Dear Diary,
Today started like any other day in Tañong Bayan, with the golden sun rising over the emerald-green rice terraces that surround our village. The early morning air was cool and crisp, filled with the scent of damp earth and the distant songs of birds greeting the new day. Mama woke me up before dawn, and together we prepared breakfast. She made rice porridge with sweet potatoes, a simple but filling meal to give us the energy we'd need for the long day ahead.
After breakfast, I joined my family in the fields. The rice terraces are the lifeblood of our village, carved into the mountainsides by our ancestors. Working in the fields is hard, but it's also beautiful in a way that's difficult to describe. The terraces stretch out in endless layers of green, each level meticulously maintained and flooded with water from the mountain streams.
Today was planting day, one of the busiest times of the year. Papa and my older brothers had already begun preparing the fields, plowing the earth with our trusty water buffalo, Kiko. I waded into the ankle-deep water, feeling the mud squish between my toes, and started transplanting the young rice seedlings. It's a repetitive task, but there's something meditative about it, too. Each seedling is placed with care, ensuring it has enough space to grow strong and healthy.
As I worked, I thought about how these rice plants will grow over the coming months, transforming the terraces into a sea of waving green stalks. The thought made me smile. There's a deep sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing you've played a part in nurturing something so vital. I often imagine what it would be like to see our village from high above, the terraces forming intricate patterns that shift with the seasons.
By mid-morning, the sun was high in the sky, and the heat became intense. We took a break under the shade of a large mango tree, its branches heavy with ripe fruit. My younger brother, Toto, climbed up to fetch some for us. As we enjoyed the juicy, sweet mangos, we chatted and laughed, sharing stories and plans for the upcoming harvest festival. It's these moments, amidst the hard work, that I cherish the most.
Later in the afternoon, as we were wrapping up our work for the day, I saw him—Lito, my childhood friend. He was waiting by the edge of the terrace, his usual cheerful expression replaced by something more serious. My heart skipped a beat as I walked over to him, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
"Lia," he said, looking down at his feet. "I have something important to tell you."
"What is it, Lito?" I asked, feeling a knot of worry forming in my stomach.
He took a deep breath before looking up to meet my eyes. "I've decided to go to the capital to join the army. I want to fight for our country."
His words hit me like a wave, leaving me momentarily speechless. Lito had always been brave, always talked about doing something great, but the thought of him leaving, of him being in danger, filled me with a mix of pride and fear. I knew how much this meant to him, but I couldn't help feeling conflicted.
"When are you leaving?" I finally managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"In a week," he replied. "I wanted to tell you first."
We stood there in silence for a moment, the sound of the wind rustling through the rice stalks filling the air. I looked into his eyes and saw determination, but also a hint of the same uncertainty I was feeling.
"I'll miss you," I said, my eyes starting to sting with tears.
He gave me a small, sad smile. "I'll miss you too, Lia. But I promise, I'll come back."
I nodded, trying to hold back my tears. "You better," I said, attempting to sound strong. "And you have to write to me."
"I will," he promised.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the terraces, I walked back home with a heavy heart. The day had started so normally, but now everything felt different. I know that change is a part of life, but it's hard to let go of the people you care about. All I can do now is hope for the best and support Lito in his decision.
Tonight, as I write this entry, I feel a mix of emotions. Today was a reminder of how quickly life can change, how the future is full of uncertainties. But no matter what happens, I'll always cherish the memories we've made here in Tañong Bayan.
Until tomorrow, Diary.
Lia