Why Do Lonely People Go to Baguio?

Why Do Lonely People Go to Baguio?

Around four years ago, before I met my husband, I was trying to rebuild my life after the end of a seven-year relationship.

It was my second year of being alone. I was slowly getting used to doing things by myself, learning that solitude wasn’t always something to fear. Somewhere in the middle of that season, I felt an inexplicable urge to go to Baguio.

So I did.

Not once, but twice. On my second trip, I even found myself traveling farther north to Atok, Benguet.

Back then, I didn’t question why I was so drawn to the mountains. I just knew I needed to be there.

Fast forward to today, and life couldn’t be more different.

For months, my husband had been trying to convince me to go back to Baguio. Every chance he got, he’d remind me that it’s only about a four-hour drive now, not the six-hour journey it used to be. He even bought me a blanket specifically for long road trips, hoping to make the ride more comfortable.

As practice, he took me on a two-hour drive to Lucban just to prove that I could survive being a “passenger princess” all the way to Baguio.

I always laughed and told him, “I don’t want to sit in a car for four hours just to go to Baguio.”

And then it hit me.

It’s not that I didn’t like the long hours of driving.

I just didn’t feel the need to go anymore.

That realization stopped me in my tracks.

Why was I so drawn to Baguio before?

Over the years, I’ve noticed a familiar pattern. Whenever someone goes through heartbreak or a difficult chapter, people jokingly tell them, “Mag-Baguio ka muna.”

It made me wonder.

Why Baguio?

Maybe it’s the scent of the pine trees.

Maybe it’s the cool air that makes you slow down.

Maybe it’s the walkable streets that let your feet wander while your mind catches up.

Or maybe it’s the mountains. There’s something about standing before something so vast that reminds you your pain, while real, isn’t the whole story.

Psychologists have found that weather can influence mood. Colder, cloudier days can make some people feel more reflective or melancholic. The quiet that often comes with cool weather creates space for emotions that are easy to ignore during the rush of everyday life.

Perhaps that’s why Baguio feels different.

It doesn’t force you to be happy.

It doesn’t pressure you to move on before you’re ready.

It simply gives you room.

Room to cry without feeling rushed.

Room to sit on a bench and do absolutely nothing.

Room to walk for hours without needing a destination.

Room to scream into the pine forests of Camp John Hay if that’s what your heart needs.

Life demands so much from us. We’re expected to be productive, resilient, optimistic, and constantly moving forward. We become experts at pushing through, even when we’re quietly breaking inside.

But Baguio has a way of slowing everything down.

It reminds you that healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes healing looks like a long walk beneath pine trees, a cup of hot coffee held with both hands, fog rolling over the mountains, and silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

Looking back now, I don’t think I went to Baguio because I wanted a vacation.

I think I went because I needed somewhere that would let me grieve.

A place that didn’t expect me to smile.

A place where it was okay to be quiet.

A place where loneliness didn’t feel so lonely.

This weekend, we finally drove to Baguio together.

For the first time, I saw the city through different eyes.

Not as a refuge.

Not as an escape.

Just as a beautiful place to spend the weekend with the person I love.

That’s when I realized something.

Baguio hadn’t changed.

I had.

The emptiness that once needed mountains and cold air had been replaced with laughter, road trip playlists, a husband who buys me blankets just to convince me to travel with him, and a home that finally feels peaceful.

Sometimes, the places we once needed become places we simply get to enjoy.

Maybe that’s what healing looks like.

Not forgetting the places that carried you.

But no longer needing them to carry you.

In Baguio, it’s okay to feel.