School Librarian in Action

Growing Through Stories: Pitong Tsinelas

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Mon, 29 Jun 2026 13:55:12 +0000

When Seoul Surprises: History Beneath Our Wheels

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 15:30:00 +0000

From Insadong, we took a bus to the nearest park along the Hangang, Yeouido. Our agenda was simple: go on a bike ride and chase the sunset. Mission accomplished—and more.

Near the bike rental station stood a tunnel with a sign: “A Walk Through the History of Yeouido Airport.” I was tempted to walk through it, but we had bicycles waiting and the road ahead seemed to be calling us instead. For the next hour, we rode along the Hangang, passing families on picnic mats, couples strolling beneath the trees, runners, bikers, too and children racing ahead of their parents. Eventually, we stopped beneath one of the bridges to rest. That was when a series of historical markers caught my attention.

The markers narrated the story of Yeouido before becoming the financial district and riverside park that people know it today. Once little more than a sandy island across Mapo Port, its destiny changed during the Japanese occupation when an airfield was built there. As I walked from one marker to another, I realized that this was not merely the history of an airport. It was the history of people whose dreams took flight.

One marker bore the words: “Yeouido, Where Dreams Take Flight.” It is a beautiful phrase because it speaks of more than airplanes, arrivals, departures, or the passage from one era to the next. It speaks of aspiration.

The story begins with Art Smith, an American aviator whose aerial demonstrations at Yeouido in 1917 captivated thousands and inspired many Koreans to dream of flying.

Among those inspired was An Chang-nam, who became the first Korean pilot to fly over Korea. Beyond aviation, he devoted himself to Korea’s independence movement before his life was cut short in a plane crash at only twenty-nine years old.

His example, together with Art Smith’s, inspired Kwon Ki-ok, one of Korea’s first female pilots. She joined the anti-Japanese independence movement, trained as an aviator in China, and dedicated her life to the dream of a free Korea.

Art Smith inspired An Chang-nam. An Chang-nam inspired Kwon Ki-ok. One person’s courage became another person’s beginning.

Reading those markers, I realized that inspiration also has a history. It moves from one generation to the next, from teacher to student, from artist to artist, from parent to child, from dreamer to dreamer.

I then realized how BTS’s songs about hope, resilience, and even resistance feel deeply rooted rather than entirely new. They belong to a much longer Korean tradition in which art, music, and culture carry memory, courage, and hope across generations.

Not because BTS is equivalent to these historical figures, but because they, too, have inspired millions of people to create, study, volunteer, teach, write, make art, to simply choose one more day to live or endure difficult seasons. Their music becomes another marker along the path, reminding those who come after them that courage can be inherited.

As a librarian, I have spent much of my life believing that history lives in books as well as places inhabited by dreamers, innovators and wanderers. Seoul validated that. History also lives in parks, tunnels, riverbanks, and the places where people choose to stop and read the space and environment.

Sometimes the greatest discoveries are not found inside museums alone. Sometimes they are waiting beside a bicycle path, though unnoticed, reminding us that every generation leaves markers for the next.

Growing Through Stories: Bakit Matagal Ang Sundo Ko

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 15:00:00 +0000

July 21, 2026 is National Children's Book Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 26 Jun 2026 13:36:00 +0000

When Seoul Surprises: Damien’s Shark and the Philosophy of Namjooning

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 26 Jun 2026 05:00:00 +0000

For years, Damien Hirst’s famous shark existed only through a conversation with my children.

Kuya once spoke about Hirst’s The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living as a class topic in his humanities class. ARMY Daughter, who works in a museum joined the conversation. I have been with artists long enough to understant the quentessence and quirks of artworks. A shark in a tank of formaldehyde is outrageous, indeed, but I never thought that one day I would stand before the work itself.

Last week, at the National Museum of Modern Contemporary Art in Seoul, I finally did.

It was larger than I had imagined.

Suspended in a glass tank, the shark appeared impossibly still, yet strangely alive. It was neither simply dead nor fully alive. It existed in tension. I found myself thinking not only about death, but about what I have come to understand as the life-death-life cycle.

This year marks ten years since my transient ischemic attack, also known as mini-stroke.

Ten years ago, life divided itself into a before and an after. Since then came other endings: COVID, Menopause , Ouie and Mama’s passing, Papa’s slow disappearance into dementia, friendships that faded, relationships that quietly unraveled, abandonment in a fickle fanbase, children growing into adults.

Looking back, I realize that life has never moved in a straight line. It unfolds in cycles. Something ends. Something is lost. Something new quietly begins.

Standing before Hirst’s shark, I understood that contemporary art does not always seek to comfort us. It asks us to remain present before life’s contradictions long enough for them to reveal something true.

We left the museum and as we wander into Cafe Homie for coffee, I carried a strange feeling of contentment.

As I ordered our drinks, only then did I discover that Namjoon had once spent time there and had taken a photograph from the space where I happened to be sitting.

The coincidence made me giddy. It also completed the day.

One artist had invited me to contemplate mortality. Another quietly reminded me how to inhabit life. Suddenly, I understood Namjooning a little differently. It is not about collecting places because RM once visited them. It is not about reproducing someone else’s itinerary. It is about cultivating the same habits of attention.

Standing before difficult works of art. Reading widely. Walking without hurry. Sitting in cafés. Listening more than speaking. Allowing museums, rivers, trees, books, art, music and conversations to reshape the way we see the world.

That afternoon, we wandered through a small gallery in Insadong. We rode bicycles along the Hangang. We cooled our tired feet in a shallow stream while children laughed nearby and elderly couples watched the evening settle over the river.

Looking back now, I realize that nothing extraordinary happened. We simply paid attention. And be.

Perhaps that is why the day remains one of the most meaningful moments of our Bangtan Pilgrimage. I came to Korea hoping to understand the culture that shaped BTS. Instead, I received more.

I came home understanding something about my own life. That is the invitation of both Damien Hirst and Kim Namjoon of BTS. To keep looking. To keep wondering. To keep making. To keep living.

Survival becomes a story where life thrives. The opposite of death is not life. It is forgetting to live.

When Seoul Surprises: The Neighborhood Near Changwon National University

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 15:00:00 +0000

People often imagine South Korea through the skylines of Seoul or the bright lights of Busan. Well, Changwon is charming and warm.

Gyeongnam Art Museum sits beside Changwon National University, and as evening descended, the neighborhood slowly filled with students wearing IDs on lanyards, walking beneath rows of trees with the mountain standing behind them. There was no rush to see the next attraction. The entire place felt lived in.

It reminded me of UP Diliman’s Area 2, except that, the texture has more “angas”.

The places do not look alike, but they share the same rhythm: affordable restaurants, students lingering over dinner, convenience stores that offer everything from medicines to Tmoney loading station, cafés waiting for conversations that stretch long after class.

We were hungry from an afternoon of wandering through galleries and discovering Arirang and Picasso’s ceramics, so we followed the path to where some students enter into a small restaurant whose name I can no longer remember. Some places deserve to be remembered by taste rather than by name because, while we didn’t order Michelin-starred cuisine, we had a taste of every day Korean food cooked by an Ahjumma and served by an Ahjussi.

The Ahjussi welcomed us with efficiency while students came and went around us. As always, ARMY Daughter became our translator and communicator, reading the menu, asking questions, and ordering for the family. Kuya and I were all smiles watching her confidently speak. One of the quiet privileges of traveling with grown-up children is watching them lead when you once led them.

Our kimchi fried rice arrived crowned with a perfectly fried egg, its edges crisp and its yolk ready to melt into warm rice. The kimchi was exquisitely sweet at first bite, then spicy, then gently sour.

Comforting rather than challenging. Alongside it came silky tofu dressed with soy sauce and sesame, delicate rolled omelet, fish cake, and a simple clear broth. Nothing extravagant but difficult to let go of. After dinner, we wandered into Compose Coffee where the Americano fits in our budget.

The prices on the menu made me chuckle because it reminded me of the inexpensive eateries around UP Diliman where students gather over coffee and conversation while imagining and stressing over the futures waiting for them.

And suddenly I was no longer thinking only about Changwon. I was thinking about Kuya. In a few weeks, he will graduate and begin that uncertain season between university and full time work, between being someone’s student and becoming himself.

Watching the students around us, I realized that every artist, teacher, writer, musician, engineer, and dreamer once belonged to a place like this. Before recognition came ordinary evenings spent sharing inexpensive meals, drinking coffee, and wondering what kind of life awaited them beyond campus. This is why Changwon’s university neighborhood stays with me.

It’s not because of a famous landmark or a bucket-list destination. For one quiet evening, I saw my son already walking among those students: hopeful, uncertain, a little bit nervous, carrying invisible dreams beneath the trees.

And somehow, over kimchi fried rice and the smoothest tofu I have ever tasted, the future no longer felt intimidating. It simply felt warm.

#BTS_Arirang #FESTA2026 #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #SouthKoreaTour #southkorea #koreanfood

Tayo Ang Simula akda ni Kristine Canon

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 11:30:00 +0000

When Seoul Surprises: Wait… Picasso is a Potter too?!

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 07:58:00 +0000

A week ago, at about this time, my grown-up children and I were wandering around Gyeongnam Art Museum in Changwon. It was there that Kuya found “Arirang” by Park Chan Gap. It was there, too, that we discovered another surprise: Picasso was not only a painter but also a potter. His ceramics were on display: playful, curious, and wonderfully human.

The universe truly conspired. I discovered this not in Spain or France, but in Changwon, a port city in the Gyeongsang Province of South Korea.

Looking back now, I realize that this was my kind of BTS encounter.

There is the concert stadium or through VIP access, of course, but there exist the quiet places that nurture artists: museums, sculptures, clay, mountains, streams and conversations that linger long after the galleries have closed.

This is what Namjooning has come to mean for me. To seek not only the music BTS creates, but also the art, culture, and ways of seeing that continue to shape our OT7.

And then Picasso humorously surprised me.

His ceramics are not simply vessels. They are drawings transformed into clay, printmaker’s lines becoming texture and form. He carried what he already knew from painting into a new medium and allowed it to become something entirely different.

I left the gallery thinking about my own pottery.

I found myself imagining plates that could become prints, bowls etched with stories, and clay carrying the same curiosity that first brought me to museums and books.

This is one of the greatest gift of this Bangtan pilgrimage. I am reaping memories to keep, but also opening my heart to new work waiting to be made. And maybe that is why this Festa 2026 journey still feels unfinished.

Because art, much like BTS, keeps inviting us to look again, make again, and begin again.

Apobangpo! Purple and true!

#Namjooning #travelog_southkorea #festa2026 #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #BTS_ARIRANG

Presenting at the 5th BTS: A Global Interdisciplinary Conference, Jeonju, South Korea.

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 07:23:00 +0000

When Seoul Surprises a.k.a May SEPANX pa kami 😂💜😂

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sun, 21 Jun 2026 15:59:00 +0000

It was Kuya who found Arirang, a sculpture by Park Chan Gap in the courtyard of the Gyeongnam Art Museum.

Pauwi na kami noon, pero ang ganda kasi ng sunset kaya nagtagal kami. Gyeongnam Art Museum sits on top of a hill, with a mountain rising behind it. Emerald green in broad daylight, it had turned a deep blue in the fading light.

ARMY Daughter and I were seated beneath pine trees beside a bed of daisies when Kuya returned from wandering around the museum grounds.

“May nakita akong Arirang,” he said.

Curious, I asked him to take me there. At ayun na nga.

Rendered in black and white granite, the sculpture stood before us like a memorial to love lost and grief that refuses to leave. Yet it was never defeated by sorrow. It remained dignified, austere, and quietly resolute.

At its center, the white granite seemed to cradle something I could not quite name. A bell. A hill. A mountain. An absence.

Tinitigan ko lang ang sculpture na may pagkamangha. I did not dare touch it to find out. To do so felt almost sacrilegious. So Kuya and I simply stood there.

In that silence, I thought of Ouie and Mama, who had both passed on, and of Papa, whose dementia has slowly carried him to a place where he no longer remembers who I am. I thought, too, of friendships that quietly faded and communities I once believed would endure. May kirot pa din ng slight, but, somewhere beneath those memories, a song of resolve began to hum.

Perhaps that is why I lingered before Arirang longer than I expected.

The sculpture did not ask me to explain grief or overcome it. It simply held space for contradictions: black and white, weight and openness, permanence and emptiness.

Standing beside my eldest child, I remembered the many times we had stood together as seasons changed.

What do we carry from one season into the next? What do we leave behind?

Memory, I realized, is a curious inheritance. Some memories are taken from us against our will. Others return unexpectedly, summoned by stone, by silence, or by the simple act of standing still with someone we love.

I have spent much of the past few years caring for endings and tending the wounds of missing years.

Yet there I was in Changwon, South Korea, during FESTA 2026. While thousands gathered in Busan to celebrate music and joy, I found myself listening to another kind of song beside my eldest—the music teacher in our family.

Perhaps Arirang is not only about longing or separation. Perhaps it is also about remaining. Remaining faithful to memory, open to beauty, present for those who still walk beside us, even as we grieve those who no longer can.

We left the museum without touching the granite. But somehow, Arirang had already touched me.

#heartandseoul2026 #BTS_ARIRANG #Festa2026 #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #travelog_southkorea #Namjooning

Heart and Seoul Travel Log 2026: The Aftermath

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sat, 20 Jun 2026 11:24:00 +0000

We are officially back from South Korea. SEPANX is real. 😂😭😂 I have never visited so many beaches in my life: Haeundae, Gangmun, Anmok, and Jumunjin. Four beaches in seven days! Each one gave me something to remember and carry home. 🌊💜

Heart and Seoul Travel Log Day 7: Your heart’s desire is the world’s greatest need.

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 19 Jun 2026 13:00:00 +0000

My spiritual director once told me:

“Your heart’s desire is the world’s greatest need.”

As we visited four beaches in South Korea: Haeundae, Gangmun, Anmok, and Jumunjin, I found myself naming the desires of my heart and releasing them into the expanse of sea and sky.

Some were prayers. Some were dreams. Grief, yes. Some were wounds still healing. Others were hopes yet to be fulfilled.

The waves received them all. And perhaps that is why I came home carrying grace and gratitude 💜🙏💜

#BTS_ARIRANG #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Festa2026 #southkoreatravel

Heart and Seoul Travel Log Day 7: Who’s the king?! Who’s the boss?!🔥💜🔥

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 19 Jun 2026 02:30:00 +0000

Heart and Seoul 2026 Day 6: Not All Who Wander Are Lost

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 11:13:00 +0000

Some of the best moments of traveling with a group tour are never part of the itinerary. Yesterday reminded me that discovery often happens when we allow ourselves to wander. Free days are the best!

Our day began at the National Museum of Modern Contemporary Art in Seoul, just beside Gyeongbokgung Palace, where we encountered Damien Hirst’s famous shark, “The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living”. Suspended in its tank, the work was at once unsettling and fascinating. I understood why it continues to provoke conversation decades after it was first exhibited. It was larger than life. It attempts to go beyond the precipice of death. Like much contemporary art, it demanded attention and refused easy answers.

Kuya was especially ecstatic since the shark had only been a topic of conversation in his humanities class. Seeing it in real life, in all its enormity, was, for me, life-affirming. I can relate to Hirst’s vision of the life-death-life cycle.

From there, we made our way to Cafe Homie for coffee and a much-needed respite from the summer heat. What we did not expect to discover was that Namjoon had once spent time there. As it turned out, I was sitting in the very corner where he had taken a photograph years before. Sometimes the universe has a sense of humor.

The surprises continued in Insadong, where we stumbled upon a free gallery displaying pottery, ceramics, and tri-colored paintings. We entered out of curiosity and left reminded that art does not always reside in major museums. Sometimes it waits behind an unassuming doorway, ready to reward those willing to step inside.

The day ended at Yeouido Hangang Park. We rented bicycles and joined families, couples, and friends making the most of a summer evening along the Han River. The greatest surprise awaited us there: a shallow stream where people removed their shoes and waded through cool water. We did the same. After days of walking, traveling, and exploring, the simple pleasure of cooling our feet felt luxurious.

Looking back on it today, none of these experiences had been carefully planned. Yet they make up the moments I will remember most. This is supreme Namjooning.

Perhaps travel is not only about reaching destinations. Perhaps it is also about remaining open to pleasant surprises, trusting that some discoveries are meant to find us.

We did not find BTS in a concert stadium. We found them in museums, on streets lined with art and food, in the quiet presence of elderly couples sitting on benches by the Hangang, and in families listening to the lilting laughter of their children wading in a pool at sundown.

We found them in the place and country they call home.

#BTS_ARIRANG #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Festa2026 #southkoreatravel Savedbythebest Travel and Tours

Heart and Seoul 2026 Day 5: Kimbap Making Day

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 11:02:00 +0000

When Kuya was in Grade 5, his friend Tom invited him over for a playdate. Being Korean, Tom’s mother prepared a snack for the boys: kimbap. It was our first time to eat and enjoy this Korean dish. Many years later, I realized that kimbap is more than a snack. It is a food wrapped in Korea’s hard work, ingenuity, and cultural treasure, the seaweed that has nourished generations and become an important part of Korean cuisine.

Yesterday, we had the opportunity to make kimbap ourselves. The rice and ingredients: Spam, carrots, egg roll, crab stick, and cucumber, had already been prepared. All we needed to do was arrange them neatly on a sheet of seaweed and roll everything together using a bamboo mat. Voila! We had baon for the rest of the day’s tour.

What made the experience even more fascinating was that we learned it from a Filipino museum worker, whom I shall call Ms. A, from Pampanga. Through her demonstration, a distinctly Korean cultural practice became something I could bring home to my own family in the Philippines.

The experience reminded me of Roland Robertson’s concept of glocalization, where global cultural influences are adapted and given meaning within local contexts (Robertson, 1995). Kimbap remains recognizably Korean, yet once prepared in a Filipino home, it acquires new meanings and associations. Culture travels, but it is never simply transplanted. It is interpreted, adapted, and woven into everyday life.

The process is not one-way, either. Ms. A herself is part of that story. A Filipina working in South Korea, she introduces Korean culture to international visitors, including fellow Filipinos. In many ways, she serves as a cultural bridge, helping people like us appreciate Korean traditions while discovering how they might take root in our own communities.

As I rolled my kimbap and packed it for the road, I realized that cultural exchange often happens through the simplest of experiences: sharing food, learning recipes, telling stories, and passing them on. Perhaps that is one of the quiet gifts of travel, not merely seeing another culture, but finding meaningful ways to bring a part of it home.

#BTS_ARIRANG #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Festa2026 #southkoreatrip Savedbythebest Travel and Tours

Heart and Seoul 2026 Day 4: Walking Wounded with Grace and Joy

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 10:56:00 +0000

BTS’s “You Never Walk Alone” is often regarded as a repackaged version of “Wings”. Yet to do so is to overlook the emotional and philosophical conversation taking place between the two albums.

If “Wings” is an exploration of loneliness, desire, temptation, ambition, grief, loss, and the fear of failure, then “You Never Walk Alone” is BTS’s response to those struggles. It does not erase them. The wounds remain. The uncertainty remains. The journey remains difficult. Yet BTS offers something that is both simple and profound: companionship and connection.

The album’s title itself is an assurance. You are not alone. You do not have to carry your burdens alone. You do not have to face grief, disappointment, or fear by yourself.

Someone walks beside you.

Years after its release, I found myself thinking about this message while standing at the BTS Bus Stop in Jumunjin Beach. A non-ARMY might ask what is so special about the place. It is a reasonable question. After all, it is only a bus stop by the sea, far from the main thoroughfares and untouched by public transportation.

But the bus stop was never the point. Perhaps it is about arriving at the end of one journey while preparing to begin another.

Being here is never just about entertainment or leisurely fangirling.

Looking at our Bangtan Pilgrimage tour group, all of us are women except for my son. We are Tita ARMYs joined by family and friends. I began to realize that perhaps each of us had come carrying something: an unspoken burden or woundedness that needed neither explanation nor judgment.

Some may have come because they needed hope. Others may have been seeking companionship or an opportunity to strengthen old friendships. Some may have come because they needed something to look forward to. A few may have been searching for light in the face of loss and grief.

As for me, I came because I am celebrating survival: from a mini-stroke ten years ago, through the Covid years, and through relationships that have since sundered. I am still here. I stayed. I am thankful. I came because I wanted my grown-up children to witness this joy, this gratitude for life, and this season of grace.

And BTS provided the occasion.

What I call this Bangtan Pilgrimage became the vehicle.

The community became the gift.

Over the past few days, I have shared meals, stories, bus rides, and long walks with fellow traveler: Tita ARMYs from different places and different walks of life. Some arrived carrying burdens I may never fully know. Others carried grief, loss, uncertainty, loneliness, or struggles they seldom speak about. Like all pilgrims, each of us brought invisible luggage.

Perhaps that is why “You Never Walk Alone” continues to resonate years after its release.

The album does not promise that suffering disappears. Neither does “Spring Day”. It does not insist that every dream comes true or that every wound heals neatly. Instead, it offers something simpler and more profound: persistence, resilience, and companionship.

Keep walking, it seems to say.

Someone is walking beside you.

As I recall standing before the BTS Bus Stop, I thought of my favorite photograph from the trip. I was not sitting on the bench. I was not posing for the camera. I was walking from one pose to another when ARMY Daughter kept taking photographs. The resulting image captured me in motion.

Moving on.

Moving forward.

We never walk alone.

Perhaps that is what this pilgrimage has taught me so far. We look toward the promise of spring with optimism while enduring the desolation and coldness of winter. In a way, it agrees with the message of Arirang.

And perhaps that, too, is a form of grace.

#BTS_ARIRANG

#Festa2026 #bangtanpilgrimage2026 Savedbythebest Travel and Tours

Heart and Seoul 2026 Day 3: Dreams and Origins

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Mon, 15 Jun 2026 05:52:00 +0000

Our day began with a visit to Gamcheon Culture Village, a place where Kuya, ARMY Daughter, and I felt the energy of creation. Its colorful houses, steep pathways, and artistic spirit reminded us of Baguio City during the summer.

Our next stop was ZM-ILLENNIAL, where I had the opportunity to gift a copy of our new book, Planting a Forest of Hope. It was a small gesture, but a meaningful one, as the story tells of Kim Jong-ki, a Korean educator whose anti-bullying program transformed schools and communities.

What followed was a hearty lunch of grilled mackerel, seafood soup, kimchi-tofu stew, lettuce wraps, enoki mushrooms, eel, and an assortment of kimchi and vegetable side dishes. Like many Korean meals, it was generous, communal, and comforting—a feast that nourished both body and spirit before the rest of our day’s adventures.

At Haeundae, we rode the Sky Capsule to reach the beach. The panoramic view of the sea was breathtaking. The pine trees and coastal foliage were soothing, making the summer heat easier to bear. Once on the beach, I collected shells while my children walked barefoot along the shore. A moment when our inner children were set free.

All around us, post FESTA celebrations continued. BTS songs echoed from every direction; sand sculptures inspired by Keep Swimming stood proudly along the beach, while rows of red and white tents marked the Stamp Rally that had welcomed ARMYs during the previous day’s festivities.

The day ended with a visit to the Seo-dong Maze market where Jimin often ate noodles as a boy and to Busan Arts High School, where he studied and excelled academically. From there, we traveled an hour to Daegu, the hometown of Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung, where dinner consisted of sweet-and-sour pork and jajangmyeon.

For the first time on this journey, I found no Filipino dish to compare it to or connect it with. Jajangmyeon stood entirely on its own. A Korean dish with its own history, character, and flavor. 💜 😊💜

#BTS_Arirang #bangtanpilgrimage2026

#Festa2026

Savedbythebest Travel and Tours

Heart and Seoul 2026 D2: Namjooning at Festa Season Brings Serendipity

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sun, 14 Jun 2026 06:00:00 +0000

On Day 2 of our Bangtan Pilgrimage 2026, Kuya, ARMY Daughter, and I headed to Gyeongnam Art Museum in Changwon, a city about an hour away from Busan. While everyone else was at Asiad celebrating FESTA on June 13 and doing ARMY things, there we were, bound for a museum to do some Namjooning.

Most ARMYs honor BTS by being present at their concerts. We chose to celebrate them another way, and that does not make us any less ARMY. In fact, this side quest to Gyeongnam Art Museum (GAM) deepened my appreciation for BTS and made my connection to them even more meaningful as I walked alongside my grown-up children.

GAM stands on a hill near Changwon National University. The neighborhood feels like a university town or village. It reminded me of UP Los Baños, albeit without the heavy traffic and with a lower population density. The mountain flanking GAM gave the place a formidable presence, while the river, though dry at this time of year, lent it gentleness and charm.

As we climbed toward the entrance of GAM, ARMY Daughter became emotional. As a museum and cultural worker, this was her first time visiting a museum abroad, and in South Korea, no less. As for Kuya, he approached the experience with open eyes and a generous heart. For 1,000 won, the same price as a bottle of water, we paid the admission fee to what felt like a life-giving encounter with art and culture. We entered hoping to make connections to who we are as Filipino artists and to allow Korean art to inspire us, and perhaps even disturb our comfort zones.

The current exhibit featured the works of modern and contemporary Korean artists under the title Within and Without, as well as ceramic works by Pablo Picasso from the collection of Lee Kun Hee. The latter came as a surprise, as I did not expect Picasso’s ceramic works to be so extensive and varied.

The most unexpected part of our visit, however, was discovering Park Chan Gap’s public installation titled Arirang, rendered in black and white granite.

It felt serendipitous and deeply relevant. To encounter Arirang at this particular juncture in time felt like the universe was telling me something I have yet to fully understand.

I stood before Arirang longer than I expected. The sculpture seemed simple at first: black and white granite arranged around a bell-like form suspended in space. Yet the longer I looked, the more tension I felt within it. Between black and white, weight and openness, permanence and movement. Was it a bell? A mountain? A gateway? A song rendered in stone? I was not sure. What I knew was that it moved me.

I walked around it and in between. From one angle, the granite appeared heavy and immovable. From another, the opening at its center seemed to invite passage. The sculpture resisted easy explanation.

I am going to carry Park’s Arirang with me as we continue our tour. For now, I am content knowing that I found Arirang and that it found me during FESTA 2026, not in a stadium in Busan, but in an art museum, an archive of memory where inheritances and remembrances are preserved and passed on.

Perhaps that is enough for now. 💜😊💜

#BTS_ARIRANG #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Namjooning #Festa2026 Savedbythebest Travel and Tours

Heart and Seoul 2026 D1: Busan, Belonging and Bulgogi

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 15:00:00 +0000

Yesterday was Day 1 of BTS’s concert in Busan, and we were proudly Team Labas. 😆 Though we were far from the crowds who camped outside the venue.

A Tita ARMY friend, some newly found friends, and us, the Gagatigas, boarded a bus to Seomyeon Market. And once again, my kind of Hallyu dreams came alive. However, walking its streets reminded me of evening strolls around Malate and Remedios. In the quiet company of ARMY Daughter and Kuya, I sketched and painted a flower pot at Holly’s, browsed a pottery shop filled with ceramics and planters, and ended the day with dinner at a popular bulgogi restaurant whose name I can no longer remember.

What remains vivid, however, is the company of family and community shared in a city where Jimin and Jungkook grew up.

Our Bangtan boys were strangers once. Over time, they became family through shared dreams, personal struggles, and the courage to challenge barriers set before them. Today, they gather people from all walks of life and from different corners of the world to sing together, walk together, and simply be together.

And so, during FESTA season, I find myself in Busan, doing BTS things with family and friends. I am thankful, truly!

Gratitude is a given grace. 💜🙏💜

#BTS_Arirang #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #FESTA2026

Heart and Seoul 2026 D1: The Road to Busan, Galbitang and Bulalohan

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 05:30:00 +0000

We lingered at Incheon International Airport, to wait for a while until daybreak. The sandwiches at Tous Les Jours looked appetizing, and pairing them with banana milk felt satisfying. Doing some quick mental math, I decided to get some snacks at the nearest CU, South Korea’s popular convenience store. Our welcome meal consisted of tuna mayo and bulgogi kimbap, banana milk, yogurt, and onigiri. It was filling enough to tide us over until breakfast at 8 AM.

And there we were in a Korean barbecue restaurant in downtown Incheon a few hours later, being embraced by the aroma of galbitang—clean, clear, a little tangy, and, strangely enough, a comfort food that reminded us of home. This dish of boiled beef, complete with tendons, bone marrow, scallions, and enoki mushrooms, is South Korea’s equivalent of our bulalo. The only difference I can think of is the rich and savory flavor with which we season our bone soup. Ah, and we put in a lot of vegetables too: potatoes, cabbage, pechay, sometimes corn and saba, even string beans. My Mama would put in all the vegetables I mentioned, especially when she was feeling generous on salary day. I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic and appreciative of this cross-cultural connection as I sat beside my grown-up children.

ARMY Daughter smacked her lips while Kuya raked in the side dishes that justified the bland but bracing clear soup of beef bone and tendons. I was sniffing halfway through mine when ARMY Daughter asked:

“Are you crying?”

“It’s the hot soup,” I replied. “It clears the nostrils.”

Our Tita ARMY friend, who seemed to have been reading my mind all along, spoke up.

“This dish is like our bulalo,” she said. “Did you see that one of the staff looked Pinoy?”

“What if he’s the cook who has learned to cook Korean dishes?” I wondered.

Tita ARMY quipped, “Taga-Tagaytay!”

I laughed and added, “Baka Batangueño?!”

It was then that ARMY Daughter asked, amused and curious, “Bakit Tagaytay?”

“Maraming bulalohan sa Tagaytay at bakahan, pati na rin sa Batangas,” I said.

Tita ARMY affirmed, “Punta ka sa Tagaytay!”

And I agreed right then and there. Galbitang, this humble and bracing dish, welcomed us weary travelers to Korean soil, only for us to talk about and remember bulalo, a dish that reminds us of hearth and home. If ever we can’t make a day trip to Tagaytay and dine in one of the bulalohan restaurants there, I will cook the dish the way my Mama cooks it, with all the vegetables I loved to eat then and now.

This is the inheritance I hope to share with my children: not merely a recipe or a food trip, but the memory of home carried from one table to another.

#BTS_Arirang #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Festa2026 #foodtrip #southkoreatravel

The Lighthouse Diary Entry #88: Persistence and Designing a Flap Book

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Wed, 10 Jun 2026 14:30:00 +0000

This year, I had the opportunity to supervise two Grade 10 students and journey with them in the accomplishment of their Personal Project. A few weeks ago, they presented their work, and for the first time, I saw the product of their blood, sweat, and tears. Also, the joy on their faces and the bright spark of confidence in their eyes were unmistakable.

Who would have thought they were both going through uncertainty and stress last November? The struggle to finish a 15-page report last March weighed them down, too. I kept telling them to trust the process and persevere.

Mistakes happened, of course. Some plans went awry. But my supervisees pushed on. Showing up every time was an entirely new experience. More than the mark, there is character to strengthen and nurture. This is how we learn.

I’m sharing this photo of a flap book, which my student fought for as a Personal Project. Because, in our first meeting, I told her that form follows function, further explaining that flap books as a form serve a purpose in relaying a message and facilitating communication. I recommended books on design right after.

And she persisted. Her flap book on matcha, its origins, and the process of making tea was well made! Yes, she got good marks, too!

Ah! The things I learn from my students are among the best rewards I get as a teacher.

The Lighthouse Diary #87: Partners in Teaching and Learning Research Skills

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 14:37:00 +0000

CDrama Review: The Romance of Wuxia in Pursuit of Jade (PoJ)

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 14:52:00 +0000

When I began watching Pursuit of Jade, something in the fighting scenes felt immediately familiar.

Growing up, I watched martial arts films of Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung. Drunken Master and Zu Warriors from the Magic Mountain are childhood favorites. Later, I became a fan of Jet Li, Donnie Yen, Tony Leung and Chow Yun Fat, which eventually led me to adore Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and my Michelle Yeoh fangirling era. Wuxia became my favorite genre.

PoJ is not wuxia.

It is a historical romance drama rooted in household, kinship, trade, politics and community life. And yet, for me, it frequently speaks in the visual and emotional language of the wuxia I know from childhood.

The term wuxia itself combines two ideas:

This distinction matters because wuxia has never only been about fighting.

It asks: What does a person fight for? Justice? Loyalty? Protection? Duty?

This is where PoJ becomes increasingly interesting to me. The drama repeatedly uses martial movement not simply as a showcase but as relationship. When Changyu and Yan Zheng spar, they are not merely exchanging blows.

They are learning rhythm. Testing boundaries. Negotiating power. Building trust. Establishing balance.

Their bodies speak before the reconciliation happened in Episode 33. This is why the sparring scenes linger.

The choreography emphasizes reciprocity rather than domination.

Adjustment rather than conquest. Movement becomes dialogue. At the same time, PoJ does something different from many wuxia narratives.

Traditional wuxia often centers jianghu: wandering heroes, martial worlds and lives lived outside formal structures. PoJ repeatedly returns us to the kitchen, festivals, village life and stories of ordinary people.

Changyu’s butcher knives become weapons. The kitchen becomes survival. Household labor becomes martial labor. Care work becomes heroism.

Perhaps this is why the fighting scenes feel so emotionally resonant to me. PoJ borrows the language of wuxia but brings it back home. This is what makes it memorable not just the martial arts choreography but the martial movement that shows care, community and repair.

If you have a deeper more expansive knowledge of wuxia, feel free to share and engage. We learn something everyday.

New Book: Planting a Forest of Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 14:34:00 +0000

Filipino Folktales for Children at the Country Hill Library

noreply@blogger.com (Zarah C. Gagatiga) — Tue, 02 Jun 2026 08:06:00 +0000