First Time

It was a quiet night in my new boarding house when I heard soft knocks on my door.

Quickly wiping away my tears, I took a deep breath and composed myself before asking, “Who’s there?”

“Iris? We’d like to take you on a tour around the city. Mama said you were feeling homesick,” came a familiar voice.

I recognized it instantly—it was Johanne, my landlady’s eldest son.

Opening the door, I managed a small smile and told him I’d be ready in a few minutes. I hurriedly changed into my jeans and shirt, then made my way downstairs, where a parked vehicle waited. Andres and Jake, my boardmates, were already inside.

It was my third day in the City of Pines, and loneliness clung to me like a shadow. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone—far from the comfort of my home and the company of loved ones.

“Have you heard of Camp John Hay?” Andres asked as we drove through the chilly night.

I shook my head, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. I should have read up on the city before coming here, but in truth, everything still felt foreign to me.

Johanne pulled the car to a stop along a dimly lit road.

“This is a cemetery,” he announced.

“Want to walk around?” Jake asked with a mischievous grin.

I shook my head firmly, unwilling to step out of the vehicle. Johanne chuckled and kept driving, taking us deeper into the area. I caught sight of tombs in the darkness and quickly looked away, my heart pounding.

A few minutes later, we passed by South Drive, where the ruins of the old Hyatt Hotel stood.

“They say white ladies haunt this place,” Andres quipped.

I remained silent, too unsettled to respond. Fear clutched at me, filling my mind with imagined spirits lurking in the shadows.

That was my first memory of Camp John Hay—an eerie, unsettling place wrapped in ghost stories and mystery.

A Revelation
Three weeks later, another group of boardmates invited me to explore John Hay again. This time, I hesitated but agreed.

To my surprise, the “tombs” that had terrified me weeks before weren’t tombs at all. They belonged to the Cemetery of Negativism—a symbolic site meant to bury pessimistic thoughts.

Realization dawned on me. Johanne, Jake, and Andres had played a prank on me!

That was my second memory of John Hay—learning not to believe everything at first glance.

A Place of Escape
Months later, I attended an ROTC event at one of the function halls in John Hay. That night, my roommate Jacq insisted I wear her necklace, even though there was no real need for it. I still remember Ate Grace and Ate Joy watching from the balcony as Maureen, Allan, Regie, and I boarded a taxi.

“Bring the girls home on time!” Ate Grace called out, her voice filled with both care and authority.

What I would always cherish about Camp John Hay was how it became my sanctuary—a place where I could escape from the demands of school and simply breathe.

There were days when the fog would roll over the green grass, transforming the landscape into something out of a movie. I knew we weren’t supposed to wander near the golf course, but we were young and reckless enough to ignore the risks.

While many favored the skating rink or the amphitheater, my heart belonged to a quiet spot facing the mountains. There, in the solitude of nature, I felt as if the mountains were speaking to me.

Looking Back
Time flies.

Those were the days of my youth—of adventure, of laughter, of growing up.

Camp John Hay was more than just a place; it was a part of my journey, a witness to my moments of fear, discovery, and solace.

And though the years have passed, the memories remain.