EVANESCENCE

most spiders are active above tree branches during that time, but our boredom led us into venturing back to the area under the scorching heat and insect bites. While I never participated in the spider trade, I was drawn to the adventure of exploring the wilderness.  And finally, after traveling onto an irregular, grassy trail, we landed into something interesting.

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"This is what they call 'Treasure, Gab," remarked one of my cousins as he settled onto a nearby rock. We opted to rest wherever we could find a perch near the basin. Some choose to perch near the bamboo grove for its shade. As we passed around the water bottle we had brought for our journey, I found myself stealing glances at the decrepit basin once more, contemplating its significance. Dubbed 'Treasure' after the rumored caches of stolen valuables brought by Japanese forces during World War II, it was believed that this basin originated from excavations conducted by my wealthier relatives in search of fortune brought by the Japanese looting during World War 2. While claims of such treasures had been abruptly disproven by historians, their existence remains pervasive within the barangay’s collective consciousness. 

The stories my cousins shared with me about Treasure portrayed it as a must-visit tourist spot. Waters once filled this basin, wrapping around the rocks we perched on. It spans an area similar to the brick-filled inner circle where the Oblation of UPMin lies. The water, clear and likely sourced from underground veins, nurtured a variety of moss and water-dwelling plants. My cousins would often recount how the waters remained crystal clear even as they gingerly navigated its slippery, muddy surface. Surprisingly, there were no dangerous creatures lurking such as snakes, just serene nature. What made the basin special were the surrounding flora—a bamboo grove and towering trees blanketed the water with its foliage, offering shade on scorching summer days. It was my cousins’ go-to spot when they couldn't afford a trip to the white beaches of Samal or other nearby pools. Few people beyond those who call the hinterlands home knew of this place. It was a hidden gem, known only to the adventurous souls willing to endure the lengthy trail and insect bites to reach it.

This abandoned basin, once a captivating marvel that I hoped to see, now stands as a haunting testament to what once was. The nearby bamboo grove, the last vestige of the flora that once embraced it, stands in stark contrast to the desolation within. Grass and rocks now fill the basin, its waters long vanished. Where its green foliage once concealed its existence, now only emptiness remains, exposed to all who pass by on the trail. For years, I yearned to explore this hidden gem, to immerse myself in its refreshing waters and revel in the adventures my cousins experienced. While they fearlessly roamed the woodlands and hills, I remained confined to the safety of home, shielded by my parents' protective instincts. Though their tales of exploration and discovery filled me with longing, I could only listen from afar, confined to the safety of our neighborhood. But as time passed and circumstances changed, I dared to dream of joining their escapades, of forging memories together that we would recount in spirited conversations. And now, as I stand here, finally able to witness the site firsthand, I'm confronted with a harsh reality: that time has passed for my fantasies to be a reality.. In an instant, the vibrant visions of my cousins and me enjoying the basin are reduced to mere fantasies of a solitary boy.

We quickly departed from the basin and resumed our search for spiders amidst the patches of vegetation scattered across the rugged hinterlands. Despite our efforts, we returned empty-handed. The next night, we ventured into the depths of the hinterlands once more. Little did I know, it would be the last time I laid eyes on Treasure. Seven years later, my cousins and I retraced our steps along the same irregular trail that led to the basin. As we approached the familiar bamboo grove, I was taken aback to find that the basin had vanished. In its place was nothing but dirt, with the rocks we once perched on now cleared away and the area covered in carabao grass. My cousins began reminiscing about the place, sharing stories of how they learned to swim and dive in its waters. As they laughed and connected over their shared memories, I could only listen, feeling as though I was witnessing the mourning of a lost treasure. While they relive their experiences, I could only imagine the countless fantasies I once dreamed of experiencing in this place.