What Nagpana Falls Taught Me

By Noel Galon de Leon

Last Holy Week, when time seemed to slow and silence carried more meaning, I found myself on a journey that felt bigger than a simple outing. I went to Nagpana Falls, a place I had heard about for years but never actually visited. It is located in Brgy. Nagpana, Barotac Viejo, Iloilo, a place that until now had lived only in my imagination as untouched. Finally, being there brought a strange sense of anticipation and excitement. It felt like stepping into a part of the world I had always dreamed about.

Everything seemed perfectly timed. I had just finished an academic paper for the Deriada Conference, and completing it left me feeling unexpectedly light and free. There was a sense of openness in me, a readiness to experience something beyond the rigid structure of academic thinking. This trip promised more than a simple escape. I was ready to let the day unfold and embrace whatever it had in store.

I was with my fellow teachers from U.P. High School in Iloilo, and even the journey itself became part of the experience. Gas was expensive, so we decided to use just one vehicle. More than saving money, it became a chance to connect, to laugh, to have deep conversations about things we rarely talk about at work. Every mile on the road strengthened our bonds. Being together made the journey feel alive.

We expected no food to be sold at the falls, so we stopped at public markets along the way. These markets turned out to be more than practical stops. They became moments of reflection and memory. Here, life moved without filter, unpolished but real. Everything felt honest, from the smells to the sounds to the people’s faces.

At the first market, we bought water and some native snacks. I picked grilled corn and peanuts; simple foods that somehow felt comforting. There was a happiness in eating them that I could not explain. Even small foods carried a sense of home. Each bite reminded me of a slower, more deliberate way of living.

Walking through the wet market felt like returning to a part of myself I had long forgotten. There was intimacy in the space, a way of seeing people’s exhaustion, determination, and survival. There was no pretending, no hiding, only life as it truly is. The market showed the human experience in its raw form. It made me feel grounded and alive.

Suddenly, childhood memories came rushing back. My father always brought home native snacks after shopping. At the time, it seemed ordinary, but now I realize those small gestures were full of love. I understood that love often hides in these little moments. They carry a meaning that only time can reveal.

I saw so many traditional treats: baye-baye, ibos, suman sa latik, kalamay hati, bibingka, puto, and maja blanca. They were more than food; they were memories passed down through generations. Each delicacy carried a story and a history. They connected me to the people who came before me. In every bite, I could feel the care and patience that had gone into them.

These foods had a sense of authenticity that is rare today. There were no artificial additives and no shortcuts in preparation. Every taste reflected honesty, patience, and craft. You could feel the origin in each bite. Modern convenience could never replicate this.

I thought about how easily we forget our roots. Even the simplest food can reconnect us to place, to people, and to ourselves. Traditions live quietly in everyday acts. Small gestures can remind us where we come from. These moments make the past feel alive again.

At the next market, we bought food to cook later at the falls. We got two large bangus and a chicken to grill when we arrived. I was surprised by how fresh and affordable the fish was. You could see that it had just come from the sea. The honesty in its freshness is something you rarely find in the city.

We did not buy pork out of respect for the tradition of avoiding it during Holy Week. For some, it is just a custom, but for me, it was a quiet way of honoring the past. Following tradition felt like paying attention to the people who came before us. These small decisions gave the trip a deeper meaning. They made the experience richer.

When we reached Nagpana Falls, we were welcomed by our Ati brothers and sisters. Their smiles were natural, calm, and warm. They made us feel at home in a place that already had its own story. We paid thirty pesos for entrance, but it felt like more than a ticket. It felt like permission to enter a place with meaning and presence.

The walk to the falls was short, but it felt symbolic. We were leaving the controlled, planned world behind and stepping into a freer, organic space. The path invited reflection. Every step brought me closer to quiet awareness. Nature seemed to breathe alongside us.

Nagpana Falls gradually revealed itself. It was not grand, but it had quiet strength. Large stones and tall trees seemed to guard the space. The falls blended power with calm. Its beauty felt timeless, untouched by hurry or expectation.

Even in the shade, the warmth of the Holy Week sun was present. Despite the heat, there was a special calm that lightened the spirit. The place carried a subtle, spiritual weight. It invited stillness and contemplation. Being there made me feel present in a way that is rare.

I watched the water flow over the stones. It was gentle and continuous, like life itself, quiet but unstoppable. Every ripple had purpose. The rhythm was soothing and inspiring. Watching it felt like witnessing poetry in motion.

It was a poem you did not need to read, a visual poem to feel rather than analyze. There were many people around, bathing, cooking, drinking, and filming. It was not the quiet falls I had imagined, but it was real and full of life. The contrast between expectation and reality was striking. The place existed completely on its own terms.

I wondered what it had been like before many people discovered it. Perhaps it had been more peaceful and intimate. Even now, its beauty remained. Change had not erased its essence. The soul of the falls was still alive.

While grilling our food, I noticed a special sense of community. Even strangers shared a quiet connection. Being together felt natural and easy. I realized human bonds can emerge anywhere. The space created connection without needing words.

After eating, I sat down and opened my phone. Even without signal, I wrote a poem. It felt like the place asked me to capture my feelings in words. Nature became my co-writer. Writing became a conversation with the falls.

When it was time to leave, I carried a feeling that was hard to explain. Something had left me, and something else had arrived. This visit was more than a simple trip; it was a transformation. Descending the mountain, I felt renewed. I left with a desire to write, reflect, and keep searching for meaning in simple places like Nagpana Falls.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and U.P. High School in Iloilo. He serves as an Executive Council Member of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.