encourage you to do it at least once. It's not just about proving yourself and others wrong or taking pretty photos you can brag about afterwards. It's about your hidden potential to go and see the world from the vantage point of the gods. If I could do it, then so can you. Trust me, it's worth all the calories lost and all the pain and memories gained.
And now come the photos (credits to my teammates who took them).
And we're done here.
Ciao!
Almost two years since my last post.
And now my blog is finally coming back to life.
Don't worry. This isn't about the elections or anything socially relevant according to most people my own age who go around shoving their sociopolitical beliefs down people's throats. This is about the burning pain in my bilateral thighs and how totally irrelevant it is to the rest of humanity.
I'm not really sure where to start, so I'm just gonna wing it like everything else in my life.
When I was in college, I was always overly excited about field trips. Those field trips, however, weren't like the ones we knew in grade school where we visit some dead person's house and learn all about the antique things he used to save the country. That's a hard no. When you're a BS Biology student and your college is a Center for Excellence according to some standardized excellence metric system (which is a big fucking deal), there's a big possibility that you'll go home in a body bag after a field trip. That I looked forward to back then 'cause when you're under 20, you're always in some sort of a delusional state wherein you think the world is fucking scared of you and won't dare hurt you.
So there I was, thinking that I'm doing the world a favor by computing the lichen population density in some garden in Baguio and then taking a photo afterwards with a (probably) dead starfish in a beach infested with black and lethally dangerous sea urchins in Pangasinan. I was more happy than tired. Back in those days, I didn't mind climbing mountains and diving in open seas in the name of science. I thought I was invincible and that I would be for the rest of my life.
Five years after my glorious plant counting and animal sacrifice days in college, I was invited to a team-building trip similar to what I used to do in college. Well, minus the counting stuff attached to trees and preserving plants that are served in ridiculously expensive restaurants as salad. It's just simple mountain climbing, appreciating nature, and getting to know your teammates better and nothing else.
I'm just gonna say it—I was dead terrified and I was too big a pussy to admit it.
After the open invitation, I spent the next two weeks formulating an impossibly convoluted and clever plan to get out of it while acting in front of my teammates like I was more excited about it than they are. It's five years after college and a lot has changed since then. First of all, I'm heavier now than I was then. Secondly, I've already accumulated about 60% of the things that are expected to go wrong in an obese 26 year old's body (i.e. high blood pressure, gouty arthritis, and the sheer will to spend a summer weekend locked in an air-conditioned room with a tall glass of iced tea and a George R. R. Martin paperback). Most of all, I'd snapped out of what I'd like to call the Under-20 Superhuman Delusion.
The illusion is shattered. I'm not invincible. I never was. I was just young, wild, and had a full-functioning, only-a-little-bit-alcohol-soiled liver. Most importantly, I'm fully aware now that the world is a nasty son of a bitch who's out to get me.
But I am nothing if not proud, so I sucked it up and showed up for the team building.
For the record, I was ready to die.
Before I continue, I just want to congratulate you for making it this far on this post. It's gonna be a long road from here so if you don't give a shit about how I made both my thighs burn like all three of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons breathed on them (which is now painfully obvious), this is a good time to stop.
So there I was, all suited up for the hiking trip and smiling like an idiot hoping my teammates would buy it. We had a little breakfast first in a Jollibee along the way which bit a whole fucking chunk off our itinerary 'cause the cashier is incapable of getting the orders right while the rest of the crew are busy not making an effort to speed things up. Yes, this is a shoutout to all the Jollibee branches out there with the shitty service. It's not your food or McDonald's that's fucking you over; it's your crappy crew training. Straighten the hell up before your loyal customers start to bite that equally shitty Chicken ni Joy campaign by your sworn nemesis. Okay, moving on. It was dusk when we arrived at the bottom of the trail. The place smelled like old, moldy trees soaked in morning dew. Against the roar of engines from the main road, you can hear the soft whisper of flowing water, slapping and rolling on stones from a distance. It felt like a different world and for the first time in the last two weeks, I felt at peace. And so our journey to the top began.
I spent the first 30 minutes of the hike forcing my 26-year-old body to remember my 18-year-old stamina. I filled my head with happy thoughts coated in pep talks and pretty Instagram photos that will make me look like a cool recreational athlete. As my legs started to burn with every effort and breath, my line of sight started swimming. I could swear that for a moment, all the trees on my vision field shone like still-standing, bioluminescent, green jellyfishes. I held onto the first rock I trusted enough to hold my weight, sat down, and kept my mouth shut. I closed my eyes and started convincing myself that I wasn't dying. Breathe in, breathe out. As I felt my heartbeat climb to my temples, I half-listened to the conversations around me.
"Kaya niya yan. Pahinga lang." (She can do this. She just needs to rest.)
"Gusto mo tubig? Chocolate?" (Do you want some water? How about chocolates?)
That time, I decided I was done. "Fuck the pretty Instagram photos, I ain't dying for them," I told myself. After catching my breath, I told my teammates that I'm going back. They all stared at me like I just said the most stupid thing ever. One of my teammates who volunteered to be our trek guide gave me a hard no in a nice way. A lot of conversations happened after that. Our team ended up splitting into two groups—one that will go on and one that will help me get my fat ass to the top of the goddamn mountain. After the first group left, my group and I just sat there and listened to the forest. When I was breathing normally again, to my surprise, I stood up and said, "Let's go."
I'm not really sure how that happened. All I can remember are the funny conversations my group and I had about everything we can think of talking about. We stopped a whole lot either because I was out of breath or because my legs are cramping. We only had two big bottles of water and I drank 80% of it, and I held on to my teammates for most of the climbing like they were rocks on the trail. For all that, I heard only jokes from them. Well, some of those jokes are subtly about my weight and gouty arthritis but nonetheless, I felt like crying. More on my feelings about that later after I'm done with the story.
I'm not sure how long it took but before I know it, we're halfway there. We stopped to catch our breath when one of our teammates from the other group called to check on us. We let them know we're almost there and that I went back, too tired to continue. Countless jokes and photos later, we're on top of the trail. Everyone was pretty surprised to see me as they weren't expecting me there. As I raised my middle finger to the world and to all those who ever told me I was too fucking fat to climb a fucking mountain, my eyes welled up with tears of joy and pride (that I quickly wiped away because it'll ruin the moment). My teammates showered me with applause and congratulatory words. I felt like I was surrounded with about a hundred pairs of my parents telling me how proud they are of me. And for the record, creation is goddamn beautiful from up there.
"Big and heavy as you are, you continue to surprise and scare the hell out of me with all the things you swore you could no longer do," my subconscious told me as I marveled at the world's beauty 664 meters above sea level. The lactic acid was already eating away at my muscles then but for the first time since our little conquest began, I didn't care.
That was just the start of yet another one of the most fun and fulfilling team-building trips I've ever had in my whole life as a dedicated taxpayer. We drank our asses away that night and drowned our livers in barbecue, junk food, and intoxicated conversations and songs like we're kings of a newly conquered land. Despite the badly planned and poorly maintained resort that we booked for after the hike, we had a lot of fun that's more than enough to make me forget (but not enough to not make me point out) the common bathroom with one working faucet, one pail, and one dipper for all the female guests to use. Yes, this is a shoutout to Villa Filomena in Indang, Cavite. Let it be known that you suck and you're the reason why I'm finally done with public resorts, thank you very much. And no, your pretty river at the bottom of three filthy swimming pools is not the bomb. I've seen fucking better.
So I guess I've come to the tear-jerking portion of this post.
Brace yourselves.
To the man who never stopped teasing me from the first day the team-building trip was planned to its last day, thank you for not sanctioning my wanting to give up the hike even when you wanted to. You would've taken into consideration first my safety if it weren't for you wanting to save my dignity. Thank you for not telling me to go back. Because of you, I have a kickass Instagram photo on top of a mountain that I can stick to everyone's face and a beautiful memory that no supercomputer can erase. I love you, Bae Algie (BEST BAE AND BOSS EVER) to the moon and back.
To the men who stuck with me through painfully steep trails and merciful clearings, thank you for giving me all the water. It's just dawning on me now what a dick move it is not to bring your own fucking water on a hiking trip and drain everyone else's supply. Thank you also for constantly telling me that I can do it. If it weren't for you guys, I would've been that loser who stayed in the van because she got tired in the first 30 minutes of the hike. You're the best, Mawel, Tope, Daryl, and Mike (my personal khalasaar on the way up Mt. Pico de Loro).
To the rest of the team with whom I've already shared a lot to date (including this fun and unforgettable experience), thank you for believing in me. We may not have enjoyed this experience as one group the whole time, but I just want to let you know that I've drawn strength from each and every one of you while my body was trying to convince me to just suddenly shut down. I've had my fair share of teams and colleagues in my life as an employee but never have I had such a bunch as fun, smart, caring, supportive, and loving as you. I may have done something really awesome in my life to deserve you guys. I honestly don't remember what it is, but I'm glad I did it. Well, whatever it is. I love you, A-Team, across all galaxies known and unknown.
Before I wrap things up, I just want to shout out to my fellow biggie brothers and sisters out there. Going up a mountain while fighting off thrice the average gravitational pull is crazy, dangerous, and even deadly. I can't even begin to explain the pain you're going to feel and more. It's not going to be pleasant, but you know what—I encourage you to do it at least once. It's not just about proving yourself and others wrong or taking pretty photos you can brag about afterwards. It's about your hidden potential to go and see the world from the vantage point of the gods. If I could do it, then so can you. Trust me, it's worth all the calories lost and all the pain and memories gained.
And now come the photos (credits to my teammates who took them).
 |
| Do what they say you can't. #endure #conquer |
 | ||
| Atop Mt. Pico de Loro |
 |
| Into the woods with the best team ever |
 |
| The Kings and Queens of the Parrot's Beak |
And we're done here.
Ciao!
Way to sum it up Pam! That's an insanely delightful and inspiring piece of writing. Thanks for sharing! We love you Mama Bear! Go Team UPMC! :)
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