Mark Caguioa's Long Drive to Baguio By: @tepmags

Mark Caguioa's Long Drive to Baguio By: @tepmags

Waiting at the terminal, underneath the heat of doubters who take jabs at you every single opportunity they see and in every aspect they deem okay, you kept your calm - slipping here and there.

The trip towards the much awaited award you truly deserve starts, a decade and spare change during the last count.

The van, packed with several other players who are also in the hunt for one of the highest accolades, is on fifth gear.

The surroundings blur due to the speed, but the road in front and the goal stays clear as ever.

Everything was smooth sailing; several awards, a championship or two, but the smooth concrete roads abruptly stopped, road blocks came to view.

Your team got eliminated, and with the heavy hours taking toll, you’re knocked out and have dozed off.

You woke up in the middle of trip, the van still speeding, you felt pain in your legs. A cramping knee perhaps, or both.

Out of the blue, the van enters a small compound - a pit stop. You come out of the vehicle to get your injured knees operated and rehabilitated.

You wait.

After a while, you enter the van once more; the second half of the journey starts.

The drive has been crazy; either smooth or bumpy; getting into the finals and winning and getting into the finals and losing.

Slowly, the roads are winding; a clear signal that you are nearing your destination - that long overdue plum.

Fog. You are blind sided by heavy fog which is blurring your sight.

Windows moistened, you saw red; your eyes misted by your own blood.

Another difficulty, another severe injury.

But you continued on and as you approached the City of Pines, the altitude and pressure on you to win increased.

Just like every time, you flexed your tired muscles in anticipation; in acceptance of the age old challenge.

You are near.

Yet the air conditioning surprisingly shuts down - your sister team turned it off for you.

The AC was a comfort for the heat, but a new coldness started to seep through every crack.

You opened the windows, cold and fresh winds blew; kissing every inch of your face in joyous celebration.

The high lands of Baguio may not be a Mount Olympus, but you’ve overcome every possible road block, every possible path, and every possible weather.

The van halts.

The door opens.

Welcoming you at the terminal are several Victory Liner buses filled with teary eyed, smiling faces of us, your fans, who struggled, hustled, and finally - are in celebration with you and for you.

You have arrived.

Mark, you have finally arrived.

Source:
steph a knee