The Coldness that Comforts 

In the silence of Saint Louis University, where the cold air of Baguio wraps itself around every corridor of Perfecto, there are stories yet to be seen — experiences woven deep into the numbing sensation of the city.

We notice them in the hallways. In between crowded classes and the familiar noise of campus life, they move like the air — differently. While most of us walk through Perfecto with the comfort of familiarity, they navigate through memory of each corridor that became their guiding light. The tap of a cane against the tiled floor echoes softly through the hallway, steady like a heartbeat that refuses to be shaken by uncertainty.

There is something quietly powerful about watching them learn in a world designed mostly for sight. They memorize paths the way others memorize faces. 

Every corner, every staircase, every doorway becomes part of an invisible map they carry within themselves. And somehow, even in the foggy coldness of Baguio — where even those with sight struggle to see clearly — they continue forward with a certainty that feels brighter than vision itself.

I often find myself watching how they listen. How they recognize voices instantly. How they pause at certain spaces as though the air itself speaks to them. 

The cold wind that slips through the windows of Perfecto brushes against everyone the same, but for them, it feels almost like a guide. 

They rely on textures, footsteps, echoes, and the warmth of people beside them. In a campus filled with movement, they have learned to move with faith.

And yet, what strikes me the most is not their blindness — but their will to navigate uncertainty.

Because despite the unfamiliarity they constantly negotiate with, they laugh. They recite. They participate. They dream. 

They carry ambitions just as vivid as the city skyline hidden behind Baguio’s mist. Sitting in classrooms beside everyone else, they prove that learning is not limited to what the eyes can hold. Sometimes, understanding comes from endurance. Sometimes, brilliance comes from adaptation.

Seeing them roam the hallways of Perfecto changed the way I understand vision. I realized that sight is not always awareness, and blindness is not always darkness. 

There are people who can see everything, yet notice nothing. 

And there are those who cannot see the world before them, yet move through it with resilience that inspires and strength that speaks beyond sight.

In the cool weather of Baguio, where fog blurs even the clearest paths, they remind me of something deeply human: 

Vision is not always about the eyes

Sometimes, it is about the will to continue moving forward, even when the world ahead remains unseen.