A SHORT ROAD TRIP, A LASTING MEMORY

Elyza C. Palawan 

Grade 12 - Sartre

The moment my dad suddenly suggested a road trip, I didn’t expect it would turn into one of my most heartfelt memories. It was August 10, 2025, a Sunday morning around 6:35, and we were sipping coffee together. Since I grew up in Panaytayon but had never seen Lower Panaytayon, I quickly agreed. My mom couldn’t come along because she was caring for my baby sibling, so it became a father-and-daughter bonding day.

As we set off on my dad’s motorcycle, the cool breeze brushed against my face. The road twisted up and down, passing by houses, sari-sari stores, and a small bahay kubo. People were already busy with their morning routines—watering plants, sweeping leaves, sipping coffee, and feeding chickens. I was surprised; I thought Lower Panaytayon was a big barangay filled with houses, but instead, it was mostly covered in trees. The smell of fresh leaves lingered in the air, and the sunlight struggled to pierce through the thick canopy.

Eventually, we reached the barangay center. There stood an elementary school, a few larger houses, and a bigger sari-sari store. Children ran about while smoke from kitchens drifted upward, carrying the aroma of breakfast. Since it was Sunday, some people in neat clothes were likely heading to church.

At the dead end of the road, we noticed a signboard: “VIVECA’S FARM.” Beside it was a small kubo with a tall fence, locked and empty. Curious, my dad spotted a nearby trail and decided to follow it. I trusted him, so I tagged along without hesitation.

The path was muddy, shaded by trees, and filled with the sound of chirping birds. Sunlight filtered softly through the leaves. My dad and I shared stories about his childhood, sometimes talking, sometimes just walking in silence. I felt at ease—free from stressful thoughts and grateful for the calmness of nature.

After ten minutes, I asked where the farm was, but he also didn’t know. Instead, he showed the snack wrappers we saw scattered along the path, proof that others had been there. Then, in the distance, we spotted water shimmering. As we drew closer, we discovered a huge fishpond with a small house in the middle. My dad and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We had expected fruit trees or animals, but all we found was water and nets.

On our way back, we saw a man climbing a coconut tree. My dad asked him about the farm, and he explained that the real “farm” was actually the kubo with the high fence we had passed earlier. Again, my dad and I laughed at our little misadventure.

By the time we headed home, the sun was high and bright. Despite the funny mistake, I didn’t regret walking so far. Instead, I felt grateful for the peace of nature and the time spent with my dad. I loved the songs of birds, the cool breeze, the fresh scent of grass, and the sight of light breaking through the trees.

When we got home, I excitedly told my mom everything while we had breakfast together. That short trip turned into one of the most unforgettable memories with my dad.

Looking back, I realized that life doesn’t always have to be rushed. Sometimes, we just need to pause, breathe, and enjoy the present—whether it’s in the middle of nature or in the company of those we love.

This short road trip may not have taken us to a grand destination, but it gave me something far more valuable—time, peace, and a memory I will always carry. I realized that journeys don’t always have to be about the places we reach; sometimes, they’re about the moments we share and the lessons we learn along the way.