Grateful for Baguio | Dinner at Hill Station on our Last Night

I haven't been posting a lot lately. If I were my younger self, I would have been extremely angry and disappointed in myself because of it. But this year, I am learning the Art of Gentleness. For such a long time, I have let my Inner Critical Voice be the loud sound inside my head. I would have berated myself. I would have told myself that I wasn't doing more, that I was no good, that I was wasting so much opportunity, and all the terrible things I could tell myself.

It's strange to think why many of us do this to ourselves when, more often than not, it only creates a vicious cycle of self-hate and avoidance of what we need to do. Perhaps, all along, we've been trapped in the cycle, and it takes conscious effort to escape it. And I think the way to escape it is to learn to be gentle to ourselves.

I think self-hatred and being critical of ourselves start at home and in the family. I can now trace back some of the narratives and things my parents ingrained in me that contributed to how I internally talk to myself. During my childhood, I heard these declarative statements: You're so tiring. You always misbehave. You don't know how to do it. You're messy. I shouldn't have brought you here. I shouldn't have bought that food or toy in the first place.

These statements become what I'd like to call negative affirmations. They burrow inside your mind and deeply affect how you react and how you process your experiences. And it's hard to free ourselves from these thought patterns.

We come to a point when we start to realize and wonder why we're the way we are. And when we trace the reasons back to our homes and families, we develop some resentment and hate towards our families. And as long as we hold on to those negative emotions, we allow ourselves to play the role of the victim. It took a lot of time for me to process some of my negative emotions toward my parents, but what really helped me was to give myself the opportunity to understand and empathize with them, to view them through a lens that wasn't clouded by my hatred for them.

A breakthrough for me was when I spent some quality time with my parents. For the first time, we traveled outside our home province just for the sake of traveling. We took a flight to Manila, and I drove my parents around the idyllic Baguio City. During the trip, I listened to their stories about their experiences and our lives when I was younger. I could recall the moment when we passed by Burnham Park, and I fully understood that my parents were genuinely good people. My mother was a friend to all, and my father was an enemy to none. My mother's boisterous character was a source of annoyance, and my father's nonchalance fueled my own isolation. But they were the stories I kept telling myself. Beyond and beneath them were stories of my mother's warmth and my father's gentleness. Realizing these things made it so much easier to release my long-held negative feelings for them.

On our third day in Baguio, we went to Hill Station, a famous restaurant near SM Baguio. This trip was partly to celebrate my mother's birthday. Although it was already a few days after her actual birthday, we still wanted to celebrate it by having dinner at a fancy restaurant. After a full day of exploring the city, we returned home, rested, and put on the fancy clothes we had brought with us before going to the restaurant.

The place was like an old house owned by rich people. It was made from wood, and the vibe was very homey. This trip happened in early January, so there were still Christmas decorations. There was a Christmas tree, and on the ceiling were 'series lights.' There was also a double staircase that led to some rooms.

We had a hearty dinner and asked the waiters to sing Happy Birthday to my mother. They even brought a slice of cake for her.

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After dinner, we stepped out into the cold evening. I was so glad I was wearing a thick jacket. We made our way back to SM Baguio, where we parked the car. We climbed up to the top floor to look at the city lights. We couldn't stay very long because the fog was growing thick, and my father was getting cold.

This was our last night in Baguio. We dropped so many things in our itinerary, spent a lot of time resting and sleeping, and made some wrong food choices, but what mattered was the time we spent with each other. What really mattered to me was the things I realized about my parents during this trip. And for that, I am grateful for Baguio.

_{He’s a dreamer and a thinker. He tends to sensationalize a lot of things. He got that from his mother. He's also a bit melodramatic. It must be from his father. Bear with him as he shares his thoughts and experiences about his travels, dreams, and the variety of things he's trying to learn and improve (personal development, writing, cryptocurrency, fitness, etc.). If you like this article, please give it an upvote, and if for some reason you're interested in more future content, please don't hesitate to follow.}