AGGAO NAC CAGAYAN: "Visiting 28 towns, 1 city"
I AM A CAGAYANO: FORGED BY LAND, BLOOD AND MEMORY
Saniboy Pacursa | June 2025
I owe my identity as a Cagayano to the hills and valleys, the mountains, the trees and flowers, the rivers, the plains, the islands in the north, and the rich seas beyond, that shaped the smiling face of the land where I was born.
My body was forged under the unflinching gaze of the sun—like a sturdy carabao that wrestled with the mud, the cracked soil, and the rocky slopes of the hills—bearing on my sunburnt shoulders the weight of my dreams. Heavy, but hopeful dreams. Yet, it is the scent of the grass and wildflowers riding on the wind that gives me strength. The touch of the “amihan” breeze on my darkened brow melts the frozen warmth across the valley where I first beheld nature’s beauty, where I first became aware of the events, the history, and the stories that gave shape and color to the face of Cagayan—etched into the maps of the universe.
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| Batang Plateau in the Babuyan Group of Islands |
The mighty Sierra Madre mountains to the east, the rich Cordilleras to the west, the turquoise blue waters of Palaui Island and the pristine sands of the Babuyanes Group of Islands to the north, the bustling city of Tuguegarao to the south, and in the heart of it all—the valley home that is dear to me carved by the Cagayan River, the lifeblood of the region’s progress—these are the natural stages where I shed the careless habits of an unwise youth and acted out the foolish deeds of the theatre of my heydays. My presence on these stages is a distinct feature of my homeland, and in this telling, I know right that no one would dare question me when I say: I am a Cagayano.
Very long before the tyrant Spaniard Don Juan de Salcedo landed at the mouth of the Pamplona River in 1572 to conquer the fertile valley, the archaic Homo luzonensis known as the Callao Man or the mythical “Ubag” already lived among the caves and roamed the vastness of the valleys of this land racing against the shadows of the mighty stegodons, giant tortoises, elephants and rhinoceroses. The seed of his being flows through my veins—my ancient ancestor, the first
Filipino, the first Cagayano. Though his soul may have vanished into the unknowable corners of the valley, the history buried with his bones, teeth and tools, unearthed from the graves of the past in Callao Caves, reshaped not only the story of Cagayan but of all humankind.
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| Libsong Cave, discovered in Lasam, June 2025 |
From the lineage of “Ubag” grew the seeds and the very existence of the Cagayano, of the Filipino, pre-dating those what we know today as the Negritos, the Malays, the Indones or the Austronesians. And from there, I inherited my being a Cagayano from my ancestors—those who suffered under foreign domination: forced labor, unjust tribute systems, the infamous tobacco monopoly, widespread corruption, and abuses of human rights. These injustices inflicted great suffering on the Ilocanos and the Cagayanos during the time of colonization. Yet my ancestors—the patriotic sons and daughters of Nueva Segovia, and all the brave people of Cagayan—fought back and became part of the struggle that shaped our province’s and nation’s rich history.
My lips do not remain sealed when it comes to speaking about my forebears, ancestors who still live in memory. I do not fear to name the cruelty of the past, for remembering these harsh truths must serve to teach us never to become like those who showed no mercy to humankind.
Now flowing through my veins is the immortal blood of Cagayano heroes and heroines. Their proud dignity speaks through me; their mindsets, culture and beliefs are deeply woven into my identity. The welts on their backs from the whips of the oppressors are insignias—reminders for us all to remain steadfast through life’s trials.
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| Kannaway Beach, Dilam, Calayan Island |
I am the child of a poor farmer—one who toiled on the fertile banks of the Cagayan River, in the lush valleys, and across the vast plains. From the abundance of these lands came bountiful harvests—rice, corn, coconut, sugarcane, peanut and fruits—crops that not only sustained our table but also reached the global market, feeding both the body and the hope of the province for the coveted progress. I am also the grandchild of a fisherman who braved the fierce waves of the Babuyan Channel for the precious “bulong-unas” of Santa Ana, the tasty “dorado” of Claveria, the sought-after “gamet” of Santa Praxedes and the famous “aramang” and the rare “ludong” of Aparri, taming the raging seas between the warring Pacific Ocean and the West Philippine Sea.
In these waters, I saw how foreign eyes were drawn to the wealth hidden in the black sands—black sand we considered gold—resting along the long shores of northern Cagayan, my province. I witnessed, too, how those same seas became silent routes for smuggled contraband—goods of mysterious origin, threatening to shatter the dreams of our children and our people. And yet, I also saw the rise of modern-day heroes along those same shores—friends and allies, armed not just with weapons but with courage and resolve, standing against invaders, island-grabbers, abusers of nature, destroyers of dreams, and the greed of those who exploit our God-given resources. These are the ones who now carry forward the spirit of the fight—the battles once won by my Ilocano ancestors, who were once dismissed as mere indios by the colonizers blinded by arrogance. Now, we stand with dignity reclaimed, no longer silent.
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| Caddud Falls in Calassitan, Santo NiΓ±o (Faire) |
I know all of this to be true—not because I read it, but because I have lived it. Because I am a Cagayano.
There were times I hesitated, wondering if I should give up being a probinsyano—a true Cagayano—in exchange for life in the highly-urbanized cities, or in distant lands flowing with milk and honey, where the future seems bright and full of promise. I considered it, hoping perhaps to escape the stereotype branded in people’s minds—that a Cagayano is “kuripot” or stingy, and worse, selfish.
I felt the fear and anxiety—the thought that my race, tribe, the minority I belong to, and the sun-roasted color of my skin from the scorching heat of Tuguegarao and the rest of the valley, might determine my worth—whether I’d be seen as fully human or something less of a human. Because of this, I’ve seen many of my townsmen lose their confidence. I’ve seen them give up their homes, their traditions, and culture in exchange for a better life in the lands blanketed by snow and lit by the sparkle of the beaconing dollar. In return, they left behind the lush Sierra Madre for the concrete jungles, the peaceful streets of home for the blinding alleys of nightlife, the tropical azure seas for the hot and desolate deserts and the healthy dishes like “pinakbet” and “dinengdeng” for the greasy burgers and pizzas.
They became afraid. They felt ashamed. And worst of all, they forgot they were Cagayanos. But because of this, I found the fire within my very heart—the burning truth that I was born among heroes and heroines. I was born unafraid, and I will never be ashamed of being a Cagayano.
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| Cape EngaΓ±o, Palaui Island overlooking the Dos Hermanos Islands |
I come from a land that will never allow its people to be diminished by prejudice or belittled by narrow-minded views—the views that have led many of my townsmen to hide or deny their identity for fear of being labeled as the ill-famed “kuripot” Cagayanos. From what I know, our ancestors have already won that battle—with heads held up high—proving that being Cagayano means belonging to a land of smiling beauty for both the dark-skinned or fair-skinned, for the farmers of the immense valley, for the growers in the Sierra Madre mountains, for the fishermen of the Babuyan Channel and the Pacific, for the tillers of the lands, for the resilient laborers in towns and cities, for the wise-spenders and the brilliant, for the giver and the generous.
Cagayan is not for the greedy, not for the addicts, not for the murderers, not for those who exploit nature, not for the power-hungry and not for the corrupt whose voraciousness is used to enrich some and impoverish the rest. No matter how unbelievable it may seem to the doubters, a true Cagayano stands unshaken.
Whoever we are, whatever our immediate interests, no matter how heavy the burdens we carry from the past, no matter how fearful a hostage we are to the uncertain future, and despite how others may judge our abilities or question our character— today, let us make no mistake of stopping ourselves from proudly proclaiming who we really are.
So who now would dare question or challenge my identity as a Cagayano? Today, more than ever, it feels truly good to be one.
I am a Cagayano, forged by land, blood and memory.
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Sonnyboy Pacursa|Submitted to CACWA, non winning entry.
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