The Long Ride to Nowhere

 I left my room in Quezon City at 5:00 AM, before the Metro could fully wake up and start demanding things from me. I thought that if I put enough distance between myself and that creaky ceiling fan, maybe the "haze" would stay behind in the city smog. I took the bike, gassed up with the last few hundred pesos I should have probably saved for groceries, and rode toward the mountains of Tanay.

I ended up here, at Moolk Creamery Farm.

They tell you that nature is a healer. They say the fresh air of Rizal is the antidote to the suffocating heat of the city. But as I sit here on a cold stone bench, looking out at the dried grass and the unlit string lights, I realize that changing your zip code doesn't change your brain. I’m just a depressed, unemployed man in a different setting. Instead of feeling small in a crowd of office workers, I now feel small against the vast, indifferent silence of the hills.

The sky is a mocking, perfect blue. In the distance, the wind turbines of Pililla are spinning—slow, rhythmic, and tireless. They have a purpose. They are generating power for a world that’s moving forward. And here I am, sitting in a field of yellowing grass, feeling like a broken machine that no amount of mountain air can jumpstart.

The string lights above me are cold. They’re meant for laughter, for groups of friends sharing milkshakes and taking photos for their feeds. In the lens of a happy person, this place is a sanctuary. In mine, it looks like an abandoned stage after the show has already ended. I came here hoping the "change of scenery" would lift the veil I wrote about on Easter, but the veil is still there. It’s just dustier now from the ride.

I feel like a fool—a true Kulaspiro. A pasaway who thought he could outrun his own shadow on a 150cc motorcycle. The ride back to QC feels longer than the ride here.

But as I was about to head back to the parking lot, a small breeze kicked up. It wasn't much, but it was cool, and for a split second, it carried the scent of something green and living, surviving despite the dry season. It didn't "cure" me, but it was a reminder that even in the parched heat, things are still holding on.

I made the trip. I didn't stay in bed. I saw the turbines turn. Maybe that’s the "success" for today—not that I felt better, but that I actually went somewhere else to feel the same. I’m still a footnote, but today, I’m a footnote written on a different page.

I’m about to start the engine for the long ride back to the haze.

Have you ever traveled far just to realize you brought the weight with you? How are you holding up under your own sky today?