(March 2024)
I remember the pitter-patter of the rain falling on the leaves above me, the noise almost indistinguishable from the raindrops falling on my jacket. The rushing water about five steps to my right attempted to drown out these sounds but the unique tone simply couldn’t be washed away. The flowing force of the once small creek was impressive, vast waves of flowing water passed by me in an instant. Although beneath the flow of water now, it was clear the land underneath would forever be altered. The scent of a damp landscape was still effervescent as if the leaves had been steeped like tea. Small saplings look as if they were trampled by a tractor, while sediment and silt replace land once littered with leaves. The receding water revealed an assortment of odd trinkets that flowed down from the power of the most recent storm. In a previous downpour, I had found a buried camera, caught by the flowing water. Wondering if anything could be salvaged, I realized that the SD card could still be read. Inside the SD card were photos of a raccoon modeling for the photographer. The camera was a trail camera, and there I was, peering into the life of an unknown mammal. Magic doesn’t need to exist when we have places like this to experience the miracle of a message in a bottle. The raccoon looked beautiful in their photoshoot by the way.
Everything here seems special, as if it was made specifically for us to experience.
The only permanent thing in our lives is the forever-changing nature of it.
If I don’t hear the splat of a raindrop on my roof at night I get concerned now, it’s no longer special. There’s a mangrove in my backyard where the mosquitos like to bite my ankles. I’ve only been there once, as a once elusive ecosystem becomes commonplace. I adore the outdoors and all those species of plants and animals we share this planet with. The air and ocean are soothing here in the Philippines, and the land is beautiful. Born and raised in San Diego, I had unknowingly developed a deep connection with the land and nature that constitutes San Diego. I am a foreigner here in the Philippines, as I’ve expressed in my previous writings, but this is pronounced in my lack of a connection to the land, how I look out at the land and I can’t understand what they’re trying to say. I used to sit down on a bed of leaves without a care in the world. The ants biting my ass, the leaves falling on my head, and the sound of footsteps from the locals in a nearby bush. I took in deep breaths to feel alive, to feel a connection. Now I don’t have a bed of leaves to sit on here, the ants bite harder, and the footsteps are unfamiliar.
But everything is always changing, including myself and those living around me.
Back in San Diego, spending enough time outdoors felt like a conversation. I would listen, then listen some more, never needing to speak. With that, I could make an educated guess as to the previous lives of the land. The grasslands that pop up after a fierce fire look different than the grasslands that pop up after intensive farming. A forest removed from the fire has a distinct character from one thriving despite its combustibility. The land holds the memory of what came before, this is most evident from fires as land always has something to say about the flames that were once there. I’m still learning to speak the local language here, step-by-step, or “amat-amat” in Hiligaynon. I still don’t have the skills to listen and read the land here but I will get there, amat-amat. For now, though, I can revel in yet another opportunity to learn from the land surrounding me. It’s as if I am a kid again realizing what it means to live in this world. For all the shortcomings I am aware of today, I remember where I came from, and feel humble knowing I have my entire life ahead of me to learn.
The past is only experienced today as is tomorrow.
Living on a relatively small island, I could travel from the eastern edge to the western in one day. I watched the sunset with friends I’ve made in the past six months. Thinking back on all my experiences, nothing compared to what I was doing as I watched the sun setting. I returned from that trip to a broken internet cable that completely disabled my ability to check the internet. I couldn’t call my friends, and family, or even make future plans. I was stuck in the moment and truly nothing compared to what I was doing as I stayed bored in my apartment. I’m just happy for all that I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, even if the present ain’t anything special. My life has been anything but stagnant, so what’s next?
The present, the very thing we are experiencing right now is all that’s guaranteed.
Who knows what the future holds for the places I call home now? All I know is that I blame so much of the wrongs in the world on those who came before. Why, just why, did I inherit a planet steeped in a climate disaster? Steeped in inherent racism and xenophobia. Steeped in inequality of resources. It’s heavy experiencing these atrocities without having an idea of what could be, a future worth fighting for.
The river yearns for the water to fill up their streams until they’re unrecognizable, and the forest thirsts for flames, what do we need to quench whatever it is we lack? We find comfort in what we find familiar, but rarely do we regret the change. When there is a lack of change, a lack of novelty, suddenly we feel as if we are at a loss, as if we can’t do anything for the betterment of ourselves.
About 4 billion people live in urban areas, half of the world’s population, and many have lost this intrinsic connection to nature. I set out today just to write about the inability for many to experience, to breathe in all that nature offers, but this inability cannot be spoken about in isolation. Addressing just this one atrocity is like bandaging a massive wound. I must believe in a world worth fighting for, but what does that look like, how can we collectively act for the betterment of humanity?
The world is always changing, so let’s change it to something we want our grandkids to inherit.
DISCLAIMER: The views expressed are my own and not necessarily those of the Peace Corps or the U.S. Government.
Turn off the Bright Lights 