Ang mga Sugilanon sa Kahanginan: Ang Kasinatian ni Lola Evelyn T. Juntilla

Sa usa ka gabie nga hilom kaayo, samtang naglingkod mi sa among balkonahe sa gawas sa balay nangaon, ako gipangayoan ug oras ang akong lola nga si Evelyn T. Juntilla, 65 anyos, nga nagpuyo sa San Antonio, RTR, Agusan del Norte. Usa siya ka inahan nga puno sa mga kasinatian ug mga sugilanon nga murag gipanag-iya sa hangin sa bukid.

Kaniadto, siya usa ka magtutudlo sa mga tigulang nga gusto makat-on mobasa — usa ka maayong buhat nga mura’g suga sa kangitngit sa kabukiran. Gawas ana, naga negosyo pud siya sa gamay nga negosyo sa pagpalit ug mga lubi, usa ka ebidensya sa iyang pagpaningkamot ug pagka mapailubon.

Gipili nako siya kay gusto kong masayran unsaon nila pagtan-aw ang kalibutan kaniadto, sa panahong walay cellphone, walay sosyal media, ug ang mga katingalahan sa palibot murag tinuod nga kabahin sa ilang adlaw-adlaw nga kinabuhi.

Matud pa ni lola, sa una daw nagpuyo sila sa bukid, layo sa kadagatan ug kasaba sa lungsod. Ang hangin daw bugnaw ug limpyo, ug ang gabii puno sa kahayag sa aninipot. Usa ka gabii, mga alas onse, niuli akong lolo gikan sa baryo human mag-inom. Sa iyang paglakaw pauli, nakit-an daw niya nga ang punuan sa saging murag ginasayawan sa mga aninipot, ug hayag kaayo ang palibot. Pero aside sa kahayag, kalit lang daw nga naay babaye nga gwapa kaayo, puti, ug nagdan-ag ang panit sama sa bulan.

Didto nagsugod ang iyang kakulba. Ang kahubog nga iyang gibati, nawala ug kalit. Ang iyang lawas nangurog ug iyang mga mata wala na kahibalo kung kahayag ba o espiritu iyang nakita. Ang iyang istorya nakapahimo sa akong panit nga mangilo, kay mabati gyud nimo nga tinuod iyang kahadlok.

Apan dili lang kana ang iyang naagian. Giingon sab niya nga sa una, napatakdan daw siya ug wakwak. Sa iyang damgo, naglaba siya sa sapa, ug gitawag siya sa iyang silingan nga gihatagan ug ilimnon. Tungod sa respeto, iyang gininom kini. Paglabay sa pipila ka adlaw, nasinati niya nga ang kahayag sa adlaw sama na ug kalayo sa iyang panit, ug ang hangin sama ug dagum nga nagtusok sa iyang nawong.

Nagpuyo siya sa sulod sa balay, nagtabon ug muskit nga sako aron dili makakita sa kahayag. Ang akong lolo wala na gyud kasabot, maong gitawag ang usa ka mananambal. Pag-abot sa tigulang, giingon nga napatakdan daw si lola ug wakwak pinaagi sa damgo, ug kung wala pa maagapan, motubo daw ang “piso” sa iyang tiyan.

Maayo nalang ug naagapan siya sa tambal ug pag-ampo. Pagkahuman sa pila ka adlaw, daw gikuha ang bigat sa iyang dughan, ug nakabawi siya. Naghilak siya samtang nagasaysay, ug akong gibati nga tinuod gyud ang iyang kahadlok ug pasalamat nga buhi pa siya karon.

Samtang nagpaminaw ko, mura kog nadala sa panahon nga ang kahayag sa aninipot mao pa lang ang suga sa dalan, ug ang mga tinuohan murag hangin nga ginapaminaw, dili lang ginatubag. Dili lang sugilanon ni lola — tinuod nga kasinatian nga nagpamatuod nga ang karaang panahon puno sa pagtuo, respeto, ug kahadlok sa mga butang nga dili makita sa mata.

Nakita nako nga kaniadto, wala man sila’y tambal o doktor, pero aduna silay pagtuo nga makaluwas sa tanang sakit. Ang ilang pagtuo ug pag-ampo mao gyud ang ilang kusog. Nakapahimo kini nako nga mas morespeto sa mga karaang tradisyon ug sa mga istorya nga atong ginapaminawan sa mga tigulang.

Ang kasinatian saakong Lola Evelyn T. Juntilla nagpahinumdom kanako nga bisan unsa pa ka moderno ang kalibutan karon, ang mga sugilanon sa atong mga katigulangan dili dapat kalimtan. Ang iyang kinabuhi puno sa mga leksyon: pagtuo, respeto, ug kaisog sa pag-atubang sa mga butang nga labaw pa sa kasabotan sa tawo.

Bisan taliwala sa mga katingalahan ug kalisod, nagpabilin siyang buhi, malig-on, ug mapasalamaton. Ang iyang istorya nagtudlo kanako nga ang kultura ug mga tinuohan mao ang atong ugat, ug kon wala nato kini ampingi, mawala ang tinuod nga kahulugan sa pagkatawo nato isip Pilipino.

Biography of Joy Escarda Bantog

 In the quiet town of San Antonio, R.T.R., Agusan del Norte, where the rice fields stretch like green blankets under the golden sun, a child named Joy Escarda Bantog was born on December 29, 1985. The morning air then was crisp and full of promise, though no one knew that this boy, who came from humble soil, would one day grow into a man whose faith could move mountains.

Joy grew up in Sitio Pangaylan, a place where laughter echoed through bamboo walls, and dreams often faded beneath the weight of poverty. Life was not a bed of roses for his family — they were many mouths around one small table, sharing what little they had. Every day, Joy and his siblings would walk nine long kilometers to school, their bare feet kissing the dust of the road as the sun rose behind the hills.

“I’ll study hard, Ma,” little Joy once said, gripping his mother’s hand tightly. “Someday, I’ll make life easier for us.”

His mother smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting both hope and worry. “Just keep walking, anak. God sees every step.”

At six years old, Joy was already helping his parents — fetching water, gathering firewood, and tending to their small farm. At nine, he became a student at Balang-Balang Elementary School, walking to class rain or shine. Their meals were simple — bananas, sweet potatoes, and cassava — but to Joy, they tasted like blessings. When hunger came knocking, they shared what little they had. He often told his siblings, “We may not have much, but we have each other — and that’s enough.”

He never knew the comfort of malls or the taste of fancy food. Instead, his childhood smelled of fresh soil and hard work. The field became his playground, and the stars above his classroom ceiling. Even then, Joy’s heart whispered of a dream — to become a professional, someone who could change his family’s story.

From Grade 2 to college, Joy balanced books and burdens. He worked by day and studied by night, driven by faith stronger than hunger. But as he grew older, he began to feel that God was calling him to a different path — one not of worldly success, but of spiritual purpose.

His parents were his greatest teachers. “Keep your faith, Joy,” his father often said while mending tools by lamplight. “Hardship builds strength, and strength builds character.”

In school, Joy’s name was often written on the honor roll — a quiet symbol of persistence. He graduated from Balang-Balang Elementary School, then moved to Alburquerque, Bohol for high school, finishing with Second Honors. Though a working student, he never let exhaustion steal his determination.

His life, however, was not without storms. He faced financial struggles, emotional battles, and health issues — but through each trial, he found a reason to stand. “If God is with me,” he would remind himself, “then I am never alone.”

In college, surrounded by hopeful faces and the hum of ambition, Joy met friends who saw life through eyes of optimism. His teachers became his mentors, fanning the flame of his calling. Slowly, he realized that his purpose was to lead others to Christ — to preach not only with words, but with his life.

To Joy, success is not a medal, nor a diploma framed on a wall. It is the quiet peace that comes from walking in the path God prepared for you. He worked tirelessly, not just to escape poverty, but to transform pain into purpose.

“The greatest treasure I’ve found,” he says, eyes glimmering with faith, “is Jesus Christ. He is my everything.”

Every dawn, Joy wakes up with the same light in his heart — guided by God’s Word, inspired by the people around him, and strengthened by faith. Through the seasons of his life, he has learned to stay positive, courageous, and humble.

As a church leader and businessman, he teaches others to be steadfast. “Be like David,” he often tells his congregation. “Be humble even when you have everything. Be brave even when you have nothing.”

When asked what advice he could give to young dreamers, Joy smiled and said,

“Keep on trusting God, no matter what life brings.”

And when asked how he wishes to be remembered, he replied softly,

“By doing what Jesus did — loving others, serving with all my heart, and living with faith every single day.”

Travelogue: My Summer Journey to Siargao Island

Last May to June 2025, I had the chance to travel to one of the most beautiful islands in the Philippines—Siargao. This trip was very memorable because, unlike my previous travels, I went there alone. My tita and tito were already waiting for me on the island, so I had to travel from RTR by myself. At first, I felt nervous since it was my first time to take such a trip alone, but at the same time, I was excited to see what was waiting for me. I didn’t know yet that this journey would give me not only wonderful memories but also life lessons I would never forget.

When I arrived in Siargao, the first thing I noticed was the endless stretch of coconut trees swaying in the wind. The fresh sea breeze touched my face, and the sound of the waves immediately calmed me. It was so different from the usual noise and rush of everyday life. Everything felt slower, more peaceful, and more alive. At that moment, I knew my summer was going to be.

One of the first places I visited was Cloud 9, the surfing capital not only of the Philippines but also one of the most famous in the world. Even if I didn’t surf, the place amazed me. From the long wooden boardwalk, I watched the powerful waves crash against the shore. Surfers, both local and foreign, rode the waves with so much energy and skill. The scene was like something I had only seen in movies, but now it was real, right in front of me. Standing there, I felt small compared to the vast ocean, but I also felt inspired—the waves reminded me that life can be wild, but also beautiful if you learn how to ride with it.

Another memorable spot was the Afam Bridge. Unlike the lively atmosphere of Cloud 9, this place had a calm and quiet beauty. From the bridge, I could see the water below reflecting the sky and the surroundings. The view was simple, yet breathtaking. It was the kind of place that makes you stop, take a deep breath, and just appreciate the little things in life. Being there, I realized that beauty doesn’t always have to be grand—it can also be found in peaceful moments.

The highlight of my trip was celebrating my 19th birthday at Magpupungko Beach. Known for its natural rock pools, the place looked like a hidden paradise. During low tide, the pools revealed themselves—clear waters surrounded by rock formations where I could swim and relax. It was magical. Celebrating my birthday there with my tita and tito felt so different compared to my past birthdays. There was no loud party or big crowd, but the waves, the sun, and the laughter we shared made it one of the most meaningful birthdays I’ve ever had. At that moment, I realized that happiness is not about how grand the celebration is, but about how genuine the experience feels.

Of course, my trip wouldn’t be complete without visiting the Siargao Beach Club. Unlike the calmness of Magpupungko, this place was full of energy. People were swimming, enjoying good music, and laughing together. I felt the social and lively side of the island here. It was a perfect spot to feel young, free, and connected with others. Being there showed me that Siargao isn’t just about quiet beaches—it’s also about fun, community, and the joy of being around people.

Throughout my stay, I also got to see other parts of Siargao. Each place had its own story to tell—whether it was a small café serving delicious food, a quiet beach with no crowd, or the simple homes of locals who lived close to nature. Riding around the island, I saw children playing along the road, fishermen bringing in their catch, and tourists discovering the beauty of Siargao just like me. Every detail made the island feel alive and unforgettable.

Looking back, my trip to Siargao was more than just about visiting famous tourist spots. It was a journey of self-discovery. Traveling alone taught me independence and gave me confidence. I learned that it’s okay to step out of my comfort zone, because it is in those moments that we find the most beautiful experiences.

Siargao gave me memories that I will always treasure: the powerful waves of Cloud 9, the quiet charm of Afam Bridge, the fun vibes of Siargao Beach Club, and the unforgettable birthday at Magpupungko Beach. Each place became part of my story, making my 19th year extra special.

For me, Siargao will always be more than just a tourist destination. It will forever be the island that taught me lessons, gave me joy, and reminded me of how beautiful life is when you take the courage to explore it. Truly, Siargao is not only a paradise on the map—it is a paradise I will carry in my heart.

The Heartbeat of the Court

If someone asked me what the highlight of  district meet was, I’d answer without hesitation: the basketball game. It wasn’t just a game—it felt like the whole school came alive inside that covered court. From the moment I walked in, I could already feel the energy. The bleachers were packed with students, cheering, waving flags, and even standing on tiptoe just to get a better view. It was noisy, hot, and crowded—but somehow, it was perfect.

My eyes couldn’t leave the players. They weren’t just athletes; they were classmates, friends, and people we see every day in the hallways. But today, they looked different. They carried themselves like warriors ready for battle, their jerseys shining with pride under the sunlight. Every move they made told a story—how they dribbled with focus, how they passed the ball with trust, and how they fought for every rebound as if their hearts depended on it.

What made the moment even more powerful was the connection between the crowd and the players. When someone made a shot, the students roared so loudly that the sound seemed to bounce off the roof. When someone missed, the crowd still clapped and cheered, because we knew the effort was worth it. I saw smiles, laughter, and even tears of excitement—it was like everyone was part of one big family.

The picture that i have taken during the game shows more than just players shooting the ball; it shows unity. Behind those athletes, you can see the sea of students, standing together, proud of every point scored and every drop of sweat shed. It’s proof that sports aren’t only about winning or losing—they’re about heart, teamwork, and the joy of belonging to something greater than yourself.

When the final whistle blew, the game ended, but the memory stayed. The athletes may have walked off the court, tired and sweaty, but they left as heroes in our eyes. And as I looked around at my classmates still buzzing with excitement, I realized that this is what the district meet is truly about—not just competition, but moments that bring us closer together.

Justice Carved in Stone: Why I Stand for the Death Penalty

When I hear about the death penalty, I think of it as a gavel striking down, firm and final, echoing in the halls of justice. To me, it represents a line society has drawn—a line that says certain actions are so grave, so unforgivable, that they demand the highest consequence. I know it’s a heavy topic, but I believe in the death penalty, and I stand on the side that says it serves an important purpose.

One of the strongest reasons is justice. Imagine a candle glowing brightly, filling a room with light, and then someone comes and blows it out without mercy. That’s what happens when a life is taken. The victim, who once laughed, dreamed, and loved, is suddenly gone forever. But the killer, the one who caused the darkness, still gets to live inside prison walls—eating meals, sleeping, breathing, and sometimes even finding ways to enjoy life. For me, that doesn’t feel like justice. The death penalty ensures that the punishment fits the crime. While it can’t bring back the candle, it gives families some sense of closure. It tells them that society has not ignored their pain, and that their loved one’s life truly mattered.

Another reason why I support the death penalty is because it protects society. A criminal behind bars doesn’t always mean a criminal silenced. Some are like poisonous snakes that still carry venom even in a cage. Even in prison, they can still harm fellow inmates, threaten guards, or control illegal operations outside. Life imprisonment is not always enough to stop their reach. But the death penalty is like cutting the snake’s head—it ensures the danger is gone, permanently. Knowing that these criminals can never harm again gives society a chance to breathe easier, without fear that these people will return to spread pain.

Lastly, I believe the death penalty teaches accountability. Every action has a consequence, and taking another person’s life is the heaviest action one can take. If society simply lets murderers live out their days in prison, what lesson does that teach? That you can take a life and still keep yours? That doesn’t seem fair. For me, accountability means facing the greatest consequence for the greatest crime. It’s not about revenge, because revenge is fueled by anger, while justice is fueled by fairness. The death penalty stands as a reminder that life is sacred, and if you destroy it deliberately, you must face the highest price. It shows people that society values human life, and that the laws we live under are not just empty words.

My support for the death penalty comes down to these three things: justice for victims, safety for society, and accountability for criminals. I know it’s not an easy topic, and it’s not something to be taken lightly. But when I think about the innocent lives lost, the families crying out for justice, and the safety of people in our communities, I can’t help but believe that the death penalty has a place. For me, it’s not just a punishment—it’s a statement. It says we value life, that we protect the innocent, and that we are not afraid to hold people fully responsible for the choices they make.

The death penalty may be final, but so is the loss of a victim’s life. And in that painful balance, I believe justice must stand firm.

WHEN LETTING GO MEANS LOVING MORE

 Love was something I never truly believed in.

I grew up watching how it broke people — not strangers, but the very people who once promised forever. My parents said those words too once, in that tired kitchen with the cracked tiles and quiet resentment. But I saw how forever crumbled into silence, into slammed doors and cold dinners. Their scars became mine, etched not on skin, but in the way I stopped believing in happy endings.

"Love is a trap," I used to tell myself. "You give someone the map to your heart and hope they don’t burn it."

So I built walls. Told myself I didn’t need love — that I was strong, independent, complete on my own. And for a while, I believed that. Or at least, I tried to.

But the truth? The one I whispered to myself late at night when no one was around to hear?
I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be chosen — not just liked, but loved. Deeply. Wholly. Without condition. My heart longed for it, even when my mind pushed it away.

It was along the quiet charm of Boulevard, in Pagadian City, that everything changed.

That night, the waves whispered secrets to the shore while the moon spilled light on everything — even the parts of me I thought I’d buried for good.

And then... there he was.

Kenneth.

At first, he was just another face. But something about the way he carried himself made me pause. Not just his smile — though yes, it was disarming — but the calm in his eyes, the kind you only get after surviving storms.

"Don’t look at him like that," I warned myself. "Don’t be stupid. You know how this goes."

But it was already too late. Kenneth didn’t just catch my attention — he caught parts of me I didn’t even know were still vulnerable.

He was kind in a way that didn’t feel performative. Gentle, but not soft. Resilient. Grounded. And there was this unspoken understanding between us, like we both knew what it meant to stand alone for too long.

I told myself I was just enjoying the moment. But deep down, I could feel it — I was falling. And it didn’t feel reckless. It felt inevitable, like gravity. Like something I no longer wanted to fight.

With him, everything was easy. Natural. I laughed again — not the polite kind you give to strangers, but the kind that bubbles up from your chest and surprises you.

"Is this what it’s like?" I remember thinking. "To feel safe with someone? To let go?"

I started to dream again. Quiet dreams, small ones. A future. A home. Mornings that began with coffee and his sleepy grin. I never told him, of course. How could I? What if I scared him away?

Still, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just imagining love — I was living it. And for a while…
That was enough.

But love, as I came to learn, doesn’t always stay. Sometimes, it arrives like a miracle and leaves like a thief.

The day I found out about his ex — and the pregnancy — was the day everything cracked.

At first, I couldn’t breathe.
"No. Not him. Not this. Not now."
The words kept replaying in my mind, looping like a cruel song. The future I had secretly held onto disintegrated in a matter of seconds.

I tried to reason with myself.
"He didn’t cheat. People have pasts. You can be mature about this."

But no amount of logic could drown out the ache. Because it wasn’t just about the baby. It was about the shift — the sudden realization that the life I imagined with him wasn’t going to happen. That I would never be first in his story.

The pain was sharp. Silent. The kind that creeps in at 3 a.m., whispering questions into the darkness:
Why him? Why now? Why me?

But in the wreckage of what we were, I found something I never expected to: myself.

Letting go wasn’t easy. God, it hurt.
But I realized that walking away wasn’t weakness. It was strength — the quiet, stubborn kind. The kind that says, "I love you, but I love me more."

Kenneth will always be a part of my story. Not because he broke me — but because he awakened something in me. He showed me what love could be, even if only for a moment. And he taught me that love isn't always meant to last.

Sometimes, love is a teacher. And sometimes, the lesson is this: you can survive the loss of what you thought you couldn’t live without.

This memoir isn’t just about Kenneth.

It’s about me — Ericka.
The woman who dared to love, who dared to shatter, and who stitched herself back together with thread spun from resilience.

It’s about the girl who stopped waiting to be chosen and chose herself instead.

It’s about self-love — the kind that whispers, “You deserve more,” and means it.
The kind that stays when everyone else walks away.

It’s also about hope. That quiet, stubborn hope that even though this love ended in tears, my heart still beats. Still hopes. Still believes.

Because now I know: love is never wasted.
Every smile, every memory, every heartbreak — they’re all steps on the path toward the love I deserve.

And one day, someone will meet me at my fullness — not to complete me, but to stand beside me. Because I am not broken.
I am becoming.