My Fortress and Home in Baguio City

(A Picture of my Garden)













My Mountain

            You will not miss Mt. Santo Tomas as you approach Baguio City from Marcos Highway. On its top nestled two large radars that looked like giant electric fans, presumably, relay stations for satellite radio and TV. We used to kid newcomers to the city that these huge “electric fans” were causing the cool climate. The truth is that the coolness was diminished because of the clearing of trees in the area.

Once upon a time, Mt. Santo Tomas was a volcano. It is now extinct. It also used to be a thick forest, with a wonderful biodiversity of plants, butterflies, birds, monkeys and other life forms. Because of its thick mossy forest, it was the major reservoir of water to the city. Now, the forest is gone; the only remnants being green grass and a sizable number of pine trees, shrubs and ferns, which made the place serene and disturbed only by the humming of birds, fluttering of butterflies and buzzing of bees. It is now the site of Baguio’s dairy farm.

Since I discovered the place 20 years ago, in 1985, I adopted it as my mountain. It was my “fortress of solitude,” where I would watch the sunrise, with rays that sparkle with the morning dew. From there, and on a clear day, I have a panoramic view of the China Sea on one side and a face of the city – with the silhouette of house rooftops, on the other side (a wonderful contrast between nature and human habitat). At dusk, I would marvel as the sun sinks quietly in the sea, giving out its last radiance of red, orange and yellow, before bowing to the night. 

Why do I love going to my mountain? There, enveloped by fog, I would ponder about just anything. There, I would freely soar the universe of my mind and express my feelings – hurts, joys, anguish and angers, unabashed. And the mountain would listen without interruptions. It would also talk without words, silently reminding me that I partake in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes, it would rouse me to awareness, with an ant bite, a gentle breeze, the twitting of the bird, or the prick of the afternoon sun.

The mountain would also absorb my burdens and brighten up my load. I suppose it carried a lot of negative ions or the Eastern concept of prana, vital force. Like my mom’s embrace, it comforts and completes me.

After the day is done, I would be revitalized to face Baguio and the rest of the world. Just about that time, I would shiver as darkness swallowed the clouds and all earth, while I silently trek back home.

Mt Home on a Hill

Home, in the practical sense, was in a barangay (village) just some two kilometers away from Mt. Sto. Tomas. (Note: the picture is that of my garden)

In 1983, my family was one of the first 40 households to establish residence in Phase IV of the SLU-SVP Housing Cooperative in New Site, Bakakeng. (The cooperative site, known earlier as St. George Hill, became a separate village from the original Bakakeng.) Before my house was erected, at least six pine trees have to be cut on the lot. The same thing happened to the rest of the houses – the trees had to be cleared to give way to human habitation.

Fifteen years earlier, in 1965, as a boy scout, I was in St George Hill for camping; swimming in a small brook, daftly covered by shrubs. At that time, St. George Hill was a thick forest of pine trees. A little further down from St George Hill was the Maryheights Minor Seminary, where my brother stayed as a hopeful would-be priest.

Then, the pathways to Maryheights were of sand and gravel, either through Kennon Road going up or from Marcos Highway going down. Now, the two roads are connected with a cemented road, making my place a convergence point between the two major roads leading to Baguio. What was once Maryheights is now the new St. Louis University.   

In the early 1900s, St. George Hill and at least 20 hectares more of land was acquired property by the CICM priests, who established St. Louis University. The priests sold some 4 hectares to the cooperative at a very cheap price, for the housing needs of their employees and residents of St. Vincent Parish. I acquired “my property,” a 250 square meter house and lot, for less than P75,000.00. Now, surrounding the housing cooperative were four to five subdivisions, which sold a square meter of “prime lot” for P10,000.00 per square meter. The priests probably also sold their (tax free) parcels of land to developers, who profited much from the transaction.  

I suppose all the hills in the city, which used to be free land, became the property of the state and eventually broken into private owned parcels. This included Club John Hay, which was managed by the Americans before the “liberation.” This happened to Aurora Hill, Quezon Hill, Hillside, Quirino Hill, and Dominican Hill (the grotto), which were forests primarily named after Philippine presidents, their spouses or the religious “owners.” These places are now urban centers, communities teeming with people. 

Paradise Remembered

            From a larger scheme of things, no person owned anything, even probably one’s body. The opposite is true: we belong to the earth, like every creature – living or inanimate. We were born of nature in a wonderful ecosystem; with each thing depending on each other thing, under the sun. However, against nature, was set culture. Against the backdrop of the ecosystem, culture emerged and set the invisible separation from what is natural. Because of cultural traditions, we have divided the earth among races, classes and faiths. As if it were not enough, people fought over land and property, with a minority hording a big chunk of nature and called it their own.  

In a deeper sense, I was conceived in paradise. But, I was born in a muddled paradise, so that it was no longer pristine. I had to grow into a culture, which dictated how I should own and protect property. I realized, paradise was not a place that is physical. It was a state in tune with what is natural, beyond time and space.

Paradise was the harmony of nature, with us flowing with it. Paradise was never lost; but because of cultural traditions anchored on property relationships, we simply forgot that it existed.