✍️ Originally written in 2011. Revisited and reflected on in 2025.
A backpack. A bunch of friends. Zero expectations.
It was the kind of weekend you didn’t overthink. You just said “okay,” packed your things, and headed straight for the meet-up.This is that story.
📍 Flashback: Anawangin, Zambales – 2011
Before the fancy travel planners, packing cubes, and waterproof phone pouches, there was this:
- A raw, spontaneous weekend escape to a cove we only heard or read about through other friends’ Facebook accounts.
- A blog draft that sat unpublished for over a decade—until now.
Looking back now, I barely remember the details—but I’ll always remember how I felt. Carefree, young, slightly sunburnt, and wildly alive.
Photo credits to the owner.
⛰️ The Barkada Plan
Anawangin happened because someone in the group randomly said, “Gusto niyo ng beach na may bundok? ”A few texts later, we had a group of weekend warriors ready to escape the city.
Photo credits to the owner.
🚐 The Journey
We took a Victory Liner bus to San Antonio, Zambales. From there, a trike to Pundaquit. Then, the highlight: the boat ride to Anawangin Cove. The waves were wild, but our spirits were wilder. 😆
“Kuya, sobrang maalon po ba? ”
“Oo, pero konti lang.”
Translation: Brace yourselves, folks. 😆
Photo credits to the owner.
As soon as we arrived, we were welcomed by a surreal sight: pine trees growing near the beach, volcanic ash for sand, and zero signal. Paradise.
Photo credits to the owner.
🌲 Island Rituals
Tents. Cooking gear. Canned goods. We brought everything. Some of us were first-timers, others seasoned mountaineers. But when the bonfire lit up and the stars took over the sky, we all became kids again. We took lots of low-res photos with our digicams and early smartphones (grainy but full of heart!) and explored the cove like we were discovering a new island on Survivor Philippines.
Photo credits to the owner.
At night, there were no lights—just the moon, the stars, and the hum of crickets… and us, telling stories, laughing over canned goods and instant noodles, and whispering dreams into the night air.
Photo credits to the owner.
🕯️The Climb at Capones
Rain fell like a soft drizzle as we rode the boat to Capones Island. The sea tossed and sighed, but we reached shore with soggy determination. From there, the real challenge began—a slippery, rocky ascent toward the old Spanish lighthouse.
Photo credits to the owner.
I held tight to the rope along the trail, knees shaking and heart thumping—but not from fear. It was exhilaration. I climbed fast, beating the boys, feeling every step like a declaration. And when I reached the top—42 creaky spiral stairs later—I closed my eyes, felt the wind on my face, and whispered, “I did it.”
Photo credits to the owner.
The lighthouse stood hauntingly regal. Rusted, weathered, almost forgotten. But to me, it felt like it remembered every climber who ever dared. It saw me. It saw all of us.
We laughed, teased, and jumped for photos at the peak like we’d conquered something larger than the trail—maybe something within ourselves.
🧭 Waves That Stayed
Some places don’t ask to be remembered—they simply never leave. Just like our group photo in front of the lighthouse, frozen mid-laughter and adventure, those memories from my rookie corporate days—aka weekend warriors—etched themselves deep in my mind, heart, and soul.
Zambales didn’t just host a trip. It held space for a version of me learning, growing, and daring to climb both literal mountains and internal ones. And while the pixels may blur and the old blog may yellow with time, the story will always pulse with life.
🌅 2025 Reflection: Then vs. Now
This post was drafted more than a decade ago—when Facebook had no Reels, when we relied on tagged photo albums and Blogspots to tell our travel stories—this was my 2011. No Instagram filters, Reels, or #travelgoals, just friends, Sky Flakes, canned tuna, tents, and tides. I’m publishing it with a few tweaks in 2025 to reflect my writing style but still keep the original voice—an unapologetically 2011 one.
The destination changed, and so did I. But the heart behind it? Still beats for sunsets, friendships, and moments that ask nothing but to be felt.”
I’m glad I never deleted this blog draft. I’m even more glad I lived this moment.
Photo credits to the owner.
Sometimes, it’s not about perfect grammar or curated travel shots. It’s about telling your story—messy, raw, real. And that 2011 girl? She was already doing it.
So here’s to her.
To old friends, cheap adventures, and the kind of memories that only get better with time.
See you again someday, Anawangin. See you again someday, guys.
