NATURE Poem: November Walks in Baguio City, Mylen Anceno

I’m allergic to exercise—
You’d never catch me in a gym.
But I know it matters,
So I walk instead.

Morning sounds ideal,
But sleep is sacred.
My feet find the road
Whenever time allows.

At noon, the sun burns hottest,
Darkening my skin.
At first, I minded—
It didn’t look good in photos.
But now, I wear these tan lines
Like badges of honor.

In November, typhoons retreat,
And blue skies reign.
Clouds float like cushions,
Fluffs that could catch me if I fell.
I take trails I’ve never known,
Paths bordered by trees,
Grateful for this mountain city.

Flowers line the roadside,
And I walk until I reach
6,000 steps or more.
Once, I passed a view deck
Overlooking a cemetery—
Graves with roofs,
Others exposed, dirty white.
Pine trees frame the scene—
Not eerie, just quiet,
Another piece of the city’s story.

Further along, purple bougainvilleas bloom,
Their petals scattered on the ground.
I step; they crunch.
Stray cats cross my path—
Five or so each day.
Wary, but still they pose
At the shutter sound of my phone.

In alleys with narrow roads
And staircases that challenge my thighs,
Burning, I climb,
Grateful for the ache.

I even met a rooster
Who clucked proudly,
Matching my pace, step for step.
But its feet faltered,
And it let me go ahead.

Lush greens surround me,
A feast for the eyes.
Sunflowers, golden,
Blanket the hills in the distance.
Houses perched on hills,
Shabby but charming,
Rustic in their embrace of time.

When the walk tires me,
I stop by a café,
Playing with a pug
Who calls the place home,
Its bark soft as a whisper.

On the way back,
I bid farewell to sunflowers,
Promising to return tomorrow.
But tomorrow never came.

Now, all I can do is reminisce
On my November walks
From a year ago.
I made plans,
But never tried again.
The bed became my prison,
And my resolve slipped away.

This year weighed me down:
Sickness and death in the family,
The loss of my walking buddy,
The endless voice of my inner saboteur—
Screaming: “You’re a failure!”
I doubt; I procrastinate.
Dimness surrounds me—
Not pitch dark, because I dare to hope.

Just when things seem to brighten,
And I think this November will bring renewal,
The typhoons of October
Rage one after another,
Dampening my spirit.

So as the new year approaches,
I hope to restart.
I remember the darkness this year brought
And the brightness my walks gave me.

The wind whispers to me,
Brushing hair from my face,
Keeping me company in solitude.
The trees and flowers
Always want to be my friends.
The sunflowers, especially—
They know they’re my favorites.

In the coming weeks,
I’ll seek them again—
I know meeting them
Will cheer me up—
Their yellow hues reminding me of the light
That waits outside,
And the light I hold within.

Because did you know?
Yellow is my favorite color