Written by Revgene Marie Andicoy
He left Manila once,
shirts folded, wallet full—
the city humming behind him.
Returning with him:
a suitcase,
and the weight of forests
in his head.
Stone did not belong among trees,
so he took a branch
and let the forest follow.
Seedlings leaned toward him,
as if the world
had whispered first.
Some opened to the sun.
Others strained too far—
he steadied them
with soil,
with twine.
Liptong.
Bacong.
Bunlas.
Hopea philippinensis.
a barangay,
a city,
a province,
the country.
Each tree,
a memory he refuses to forget.
Each seed,
a living legacy—
His forest—
a map
of the world
he carries home.
He whispers them like old friends:
a soulful mission,
a quiet devotion.
A light breeze
stirs among treetops.
Chickens cackle,
then pause.
A dog tilts its head,
listening.
A leaf spins,
stops.
Here,
the world is patient.
People come by, sometimes.
They shuffle
along leaf-laden paths
and leave
with small dreams
tucked into pockets
a cup of warmth
at dusk,
the courage
to begin again
tomorrow,
the quiet knowing
something can grow
even after
being carried
so far.
The forest does not mind.
It hums,
politely.
He tells the story
the same way
every time.
Voice slow,
patient.
The trees
have heard it before.
No rushing.
No jostling.
No prideful clamor.
Sunlight spills gold
across his shoulder.
And still, he smiles.
Tilts his head
toward a leaning tree,
as if it were
part of the conversation too.
He sits,
and the world he carried
stretches outward—
echoing
the life
he brought home.
All that was fragile.
All that began
in his hands.
Has grown
into something
far beyond him.
The earth breathes
in green
and light.
And in that breathing,
he sinks his roots—
and finally,
here
is everything
he ever dreamed
to be.