Candid Club

Your mother and I want you to see the world stretched out before you. Want you to see all the possibilities and potential and not be afraid of them.

Want you to be excited by your own abilities to shape your worlds, to change your future, to make things right and better and beautiful.

You are young, but you are a growing lady, and will become on your own someday. 

Know this in your heart, if nothing else… Even if you doubt it, or you’re scared or unsure, you are amazing and you are never alone.

Papa wrote me this letter a year before he died. It has been my compass ever since.

It started after a weekend of freediving. My then-fiancé, now husband, Rustam, floated the idea of spending a month in Samar-Leyte: renting a place by the sea, diving all day.

I said yes before he even finished the sentence.

At first, the plan was to fly there. I’d take a sabbatical from work, and we’d just enjoy every moment. But just after the holidays, my cousin offered me her 20-year-old Vios at a bargain. Old and grey, but still running. 

We looked at each other and thought: what better way to test this aging car than an epic road trip?

So instead of boarding a plane, we stuffed the car with camping gear, filled the trunk with our life, and circled January 7 as departure day.

That was when we got the diagnosis. Batchi had cancer. Our vet told us not to take him, but leaving him behind wasn’t an option either. Nobody at home could give him the care and comfort we could. 

No, if his time was limited, he would spend it with us, on the road.

Instead of plotting must-see stops, I found myself mapping veterinary clinics along our route. Batchi had his first chemo session just days before we set off.

On the morning of January 7th, we loaded everything into the car, stopped by the cemetery to ask Mama and Papa for their blessing, and finally rolled onto the highway.

It was Batchi’s first long car ride. He paced and whined, panting as we crawled through NLEX and SLEX. It took us five hours to reach our first stop: 8 Aliliw, a wellness sanctuary nestled deep in the rainforest of Lucban, Quezon.

Rustam’s friend had offered us the place as long as we needed. It was pouring when we arrived around 10 pm.

Kuya Julius, the caretaker,  greeted us with his two energetic dogs. Batchi, already weary and overwhelmed, wanted nothing to do with them. He retreated to a corner near our bed and refused to move.

Those first days were hard and the nights were colder than we packed for.  Batchi’s tumor bled heavily. He developed a skin infection. He was distressed, lethargic, and in pain.

I did my best to clean his wounds, to keep him warm and comfortable, while Rustam poured his love into cooking healthy, hearty meals that Batchi could still enjoy.

Batchi, who never lost his appetite for life even in those challenging times, licked his bowl clean.

It wasn’t the adventurous beginning we’d imagined. It was cold. Messy. Full of worry and second-guessing.

But like all adventures worth telling, even the bleakest moments eventually gave way to light.

Long walks through misty forests. Quiet mornings with coffee and the sound of rain on leaves. Small signs of Batchi’s strength returning.

When his condition stabilized, we decided it was time to move farther south, chasing warmth and saltwater. And so we packed up and moved farther south to the coast of Infanta, Quezon.

We didn’t know it yet, but Infanta would give us some of our most unforgettable memories. Batchi’s first swim (spoiler: it wasn’t graceful), our first time camping with our good ol’ boy, and two surprise cuties who stuck to Batchi like velcro.

By then, the road had stopped feeling like an escape, or even an adventure. It felt like a love story in motion.

And that was only the beginning…