The second morning of the residency greeted me with soft sunlight, slipping through the curtains and waking me earlier than usual. The air was crystal clear, fresh, as if inviting my lungs to breathe deeply and fill my body with new energy. My heart beat fast, curious about the surprises awaiting me.
Not long after, Nung Nung appeared with her warm smile. “Let’s begin our journey,” she said. There was something in her voice that made me feel like a child about to be led into the hidden secrets of the forest.
The car wound its way along the road. From the window, the Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly, shimmering like molten glass reflecting the morning light. On the other side, mountains rose tall and green, with rivers cutting their paths among rocks and valleys. The air carried a mingled scent of salt, damp earth, and wildflowers. It felt at once familiar and foreign, like a melody I had once heard in a dream.
Inside the car, we played Cianjuran, traditional Sundanese music that I sang myself. The sound of the suling and kacapi mingled with birdsong, the whisper of the wind, and the distant roar of waves. It was as if the music was not only being played, but answered by the land itself. Nung Nung smiled and said, “This music belongs here. You should make a video here.” I laughed, but in my heart, I knew she was right.
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| Gagu, explained the hiking route |
When we arrived at Putung, the day began with a prayer. I closed my eyes, sensing the sacred silence that enveloped us. Ancestors, the earth, and the universe seemed to lean in, offering their blessing. In tradition, such prayers are often accompanied by fermented drinks made from millet or local grains, sweet, slightly sour, and gently alcoholic. They reminded me of tape ketan, a traditional Indonesian delicacy made from fermented sticky rice.
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| The swing |
We began our climb beneath towering trees whose branches wove a gentle canopy above us. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering playful patterns across the ground. Not long after, we came upon a tall swing hanging from a tree. Gagu, our guide, explained that in the old days it was used to seek a life partner. A woman would sit upon the swing while a man stood nearby. Together, they would sing as a form of communication, their voices weaving into a dialogue beyond words. From this exchange, the man could sense whether she was the right one to be his wife. If he felt a connection, he would place a piece of wood at her house as a sign of his intention. The story made us smile, an unfamiliar yet beautifully poetic tradition.
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| The waterfall |
The climb took us to a waterfall cascading down dark rocks, its sound soothing and steady. Gagu told us this waterfall was the lifeline of the community below: for drinking, cooking, and farming. I gazed at it with reverence. It was not just a beautiful sight, but a pulse that connected people and nature. Crossing beneath its spray, I trembled for a moment, afraid of slipping, until hands reached out and voices urged me forward.
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| All rocksss |
The trail grew steeper, the path narrower, forcing us to walk single file. The stones beneath our feet were more than rocks; they were storytellers. Some were round and flat, others sparkled like crystals when struck by sunlight. Gagu explained how these stones had been used for generations to build houses. There were also smooth stone paths, remnants of the Japanese who once rolled massive stones down the mountain along these slides.
But not all stories from this land are gentle. Our guide shared a tragedy from long ago: two sisters crossed into another tribe’s territory to meet the elder’s lover. On their way, they were captured and killed by beheading. Their tribe, furious, nearly waged war in retaliation. Yet they were counseled to hold back, for the aggressors were a small people and revenge could have wiped them out entirely. The story left us in silence, teaching that wisdom sometimes means resisting anger for the sake of life itself.
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| How beautiful :> |
We descended along steep slopes, clinging to ropes and tree roots, each step a quiet act of trust. At the base, a great river awaited, its waters rushing brightly beneath the sun, joined by birdsong and rustling leaves. There, Gagu spoke of mountains, tribal struggles, and the wisdom of ancestors. I felt as though I was walking not just with companions, but with generations who had loved and tended this land before us.
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| The foodsssss, soo yummmy :’) |
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| Ina Ljaulep in her family’s prayer house |
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| From left to right : Ljeljeng, Zhou Shengqi, Giyu |
The final surprise came as the sky darkened. Outside, we met Zhou Shengqi, an artist from the Paiwan Tubian tribe. With skilled hands, he placed a snake-shaped ring in my palm. “Now you are protected by our ancestors, wherever you go,” he said. My eyes stung with emotion. For them, the snake is a sacred symbol of wisdom and protection, binding humans to their ancestors. The ring was more than adornment; it was a prayer, a blessing, and a bond.
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| Snake-shaped ring on my finger |
The ride home was quiet, though my mind was alive. I replayed the day: the glittering sea, the forest stories, hands reaching to steady me, the laughter of elders, the blessing in the prayer house, the snake ring resting in my hand. Each memory felt like a bead strung together, forming a necklace of treasures.
That day was not just a hike or a visit. It was a lesson about life, about how humans, nature, and community intertwine. I knew the residency had only just begun, but already my heart was full, ready for whatever awaited in the days to come.
Bunga Dessri Nur Ghaliyah, Taitung 2025
: A Day in Putung){kind=link}
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