Geography has fascinated me for as long as I can remember.
I am fascinated by places, people and cultures once I got hold of an old book called “A World View” from our old barangay library in my fourth grade. I immersed myself while poring the pages and wander across the grasslands, mountains and deserts. Maps also took a special interest in me. Looking at detailed Midwestern United States map on a scale of 1 cm to 10 miles I would bet with my childhood friends during lunch breaks. Long before Google Maps provides detailed street views and real-time traffic information, we had to rely on centerfold maps to let Michael Monteverde, Dante Plete and Bimbo Flauta locate a city or county half a world away.
I am not a nerd. I also play rubber bands, marbles, or labo labo, a modified dodge ball game where kids scramble after a tennis ball in chaotic fun, chasing and dodging, as the ball bounces unpredictably around the the vast expanse of Mintal Elementary School after school hours.
But my growing interest about places and cultures only intensified. Long before I graduated elementary school I know the capital cities of many countries and describe what language Mongols or Kazakhs speak. Not because we were required in school but because of my interest.
I am not only interested in international geography, I am into local as well. When my grade two teacher Ma’am Papin asked the class “Sino ang nakapunta sa Lallo, Cagayan?” while discussing the diorama “Pamayanan” of a typical Filipino community, did not hesitate to raise my hand. Surely I can remember about three years before I went to a place called Cagayan to visit my uncles and aunts. I found out later that Lallo is in Cagayan Valley and not in Cagayan de Oro that I have been to.
I tried to find out if there was a demarcation boundary between Mintal and Catalunan Pequeno just like the border patrol across countries such as Thailand and Malaysia or India and Pakistan. And the only way to find out for me is to go to such places. So the markers found on maps separating Iowa and Nebraska don’t necessarily translate into tangible ultra-long fenced boundaries.
There have been no geography subjects in high school; we have history with special geography flavors but I could hardly correct my teacher even if there is a glaring mistake in the lesson taught.
In college, I steerded away from geography which was not an elective in Engineering degree I pursued. I felt that the field has limited career and I would prefer to have it as a hobby during my spare time to learn more about it than to devote a lifetime building my career around it. Given the decision I made, I did not turn away from this childhood interest. While I have gained curiosity in other subjects such as astronomy and space exploration, geography is still something I hold with great interest.
Now that I live far from home, I still recall those days when I read books. Now I try to reach places. I was able to travel with fascination across Asia, spanning Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia and Chinese territories Hong Kong, Beijing, Shanghai and Macau. And even if Philippine passports require too many documents from employment certificate to bank statements, plus expensive fees, the desire to reach Europe and the United States was stronger than the obstacles.
I dreamt of reaching far‑flung places: the remote villages of Tajikistan, the rolling hills of Tuscany, a journey from Hong Kong to Moscow aboard the Trans‑Siberian Railway through China’s interior, Mongolia’s steppes, and Russia’s desolate east, or even the jungles deep within Africa. Ridiculous, perhaps even impossible. Yet dreams are free, and boundless.
What once lived in pages of hardbound books and atlases slowly turned into footprints that teach us lessons as we reflect on what we observe.
In Ayutthaya, Thailand, I learned that time humbles everything. Ancient ruins stood quietly under the sun, reminding me that people come and go, and even the greatest cities fade, but their stories endure. It taught me to respect history not as something distant, but something alive in every brick and broken temple.
At Meiji Shrine in Tokyo, I felt the power of stillness in the heart of a modern world. Surrounded by towering trees and silence in one of the planet’s busiest cities, I realized culture is not only seen in landmarks but lived in rituals. Progress does not erase tradition; it can coexist with it. And Japan shows how well this balance can be kept.
Standing in the Sahara Desert in Morocco with my wife, I understood scale in a way no map could ever show. Endless dunes stretching beyond sight and national borders made me feel both small and connected to something vast. It reminded us all that nature does not adjust to us, we adjust to it.
Times Square in New York City was the opposite extreme. Bright, crowded, and overwhelming that life imitates art (as a lifelong Seinfeld fan exploring Monks). Yet it taught me how diverse the world truly is in one single place. Every face, every language, every story intersecting in a few city blocks — from Broadway actors rushing to rehearsals, to tourists snapping photos under neon billboards, to food vendors selling hot dogs beside luxury shops, and families from every continent pausing to watch the spectacle.
But its transport system also has a dreaded reputation that repels many travelers.
Building on those journeys, other cities and landscapes added their own quiet lessons. Each one has different, yet somehow connected to the same curiosity that started with a map.
In Oslo, Norway, I learned the value of balance. A city that blends modern living with deep respect for nature (as evidenced in its ‘Powered by Nature’ tourism slogan) showed me that progress does not have to come at the expense of the environment. It made me wonder how could this mountainous country with long winters have among the happiest people in the world, and whose sovereign fund sits between $2.1 to $2.3 trillion or about $385,000 per citizen.
Vienna, the very first European city I have been to, welcomed me with its imperial grandeur and winter chill. From the soaring spires of St. Stephen’s Cathedral to the elegant halls of Schönbrunn Palace, every corner felt like a living museum, and I felt like listening to An der schönen blauen Donau by Johann Strauss or Billy Joel’s Vienna in the background.
Dubai showed me ambition in its boldest form; a city rising from desert sands into a hub of innovation. It proved how vision can reshape even the harshest environments, while reminding me that progress must honor its roots. From oil wealth, the emirate now strives to reinvent itself as the Middle East’s financial and economic powerhouse.
In Beijing, I felt the weight of continuity. The Great Wall of China and the Forbidden City reminds us of its rich history and China’s modern development coexist in a way that feels both complex and deliberate. Its identity, built over dynasties, revolutions, and reinventions, has shaped what modern China looks like.
The Gold Coast in Australia offered a different perspective, one of lifestyle and simplicity. Its relaxed rythm reminded me that not everything has to be intense or fast-paced. Sometimes, living well is about knowing when to slow down.
Düsseldorf and Munich, Germany, stood out with their precision and creativity. It showed me how structure and innovation can go hand in hand—from its orderly systems to its thriving arts and fashion scene. It reinforced the idea that discipline does not limit creativity; it can support it.
Each place added a layer to my understanding of the world—not just geographically, but personally. They were not just destinations, but teachers in their own way.
Then there was the Grand Canyon in Arizona. No photo or satellite image prepared me for it. It taught me patience that millions of years of erosion can create something breathtaking. It made me think about time differently, about how not everything meaningful happens quickly.
Having been to these places, I sometimes feel a sense of pride. They were once just names on a map I raced with Michael, Dante, and Bimbo to point first; now they are memories I carry for a lifetime. But I am also aware that sharing these experiences might spark envy in others. That was never the intention, but hopefully a sense of wonder and possibility that the world is vast, reachable, and worth exploring. For example, a domestic destination in the Philippines is a starting place to learn food, language and traditions.
Travel, for me, was never about collecting destinations as I’m fond of collecting fridge magents. It was about understanding the world beyond borders, beyond assumptions, beyond what can be learned in books alone. And if there is one thing geography has taught me, it is this: the world is too vast to be owned, but generous enough to be experienced.
I have no regrets traveling. Each place changed how I see distance, culture, time, and even myself. The lessons are not always obvious, but they stay with you.
From a boy tracing maps in a barangay library to someone walking across continents, the journey continues, not to complete a defined bucket list, but to keep learning and enjoy doing so.