This morning I revisited our small forest nearby. “Good morning! How are you, babies?” I greeted the trees as I haven’t for quite some time. They’ve grown enormously. One of the salimbobog is six-feet tall now, the top leaves peeking spritely amid tibig. The toog is growing new, tough, crunchy greens. Two kalantas tower above me. A couple of bitaog, and akle, catching up. Though we are far from the coast, the dapdap, though struggling, is trying its best.

Our beautiful toog, or Philippine rosewood. This is a large tree that reaches up to 130 feet in height. Though fast-growing, it is now a threatened species because of the rampant illegal logging in the country.

It’s unbelievable how much growth takes place in a year. Seeing nine out of 18 that we planted at the beginning of the pandemic survive is a warm embrace. A handful – toog, white lauan, and malabulak – were accidentally hacked and burned when people cleared the area, a creekside public space. My heart splintered into pieces. I thought sorrow will wither the remainder of them.

That’s salimbobog, also called balai lamok, at the center (yellowish ones). It’s pretty flowers are often likened to the Cherry Blossom. Above it is a monkey tree, below is Ficus, or tibig in the vernacular. They grow in abundance here in our area.


This year I hope to make good on my promise to grow 40 native trees as I turn 40. There are the natives, yes, plus 10 fruit-bearing and floral trees we’ve previously sown, but there is still so much work to be done. Maybe we won’t make it. Maybe the world is going to shit after all. But I think it’s fair that I at least try. For our children. For the Earth. It’s given me so much – this life, above all – that it feels like a grave disservice to simply give up. I’ve always believed in striving for justice, the same way the Universe metes it. It is only right to give back when one has taken and received so much from a space she inhabits.

Akle or East Indian walnut. Its wood is known for its beautiful grain – they say the most beautiful of natives – and is grown often for construction.


Trees are the ultimate embodiment of altruism. They exist solely to give life: their arms home for nesting birds, their oxygen our days and years, their fruits sustenance, their roots urging water in parched land. If there is one thing I want to be in the afterlife, it’s to be a tree. While I can’t be (yet – who knows?), I hope to put my energies into growing and caring for as many as I can.

Kalantas or calantas, also called Red Cedar or Philippine Cedar. Like toog, this is another large forest tree, growing up to around 80-ish feet. Last I checked it’s already considered critically endangered by the DENR, and I’m happy there is enough space for a couple of them out here. It’s one of my favorites! This one is now around 5’5″ tall.
Here’s how it looks like when we sowed it in mid-2021.


Happy International Forest Day to us all. May we keep loving and tending to the forest of our lives. May we keep our home accommodating not only to humans and animals, but also to the trees that lend us our lungs and therefore, an existence worth reveling in.

A little poem I wrote today for all the amazing life-giving trees ’round the world:

To be a tree

to be one with detritus
to be the hand that feeds forgotten critters
to be hearth for the small and voiceless
to inhale the world’s sorrows and exhale new life
to tread a future like a newborn with soiled feet
to not wait for New Year before turning over a new leaf
to ground oneself with hands steadfast in the sky
to unbuild walls with roots

Bitaog. People sometimes mistake this for rubber tree, and you can certainly use it as an indoor plant in place of! The leaves are beautiful and it grows to only a good medium size, which is perfect if you have limited space.

Dapdap. This is a species of Erythrina. There are various species and some are not native to the Philippines, but I need further confirmation what mine is 🙁 The flowers are claw-like, of a vibrant red or red orange color. These trees grow best in areas that have high salt concentration, like seashore communities.

This is the public space where we planted the native trees. There’s a heavily eroded slope that leads to a creek several feet down on the left side (bit dangerous during typhoon season), which is one of the reasons we planted the trees there.

In Personal journal

Gretchen is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and essayist from the Philippines, where she embraces life while managing bipolar disorder and ADHD. Her confessional pieces unpack the complexities of grief, healing, motherhood, love, and intersections, garnering recognition from the Greg Grummer Poetry Contest and Navigator's Travel Writing Competition.

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