City of Pines: My Heart's Cold Flame (Baguio Poetry)

'Breathe Baguio'

First Glance, Forever Spell

The first time I saw you, Baguio,

hindi lang basta tanawin ang bumighani sa akin—

It was the whisper of pine trees

as if they knew my name

and welcomed me home

kahit hindi ko pa alam

na doon pala talaga ako babagsak…

sa'yo.

Your fog kissed my cheeks

like a lover's first hello—

mahinahon, malamig,

pero punong-puno ng kapanatagan.

Above you, the sky is a living canvas,

lahat ng kulay ng lungkot at tuwa

pinagsama-sama sa bawat malamig na dapithapon.

There’s something about your sunsets, Baguio—

They bleed softly,

As if the sun itself is reluctant to say goodbye

just like me.

Kahit saan ako tumingin,

may alindog kang hindi ko maipaliwanag.

Burnham Park, in the hush of dawn,

is a chapel where my silence worships your stillness.

At ang Session Road mo, kahit magulo,

may musika ang ingay—

parang jazz na minsang malungkot

pero laging buhay.

Your weather feels like a hug

Saan ka pa makakahanap ng lamig

na parang yakap ng pagmamahal sa kalaliman ng gabi

Your weather is my nostalgia wrapped in mist.

No sweat, no haste,

just the comfort of a hoodie

and a cup of strawberry juice

held like sacred wine in my hands.

Baguio, ang lamig mo ay hindi lang temperatura—

it's an emotion.

It cools the rage inside me,

tames the fire in my chest.

In you, I breathe better,

I sleep more deeply,

I exist softer.

But Baguio, what truly seals your magic

is not just the scent of pine

nor the echoes of Igorot chants in the breeze—

It is your people.

Ang mga ngiti nilang payapa,

mga matang palaging may pag-unawa.

The way your locals move—hindi nagmamadali,

as if they know that time

should be tasted, not chased.

Your artists, your vendors,

The weavers of La Trinidad,

even the taho peddlers who whistle at sunrise—

They taught me:

Beauty is not in grand things.

It lives in the quiet,

In the ordinary,

In kindness without reason.

Why I Keep Coming Back

ikaw ang lungsod na hindi ko lang gustong puntahan.

Ikaw ang lungsod na gustong-gusto kong balik-balikan

dahil sa tuwing umaalis ako,

may bahagi ng kaluluwa kong naiiwan sa'yo.

Every street I walked,

Every cold morning I braved,

every ukay-ukay I hunt,

every haunting stare from BenCab’s galleries—

They’re all stitched in my memory

like pine needles sewn into my veins.

Even the phantoms of the Diplomat Hotel

Knows how to settle into your quietness

As if they found peace in the afterlife

Sa totoo lang,

Every time I descend Kenon Road,

It's not just the altitude I leave behind.

I leave pieces of my heart on every curve,

Hoping to find them again

When I return

Until We Meet Again

So I write this now,

not as a tourist,

But as someone heartbroken by distance

and healed by memories.

Baguio, you are my unfinished story.

My unspoken poem.

My dream is with fog around the edges.

You’re not just a city.

You are my sanctuary

draped in pine and poetry.

At habang buhay kong dadalhin ang lamig mo—

Not in my skin

But in my heart