Locating myself
I am writing this on my phone while on a six-hour bumpy ride on some creaking bus to Baguio. Through some clues on roadside signs, I deduce I should be somewhere between Bauko and Buguias. But GPS should tell me where exactly that somewhere is. I open my cellular data, and realize I can’t get good 3G. I resolve that I am somewhere between Bauko and Buguias or, easily, anywhere along the Sagada-Baguio route.
In this time of Google Maps and Waze, finding one’s location has never been this exact. It has become so surprisingly accurate that it seems no street is unaccounted for. There are labels for all imaginable points where two coordinates meet in the plain that is the surface of the earth. In this time of geotagging and pinning locations, nothing is uncharted, or at least nameless.
In other words, in this time of modern geography, nobody is supposed to get lost.
These technologies have revolutionized travel and navigation. They tell you how far you have gone from your point of origin, or how long it would take until you reach your destination. They provide you alternate routes that can shorten travel time, and they warn you when a hurdle is up ahead. All these complete with voice support that could aptly be taken over by Kris Aquino.
Today I am turning 25 and superstition says I should not be out on the road traveling. But here I am, twisting and swaying on Cordillera highways, looking out a window of a bus that could fall any moment. I am contemplating whether I am now in Atok, or I have time-travelled to some Peruvian highland on the way to Machu Picchu. Thickets of fog are slowly drifting onto the road, and I fancy the thought that I could be lost.
Truth is, I am lost. I used to think that these life stories are just some glorified rich-kid dramas. But I am no rich kid and, ugh, how I hate drama.
But I’m here, in the middle of the vastness of life. I find myself at the intersection of realities, and I am overwhelmed by the multitudes of people going in different directions unfazed. I find myself on life’s running track, and I watch others breeze their way past me, which makes me doubt my pace. I find myself in the middle of the superhighway of the unknown, and I am not sure how I even got here.
I never thought this could be so real. And it’s so scary it’s almost dreamlike. I navigate unexplored territories, bereft of road signs and streetlights. But then I need to get there, and wherever that “there” is I do not know. I just need to get there, despite bruises, scars, broken dreams, broken bones.
And these I have to do all by myself because, heck, I’m an adult.
How I wish I could just Google Map my way to what I want and where I think I should be. How I wish Waze has everything laid out, so that all I have to do is turn left or right or around if need be, just so I could get to my purpose. How I wish I could actually pin my location, so that Destiny would accurately know where to pick me up.
Sadly, I don’t have that technology yet. The only thing I have at the moment is Faith, and I’m pretty sure this could bring me places just as fine.
And while I’m on this bumpy six-hour ride thousands of feet above sea level, fighting an internal conflict on whether I am in Bauko or Buguias or the Andes, I might as well enjoy the moment and revel in the grandeur of the mountains and waterfalls.
Sure, I can’t figure out where I am now. I can’t pinpoint my location as precisely as Google would. But at least I’m certain I am somewhere, and my intuition tells me I’m getting there.
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Justin Paul Marbella, 25, is a government worker.
