This Time, I Don’t Know

"You're lucky. You go through life with the certainty that what you're doing is right. I know how comforting that is."
-- Boyd, a patient, to House (said regretfully, after having lost some of his own certainty)

"It is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it"
-- Wilson to House


Self-doubt, you find out, is an ugly thing that happens inevitably.

When I was a kid, I used to believe my parents have all the answers. Then my world got a little bigger and I realized that some people still get sick even if they eat their vegetables or take their afternoon naps religiously.

Before, I thought that educated, independent women are way better off than their domesticated counterparts. Today, I’ve met enough to know they’re not necessarily any happier.

I grew up believing I was smart. How can I not when my family keeps telling me so, when my records seemed to support it and my teachers affirmed it? And then I entered U.P. and that belief was challenged a bit. So okay, I may not have been the smartest after all, but I was still smart, I thought. And then I grew up some more and made mistakes along the way. Major ones, small ones… enough to make me realize that I am stupid too.

While I was still in school, I was so sure I’d be a good writer. I aced my English subjects, joined publications, read enough books, and criticized those who couldn’t put two sentences together. I believed I knew enough. Now, I write for a living. Yet everyday I find myself struggling to remember the basics. Half of the time, I’m not even sure if my S-V structures are right. A lot of people turn to me for their copy needs. If only they knew. If only they knew that a lot of times I just don’t know, then they wouldn’t trust me so much.

I remember a 13-year-old me declaring to my best friends that I would never, ever be with a guy who wouldn’t go down on his knees for me or who wouldn’t or couldn’t afford to bring me flowers everyday. I remember a 15-year old me who believed that there really is that one perfect guy out there somewhere I’ve yet to meet. At 18, I remember saying that I would only marry for love. I detested arranged marriages. I believed that marriages only work if two people love each other completely, that love lasts forever, that there is only that one, great love for each person. Now, at 28, I’m not so sure anymore.

While I was younger, I was so sure about what’s right and what’s wrong. I was full of advices. I thought I was wise for my age. I couldn’t understand why so many people would pick the wrong choices when the right ones are so obvious. How was I to know that, faced with the same problems, I would fall too? That I don’t really know any better. That the world offers more options other than black and white.


Funny and frustrating, isn’t it, how life constantly challenges our beliefs through time. The resulting self-doubt is no joke. It’s depressing and it’s ugly.

But without it, how would we know how annoyingly arrogant we’ve become believing that we are so right? How would we discover that fresh or bigger perspective? How could we learn to tolerate people and be more patient with them? How can we start to reshape ourselves to become better people?

Self-doubt is an ugly thing that happens inevitably, true. But going through this, I’m thinking, maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

High on the Sky in Cebu

Three weekends ago, me and some friends went flyin’ high through the Transcentral Highway on our way to Balamban. “Flyin’ high” because, as the locals are quick to point out, all V-hire drivers that serve the route are plain crazy. For them, no blind curve is too dangerous, no mountain is too high, and no other vehicle is fast enough.

Result? A rollercoaster ride sans seatbelts that we did not buy tickets for. But, by God, it was fun and it was amazingly beautiful. I just found my Baguio in Cebu.

The Cebu Transcentral Highway was purposely built to allow easy access to the hilly areas of central Cebu. As per the provincial government’s press release, this 400-million project funded by the World Bank (who else?) involved “the improvement of some 32.728-km. gravel roads to all weather cement concrete paved roads 6.7-m. wide with 1.5-m. gravel shoulder. It also included preventive structures for landslides along mountainous sections and the construction of a drainage system.”

It might have been a risky project, true, but really worthwhile if you ask me.

Cruising along the mountaintop with the winding roads, lush scenery, biting cold and the fog enveloping the mountains was definitely my kind of trip. Bounded by Cebu's watersheds, the highway passes by Ayala Heights, the Cebu National Park Forest Reserve, Mt. Manunggal and the Island in the Sky Resort – which KJ is still itching to go to up to now. Along the way are marketplaces selling fresh vegetables, sweet corn, flowers and a lot more at very cheap prices.

Yeah, who could resist going back?

*******

Perhaps still feeling high from that rollercoaster ride at the Transcentral highway weeks ago, KJ thought nothing of suggesting last Saturday going to the Island in the Sky late at night.

Hmm, the fogging highway at midnight… Whoa! Even I had some doubts. But then, I really want to go there too…

The roads are paved, insists KJ.

With lights? Uhm, not sure.

There are five of us and people have done it before us…it’s safe.

Even with all the fog?

Well, it’s really beautiful up there.

Nods.

I want to see it, pipes FG. Let’s go.

The Crosswind’s wobbly, Dax, our other driver demurred.

Bummer.

Why are we even debating this? We’re all out of our minds.

It’s a place we haven’t been yet.

It’s just about 30 minutes away…

Yeah, with no gas station or what-have-you in between…

Silence.

It’s really beautiful up there (plaintively).

Yeah.

Alternatives?

Mr. A’s? Mountain View?

Nah. Been there. Done that.

So where else in Cebu haven’t we been to yet?

That’s a tough one.

Debated and thought some more over pizza. Munch, munch. May I have some more frappuccino? Water please. Clock ticking…

Hey, I know! The Lighthouse!

Liloan? Amara?

That got me interested. While I was still working for Maria Luisa Homes, Amara was one of the competing residential developments I took notice of. With them claiming the Lighthouse as their USP (unique selling proposition) in all their collaterals, I couldn't help but be curious about the thing.

Cool. Who knows the way?

Well, I know how to get to Liloan…

That’s good enough. Go lets, bagets!

Less than 30 minutes later, Dax’s Crosswind and Voxy, which I just named FG’s dark red Volkswagen (not the Beetle), found the Lighthouse without trouble. Well, after just about three wrong turns, that’s all. Isn’t that great?

Just as we were about to proceed, we were told the Lighthouse closes at 10 PM. It was almost 11 PM. Oops. Awww.

Where do we go?

We noticed a group of people converging some meters ahead. What’s that—a diskoral? Let’s check it out.

It was kinda cool actually. Some ingenious local has converted what seemed to be an abandoned hilltop into a provincial version of a disco bar. They even had an entrance fee of P50 (non consumable). They served barbecue and beer (exclusively Red Horse and San Mig pilsen and Light) without ice. The nearby lighthouse provided the disco lights (now what’s cooler than that?). And the local band? They played The Playlist! You know, the list of songs that you hear every local band play here in the city whichever bar (expensive or otherwise) you go to. We know The Playlist by heart already and there’s some comfort in that. The vocalist ain’t bad, too.

It wasn’t exactly what we planned for. But we had the full moon, a nice view of the sea and the island across, the power of the nearby lighthouse, nice music, and the gentle kick of Red Horse grande. And with MD around, of course we danced. Even FG and Dax. Who cared? We were in Liloan. The people there, both young and old, were quite game, too.

Who would have thought? All this and us at a diskoral miles away. Hehe.

Somehow, that’s what happens when you dream about that Island in the Sky. Better get there actually soon ‘coz who knows where we’ll end up next time, huh?