By Eva C. Visperas

 

THERE was a time, not too long ago, when the Capitol Complex in Lingayen, Pangasinan was felt like a sanctuary. The towering trees that lined its grounds were more than just a part of the scenery. They were the very heartbeat of the place, providing relief from the scorching heat, and their rustling leaves whispered stories of decades gone by.

I remember those weekends when I would stroll through the area as part of my fitness regimen, grateful for the tranquil ambiance the trees provided. The majestic Capitol building stood proudly in the background, but it was the greenery, the living, breathing trees, that made the space truly special.

I often took my kids there, letting them play ball games in the open spaces between the Veterans’ Park and the Urduja House. The trees that surrounded us seemed to embrace the laughter and joy that filled the air, creating memories we would carry with us forever.

Those moments were precious. Being near the sea, with the added benefit of the trees’ oxygen, made those afternoons feel like something out of a dream. We were a family who appreciated the simple pleasures of life, and nothing felt more simple and perfect than spending time outdoors, under the shade of those trees, before the sunset.

I also remember the other children, the sons and daughters of Capitol employees, who would join in the fun. They didn’t need much — just the open green space and the freedom to play with one another. It was a different time, one where kids could connect with each other without boundaries, learning the values of friendship, camaraderie, and socializing.

And there were the walks with my aging Papang Mauro, too. I’d take him around the Capitol grounds just to give him a little fresh air. He would always stop to admire the trees, sharing with me how much joy they brought him. He had always believed in the importance of planting trees. Our home, modest as it is, has a backyard dotted with fruit trees, most notably the mango tree that he planted. Before he passed, that tree was finally bearing fruit — something he always looked forward to. His belief in trees, their ability to provide, and their importance in the environment was something he instilled in me.

These cherished moments come flooding back to me now. March 6th saw another blistering hot day in Pangasinan, with the heat index reaching a dangerous 45°C by noon. The harsh realities of global warming are becoming more apparent, and it’s hard not to draw a connection between this extreme heat and the loss of so many trees that once helped to temper it.

I still recall the deep grief last year that echoed through the voices of Pangasinenses when we learned that the trees around the Capitol Complex were being cut down. It felt like a death sentence to something that had been such an integral part of our lives for decades. People took to social media, their sadness palpable, as they mourned the trees that had stood witness to so many milestones.

The reason for this tree cutting was to make way for a new developmental project — a reflecting pool and interactive fountain, which, on the surface, promised to be an exciting addition to the area. But at what cost?

Will the new development truly be worth the sacrifice of these trees that had become so intertwined with our daily lives? And now, with the heat we are experiencing, the significance of those trees seems even more apparent.

From time to time, I scroll through my phone and look at the photos I took of the remaining trees in front of the Capitol. These pictures have become precious to me, each one a reminder of a time when the trees were still there — offering shade, relief, and life to the people who passed by. I fear the day when these too will be gone.

But I hold on to hope. After all, just as my Papang taught me, planting trees is not just about creating beauty — it’s about securing the future of our environment and leaving a legacy for future generations.

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