There’s something deeply humbling about standing in front of the mountains and realizing that none of it was made for me.
Yet all of it was there for me.
Seeing the Sierra Madre stretch endlessly in front of me felt so unreal. Because there she is, Mother Earth, in her full, quiet glory. It amazed me how something so vast could feel so personal, like the view existed not just to be admired, but to help me reset. To heal. To remind me that the world is still wide and generous, even when life feels small and repetitive.
Getting to the campsite wasn’t easy. We rode motorcycles, tents and necessities strapped to our backs, braving the cold and the long road (mind you, it was kinda drizzling when we left and the rain poured that morning). And somewhere along the way, I realized, when you really want something, you make it happen. Time becomes something you create instead something you wait for. No need for fancy cars. Or even perfect conditions. Just intention, movement, and a stubborn little decision to go.
motorcycles, tents, and one very malamig na bundok
The earth, I also learned, is both harsh and gentle. The ground was unforgiving—it was too tough to sleep on! The cold wind bit through layers, of the tent and of the fabric of my clothes, and my body ached in ways I’m still feeling now. But when morning came, and a sea of clouds greeted me like a soft whisper of good morning, everything softened. It felt like the wind was brushing against my skin, saying, “Everything will be alright. The city will wait for you no matter how long it takes for you to be back. Forget about your responsibilities for a bit. Just focus on me. On this moment.”
And the best part? It didn’t force me to rest. It simply allowed me to.
I slept on the ground and survived the cold.
And greeted by the clouds in the morning.
We also ate good food because always, always treat yourself well. Steak tastes even better when you’ve earned it under the open sky, when laughter mixes with smoke and cold air, and meals feel like small celebrations.
Steak in the wilderness because why not?
Most of all, I was reminded that when people with real, kind intentions come together, they create memories that don’t fade easily. The kind you carry home quietly. The kind that stays with you long after the soreness disappears.
Yes, body aches. But my soul?
It’s lighter. Reset. And most of all, grateful.
Always blessed. Always grateful.
