Bundled up in my jammies and hoodie, I am reminded of an impromptu trip to Sagada two years ago. It was a spur of the moment thing, brought on by a photograph of a colleague enjoying the cool climes of the mountains. It immediately reminded of that scene in That Thing Called Tadhana where Mace and Anthony run towards the sunrise in Mount Kiltepan. How would that feel like, I wonder.

At the time, group trips with practical strangers were quite common with millennials the primary target market. I had actually gone on one to Calaguas, and enjoyed the experience immensely. I went solo then, but thought I’d bring my adult kids to this one.

We travelled through the night. With us – that’s me, my three boys, and a girlfriend – were two millennial couples, whom we gathered worked at a call center, and a twentysomething dude who we would find out later on went on the trip to “find himself.”

When we woke up, it was to the most majestic view possible, the Banaue Rice Terraces.

Of course, I had seen the terraces in photographs. However, seeing them IRL truly inspires awe. Our ancestors were so innovative that they were able to come up with a creative solution addressing the challenge presented by their resources.

At that point, I wanted to kick myself in the butt. In my other incarnation as a travel editor, I had once been invited to spend a couple of days in Batad and experience life as a farmer. I remember being in the middle of several projects at the time, and had to turn down the now once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hay! Bad decision, definitely!

Because this was a tour designed for millennials – although I am told that Tita Gen Xers would sometimes book a van to themselves – the itinerary was backbreaking, literally. The millennials had to have as many pictures taken for the ‘gram, you see.

A few more hours of travel finally found us crawling up the winding road to Sagada, where we dropped off our bags at the inn, and proceeded to Echo Valley.

It was hauntingly beautiful. Quiet and beautiful. I’ve always been in love with trees, and to see so many of them standing tall and proud was magical.

The itinerary called for some spelunking next, which the two couples and the dude in search of himself gamely agreed to go. I was already spent from the hours of travelling and from the walking we did going up to Echo Valley, so I chose to stay behind and catch some sleep at the inn. My children decided to do the same. Because seriously, when it’s drizzling and bed weather cozy, you just have to go to sleep!

We woke up at around three the next morning, and started walking around four, with only flashlights to guide us. It was cold. It was dark. I could barely see a thing. We walked and walked, and then 51-year-old me could barely keep up with the millennials. Some wanted to take a pause and shoot some photos. I gladly agreed as it would give me time to rest. But our guide would have none of it.

“We have no time. We have to catch the sun rise.”

He’s tougher than any trainer.

And so we walked, and walked, and walked, and soon enough I caught sight of the clouds.

I confess. This wasn’t a spur of the moment trip. When my father passed away, I told myself that I had to go to Sagada. It was the highest that I could go from here and the closest thing to heaven that I could find. I thought that maybe, I could find him there.

And so I walked and walked and walked, every step bringing me closer to him.

When finally I was walking amidst the clouds, tears ran down my face. I was wrapped in an ethereal blanket, and felt so loved.

I never did get to talk to Dad that day, but up in the clouds, I knew there was a heaven. Everything would be fine.

I never asked dude in search of himself whether he found something. I certainly did.