Journeying Pinay: Davao Oriental's Governor Generoso: A Short But Sweet Lovely Trip

I had been rocked and stoned. And the most unpleasant would be feeling my heart end beating in joy.

Loving life is my lifestyle. It makes me human. It forms my being. And it allows me to enjoy every single gasp of air.

Living a life of happy-ness is my choice. When tears of sadness run down my cheeks, it breaks my heart and kills my spirit.

Choosing to live is not an option. But it is something that lingers in every cell in my brain and exists in every drop of blood in my veins.

Fighting for breathe is fighting death to overrule my enthralled existence in this world. I may be endangered. But I am not dying out. Not now.

I was going with the flow of plans, time that I do not have control of. And boom! There it fell on that lovely day. And all I can do is pack my bag, catch the earliest to fly and touchdown by dawn, where all I could witness from my window is a light orange bluish horizon by the sea, as I begin to gather my senses back.

In pink, and jeans, I wrapped my hair on a flower-design headgear. With my loyal backpack filled with dyed shirts and food, its heaviness made me feel that, Yes I am finally back! Back to how I do my travels.

i screamed when the water splashes over me and the escorts would warn me to get out of here

I found a van to bring me near. When I was dropped at a desert-like bus terminal, one that you see in movies, where brown dust fills the air and cranky jeeps stop by the gasoline station, I knew then that it will be a peculiar place. There arrived the yellow ordinary bus. I hopped in, and sat on the seats by the windshield, beside the driver.

Then he asked, “Where to?” I replied brave-ly with so overwhelming confidence, “Sigaboy.” I have read the signboard in front of the bus, that is why I seem to know.

I forgot my maps, my guidebook, and all. This was the same when I was starting to travel. I did not have maps at all. Not even a notebook. This was the same old journeying me.

As I was busy looking around, the driver asked me, “where are you dropping off?” I said again with all might, “Sigaboy!” He smiled and said, “This is Sigaboy!” I was surprised and asked, laughing deep inside, “So this is Governor Generoso?” He nodded. He gave me options, Municipal Hall, Poblacion... I said, “Tourism Office.” Then I realized it is closed on a Sunday. So I said, “Police Station.” That is my default all the time for, well, safety. Then he said, “There it is,” pointing his lips to the nearby police station.

I arrived in the Police Station. There were people in the hut just after the gate. I said my greetings. And while talking I was looking for my chargers in my bag as I saw an electric outlet by the water station. Their questions were the usual. And my heart was giggling deep inside again. Here I go again. While they were asking me, I already made it near the outlet to charge my phone, pocket wifi, and camera. I was in urgency to post and let known to friends that I have arrived in my destination. Just a simple solo traveller protocol on safety, which my facebook status read, “Am here.”

I was somehow interrogated. “Who are you? Why are you here? Where will you go?” And when replied to, follow-up questions like “Are you an NGO, researcher, teacher? Solo, really?” I cannot recall the other questions, as deep inside my mind, and my heart, well, you know how I feel ~ a mix of thrill, and I just wanted to smile, smile, smile, and just not answer at all.

The tourism officer was not free. I mean not free to accompany me. His friend, who has a single motorbike, is not free either. With that news, I was just sitting on the bench, brainless, no-worries at all.

I was contented, felt free, and rested. That feeling of confidence that everything will be all right. Even if I had nowhere, no way, to go, where ever that was. I forgot my map and that Lonely Planet book I purchased months before. But that map of Governor Generoso is pinned in my mind. For a long time, since I bought that map early this year. And I can graphically illustrate how it looks like side by side with General Santos City with that Tuna Bay in between them, where fishermen used to get bulks and bulks of tuna and big crabs in the olden days.

Snapshot. There is where we are heading. At the tip.

While the patrol car was moving, i was stealing shots.

Then, the police inspector, who I think pitied me, said, “Is it okay with you to ride the single motor and I

will give you an escort / policeman to go to where you want to go?” My eyes widened, with a big grin on my lips, I replied “Yes Sir!” Then, after some few moments, he said, “Oh is it okay with you that you ride the patrol car instead?” Jokingly, or was that even serious, I said, “Are you sure? Will I not be more in trouble riding in a patrol car like a bait for ambush?” This is what he said, “Ma’am, this is a safe area. Since you are already in our custody, it is better that we secure your safety. Because if we allow you to just wander around anywhere that you want, and when you get lost, lost, or lost, finding you will be our dreadful headache. So we are responsible now for your safety.” That sounded scary sweet. And I felt I had to comply. Then he added, “I will join you.” I am not sure if I would like to say thank you that time. Sincerely, I was overjoyed. Instant free ride, with bodyguards. And trusting people just like that.

Bichikoy (? sounds like), Me, Sir Dante Varona (yes that is his real name), and hmmm
(sorry am so weak in recalling names)

I have been travelling by myself most of the time. And this is my ever first moment to be “guarded” seriously, somehow.

Bravely, I hopped in the patrol car.

I was able to roam around, with pit stops, at those roads I wanted to take some snap shots of. Some, stolen shots while the car was furiously moving, as if we were escaping, heading to the boarder of freedom.

breath-taking view. the first scene.

the escorts brought me in a big house with this view

we went to a farm hacienda of a local and this is the landmark

snapshots while the car was moving

This is just the start of a new beginning for the continuation of my journeys. A year older. I hope to be wiser. I hope to be bolder. I hope to be sweeter. And lovely-ier. And more joyous journeys to share.