Since 1998, two years before I left the workplace, my family had been going to the Canyon Woods Resort Club yearly—similar to what pilgrims do. Except that the place is not a shrine; it was our recreation haven.
A friend’s daughter, who was then carving her career in sales, convinced me to invest in the club. To help her, I bought one share without knowing what the club had to offer. It was her first sale and it was my first investment (paid in installment).
It proved to be worth the “risk.” Our three boys had enjoyed the heated pool, recreation area (all sorts of indoor games), gym, theater, library, spa, clean air, and the beautifully landscaped 220-hectare lot.
A huge part of our stay in the resort was passing through the breathtaking view of the Taal Volcano.
We brought all our guests and close friends there not just for R&R but for workshops and golf.
All those travels stopped when a bridge to the place collapsed. The coup de grace was the pandemic.
When things had gone back to normal, we traveled there again last year. The place has decayed, but we still continued paying our membership dues.
To take advantage of our privileges, we drove there again in December. “Our last one,” Tony and I said, deciding to stop paying dues. Not because the place is not what it used to be, but more because we both are not what we used to be: now too feeble to walk the sloping roads and distances between places.
But son #3 was adamant. “I will pay for the dues!”
I realized that fun memories (while our boys were growing up) cannot be dropped like a hot potato. Oscar Wilde said it so well, "Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.” And that grace diary is a part of who we are.
On our way home, son #1 and son #3 asked the driver to stop by the places (many are already closed) that were part of the resort in days of old. In each spot, they were gone a long time while Tony and I waited in the car.
Son #3 took my photo with the familiar volcano in the background. I didn’t verbalize what was in my mind, I will not pass this way again. It was not a lament, but a celebration of new things that might come sooner than we think.
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