After Banahaw* (Revised)

Today, I got lost in a forest.

It was dark by the time we descended the mountain. Thick foliage, so vivid in daylight, had become stark, black outlines against the brittle blue sky. The forest reverberated with the rucus of hundreds of monitor lizards, buzzing and clicking underneath the stones.

Our guide held my hand on the way down. He commiserated with me when I cried from sheer exhaustion, my knees and ankles sore from having to climb so many steep inclines. He was the same age as I was, though he looked older. I asked him about his children. His skin was darker than coffee, and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed. After so much time spent trying to conquer the mountain together, his hand began to meld with mine. It felt as though we had been doing this - walking down the mountain, hand in hand - for years.

To distract me from the shadows and shapes lurking around us (night had fallen, fully, towards the end), he told me about his life: I used to work in a factory. I used to package junk food. But that work is contractual, so after 3 months I had to leave. I've been a guide since I was ten. I know these rocks, these trees, like they were the chairs and tables in my house.

I laughed, and listened to him, while keeping my eyes down, on the rocks. I wanted to tell him why I'd come to the mountain in the first place. How does one describe the way time cleaves when you have to start over again, alone, without an Other? Here, in this dense forest, time was absent; with mud on our legs and scars on our knees, there was nothing to do but hike on.

An hour later, we finally caught up with our companions, who were waiting for us at the end of the trail. By then, I'd promised him that I'd help him find work as a security guard at one of my grandpa's agencies. I gave him my card, but when he asked for my cellphone number, I declined to give it. I forgot to thank him, as the car rattled off, back to our inn.

I stuck my head out of the window, to wave back, but it was too late. We were many miles away from the mountain. Even then, I'd already forgotten his name.

*Written in Kinabuhayan Cafe, Banahaw, October 31, 2005. Revised December 3, 2005.