Pandoraspace

I am a Baguio girl.  I was born and raised there. I spent the best years of my life in Baguio with the people who molded me into what I am today. Sadly, some of those people are no longer around and Baguio is no longer what it used to be.

I never imaged the day would come when I would feel the same way my grandparents did about Baguio. My grandmother was born and raised in Baguio while my grandfather began living there in his twenties.  When they were in their seventies, they would always look at me with sad faces and tell me that Baguio was not what it used to be.  My grandparents would tell me that Baguio was so much more beautiful in the early days.  I was a child then and I could not believe what my grandparents were telling me.  To me,  the Baguio of my childhood was beautiful and magical.  It was the best place in the universe.

When I was growing up, I remember that trees, endless grass, magestic mountains and colorful flowers were everywhere in Baguio.  It was always cold even when the sun was up and the sky was cloudless and blue.  On most nights, I would be able to see stars shining brightly.

In those days, there were no malls or amusement centers in Baguio.  People would spend time walking up and down Session Road, playing or having picnics in the parks or doing various activities with friends.  We played ball.  We went roller skating.  We played mini-golf.  We played pool or went bowling.  We cooked and ate.  We went on boat rides.  We rode horses.  We did arts and crafts.  We went trekking. Of course, when my friends and I got older, hanging out and talking was the number one activity. Baguio was such a small community then and everyone knew each other.  I also felt very safe in Baguio.  There were always people around to lend a helping hand in times of need.  Baguio was also so much quieter then.

After a few years of being away from Baguio, I visited it and was saddened by what I experienced.  My Baguio was noisy.  There seemed to be more cars and people than trees.  The mountains were full of houses. When I took a walk around town, most of the old establishments were gone and I did not come across anyone I knew.  In the words of my grandparents and with the same sad face, I told myself that Baguio was not what it used to be.

Like my grandparents, even if Baguio is not the beautiful and magical place I knew it to be, it is my home and I love it.

The only thing I am capable of doing for Baguio now is to write about how I remember it to be.  Perhaps one day, I will have the means and courage to bring Baguio back to how it used to be.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 7th, 2009 at 12:08 am and is filed under The Baguio I Remember. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.