A landscape of what could have been

It was 1 a.m. The calm yet deafening sound of the breezy midnight wind whispered to my ears. The silence was interrupted by the crunching of rocks as a car’s headlights illuminated the dark sky. It was our ride heading to the airport, starting our vacation to Taipei.

I was both excited and nervous—a dream was about to be realized. I finally had something to check off my bucket list.

Never did I know that my lifelong dream would also hit me with harsh reality.

I have always been a proud Manileño. I spent my whole life strolling and wandering around the streets of Quezon City. I would always look around my school campus and say to myself, “What a city that I live in.” The malls, parks, and establishments, such as the Quezon Memorial Circle, emphasized my love and loyalty for my hometown.

My love was even greater for the entirety of the Philippines.

Every time I look at a picture of a beach, a historical site, or even the national flag, emotions of pride and gratification take over my heart. During flag ceremonies, I would be that student who would sing “Lupang Hinirang” and recite the “Panatang Makabayan” with a firm voice, a straight posture, and a heart full of gratitude.

I knew my country was not perfect, but I had high hopes.

As I set foot in the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, it felt like I had entered a whole new dimension. The infrastructure was convenient. The airport had Wi-Fi that didn’t cut off every 20 minutes. The air-conditioning made it more comfortable to travel and walk around in a country known for its humid, subtropical climate. The moment we left the airport, I was met by Taipei’s landscape. The cleanliness, the infrastructure, and the peaceful atmosphere shocked me. It wasn’t what I’ve always seen and observed hundreds of miles away in Manila; even in the most metropolitan, high-end areas in Manila, there would always be trash on the streets.

On the second day, I saw a bigger picture of Taipei. The word “astonishing” wasn’t enough to explain how I felt walking around what Ximending—and the rest of Taipei—had to offer. From the landscape of the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall to the breathtaking view from the 89th floor of Taipei 101, the day was but a real-life demonstration of what I saw on social media, only better.

Landmarks and tourist attractions aside, what changed the entire trip was the Taipei Metro.

Most stations in Taipei had air conditioning. Every train, from the red line to the green line, arrived in a timely manner. The infrastructure made it convenient to navigate. People didn’t rush or push each other, even during rush hour. It wasn’t like the MRT here in Manila, where trains are late, construction of stations is constantly delayed, and people frequently run and bump into each other.

We then traveled for an hour from Taipei 101 to the Tamsui River. The temperature and weather felt like the rays of the sun were pinching our skin. But as we arrived at the riverside, the amount of greenery turned the hot, humid weather into a cool, breezy one. To think that people could have parks as a cooling spot instead of air-conditioned spaces felt impossible as a Filipino. At one point, I asked myself, “Imagine having these parks as cooling areas instead of malls?”

In the Philippines, cool parks and convenient metro stations are considered a luxury. In Taiwan, it was the bare minimum.

That’s when it hit me.

I’ve always thought that malls were the go-to cooling place for everyone. That delayed construction was normal because some things just “took time.” That everything would be okay because “the government will take care of it.” I ignored all signs of an intensely held-back country, even if the signs were already in front of me.

For years, I thought our country was as developed—or advanced—as other Southeast Asian countries like Thailand, Vietnam, or Malaysia. Despite issues surrounding our leaders, I still thought that we were slightly superior to other countries. But as I look back now on the memories, the photos, and the emotions I felt during that trip, that mentality was but a selfish, nationalist mindset that I’ve used to distract myself from the detrimental effects of poor governance and corruption in the Philippines.

What a slap in my face.

The moment we landed back in Manila, the vacation became not only a core memory but an epiphany. It was a revelation that struck me like lightning; it felt painful, yet it opened my eyes wider.

I didn’t just see Taipei. I saw a landscape of what could have been.

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Amado “Bordy” F. Ang, 13, is an eighth-grade student at the Far Eastern University–Diliman campus.