Of all the animals, I feel closest to the horse. Something about them never really left my heart. Maybe one reason is that horses were already part of our lives when we were kids, long before we grew into teenagers and started seeing the world differently, and long before cars and motorbike conquered the roads. They weren’t just animals we admired from afar; they were part of our everyday life, into our routines, our memories, and our sense of freedom.

Back then, a horse was both a pet and a means of transportation. Looking at it now, having a horse then feels similar to having a car today. It was how you moved, how you explored, how you escaped boredom. The feeling of riding a horse as it gallops through the mountains, the wind blowing through your hair, makes you feel like you’re in a Zorro movie.

It’s wild. It’s liberating. It’s terrifying and peaceful at the same time. I imagine that’s how people feel when they drive their first car-the sudden realization that you can go somewhere on your own, at your own pace, with nothing holding you back. That sense of independence stays with you, even years later.

Living in Baguio for years made that connection even more special. Fortunately, there’s Pacdal, known as the home of the horses in the north. I went there one time with a relative, and the moment I arrived, it felt like being pulled back into the past. It wasn’t exactly the same as my hometown.

There were no wide mountains or endless valleys stretching in front of me, yet when the smell of horse dung hit my nostrils, it felt like coming home. The moment I climbed onto the saddle, something familiar settled in my chest. Holding the reins again, feeling that quiet power and trust between rider and horse, gave me a deep satisfaction that only riders truly understand.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no whipping the horse to make it run faster, no leaning forward with my heart racing, no shouting “hiyaaaa” at the top of my lungs. Instead, there was the steady sound of hooves hitting the cement- tok, tok, tok-a simple rhythm that felt like music to my ears. That sound alone was enough to awaken memories I thought had faded. Memories of laughter, of dusty clothes, of scraped knees and sunburned skin. Memories of a time when the world felt smaller, kinder, and less demanding.

Riding again reminded me of how innocent life once felt. Back then, we didn’t worry about deadlines, responsibilities, or expectations. We didn’t think too far ahead. We were young. We just rode, laughed, and lived in the moment. I must say there is purity in that kind of happiness. It’s just honest and unfiltered. Being on that horse in Pacdal made me want to freeze those memories in time, to keep them untouched and unchanged.

Even now, years later, horses still bring me back to that version of myself. I see them as we drive along country roads. In fact, I saw one today, and it reminded me of where I came from and how simple joy used to be.

The thing is, I saw them from behind glass and motion, riding in a car. Still, I felt connected to them, as if some quiet part of me never left.

Maybe I needed that to assure myself, to convince myself that sitting in a car doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the dust on my shoes. That, despite the passage of time, inside me is still exactly that kid who grew up with horses- raw, real, and full of life. That, even with city life all around me, I still hear the sound of hooves, the feel of reins in my hands, and the quiet freedom that only a horse can give.