Field Diary: Post-sampling blues

Elders of the Manobo-Tinananon predicted that there will be warm days ahead. I saw the lauan trees in Mt. Sinaka crowned in gold blooms, stark against the dark and thick foliage. Pretty soon, flowers will be pollinated and seeds will need enough drying so that the living cycle continues. It’s been a physically tough week. I was shifting my thoughts from project necessaries to my own troubles. In the end, I breathed, felt my own sweat dampen my back and pushed myself up, up the mountain paths.

I was with a team of local people who volunteered to assist monitoring the rainforestation plots planted with indigenous trees last year. We were a cheery group despite the sun burning our faces. We had more than twenty plots ahead of us scattered around the forest fringes. The task was seemingly simple, count the trees and evaluate whether plots comply with simple protection measures such as maintenance of green breaks and strip brushing.

I became coordinator for a forest restoration project in 2012 with doubts and many misgivings. There was a team to put together and my own demons to chase. But with encouragement from peers, my weariness became a form of excitement. I had thought that if I wanted to retire by 30, it was time to step up and move forward.  The chance to become a young conservation biologist seemed too cool let go.

For most part of the project life, I wound up taking care of the boring stuff. From logistics and finance, to photocopying and copyreading. From accomplishing forms to writing reports. From donor relations and writing proposals. I went crazy. I felt like I was expected to become everything at once. I survived that 1.9 months of being a slave to my job title. I barely saw my family and friends. And I was sore from having to attend too many meetings. I was heading into a total burnout.

When the project finished, I thought of a nice vacation in the Bahamas. Haha! But I only have enough to pay for my sister’s university tuition fees, the home mortgage, life insurance and groceries. And then we needed to catch up implementing another project.

In April, I have watched the Alimukon (Phapitreron cinniriceps) feeding its fledgling up on a branch of African tulip. The other parent was somewhere nearby calling for its family. The male Alimukon, the harbinger of bad days in many indigenous faiths, cooed. Then, the trying times came.

I watched the blooming forest for a while. In the past, Arakan Valley was lush and teeming with life. I never saw a glimpse of it but stories of the good old days were a favorite among the indigenous peoples over coffee. Sauna...Very few of the middle-age population remembered sauna. But those who did held on to their memories, frowned with the hardships past and present but remained grateful for today.

After sampling forest restoration plots, I had mixed feelings. We know forest restoration is a feat. But how hard can it be? Are we facing wicked problems or are we really doomed to fail? I had tried to compose myself and words that would soon become what they call a “Terminal report.”

I hope one of these nights, I’ll be able to catch a good dream, a sign that would make us move forward.