January 2026 Mt Parawagan Trip

 

 https://nickarmbrister13.weebly.com/nick-armbristers-varied-writing-blog/january-2026-mt-parawagan-trip

 

I went quite early to hike Mt Parawagan. A peak of intense historical importance at Wawa/Montalban area. The road up is concrete or mud and easy in good sunny weather. It can take well over an hour. This depends on your pace. I know several people up there on the way to the heights. All are aware of the historical significance of that single peak and the surrounding ones. It was insane madness. Yet is was not made by Satan nor was it stopped by God. For Satan was weak that day and God was a bastard. The hand of Man acted with military weapons. Over a few weeks a dizzying battle took place. A catch-me-if-you-can kind of thing. You get caught then you fucking die. As Hiroshi died. How he died does not matter. What happened to his remains does. Along with 5,600 other Japanese combat troops and 106 Americans. It was war and those soldiers signed on the line and paid the price. Did they each have a penny for the ferry man? Where are their souls now? RIP the dead. Nippon and Yankees are equal in death. Enjoy Valahalla! The sadness that often overwhelms me up on Parawagan/Mataba etc is worse than any I ever felt before. Romance heartbreak/the death of a trusted friend/the death of parents, this is not comparable. For they are personal. This was simply beyond words, on a different level. Vangie gets it, Sayuri gets it. Most are not aware or simply do not care. Why? They have Miralco electric bills to pay (how can their price per fucking kilowatt be justified?). Others are more open to the important old events. It forever tied Philippines/Japan/America together. I had a nice meeting with six Filipinas and varied guys on the way to the peak. I was called from above to join them. Jeric's Store was above the road. We talked, chilled out, sang songs (Moscow Enter Sandman 1991 was mine), ate food. A shame of no hard core drinking. At this location where tens of thousands of Japanese/American/Filipinos died their souls needed a final lament. Yes we had fun, yes we made friends, yes my new friends learned of what happened here upon the heights of Mt Pacawagan (C for Charlie, this was the old name, not R for Romeo). Now the peak is viewing decks, holiday homes (the new white one is exceptionally beautiful) and camp sites. Maybe I will build a motorcycle factory up there?! Two separate people offered me to buy land there before. The land belongs to Mother Nature, God, and surely to the dead who were killed up there? Not to humans and a piece of paper. Each time I go there I pray for Hiroshi, for the war dead and for others. Including the small bad tempered one lol. Does it do any good? You tell me. Oh we had fun, I will climb more there. This peak has many untold stories. As do all the others. Each one a military battle site and graveyard of fucking killing. Death of the worst kind. I have the American and Japanese combat reports. Thanks Sayuri. It isn't nice. Like Mt Mataba where Japanese troops were blown up and sealed alive in tunnels. Go visit Mt Parawagan yourself. Enjoy tropical paradise. And remember the war dead. And be humble and pray for them. The Americans burned the dead Japanese soldiers with gasoline, the small was so bad. The bone fragments and teeth will still be there in the ash and soil. As will the unexploded ordnance. This still kills locals. War aint the fucking answer. Respect to my friend Sayuri for giving me all the Japanese war reports and telling me of your grandfather Hiroshi. He was a father already and died age 33 up there. You are his living legacy and have done him proud. Thank you for that. This makes my World War 2 war research worth it. It is for the soldiers. Not myself or any others alive now. It always was. Sayuri. You have an awareness no gal should ever have. Fuck the politicians. RIP the dead. Salute! Let's hike party and drink and more hehe \M/ 666 Rock n roll...
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Riga checking

Riga Checking

Your boyfriend wants to date my small friend. Just as I did for two years. Little Riga looked lovely. She was sat down in the aircraft hangar. Nearby was her fighter plane. Her eyes closely focused on the bullets. Hundreds of machine gun bullets. Shiny like jewelry. She counted each round and checked for damage. An imperfect bullet could jam her guns. She did the same with the cannon shells. All were food for her Messerschmitt 309s guns. She trusted her armourers but liked to be sure. She got them to teach her their trade. How to disassemble each weapon after removing it from the aircraft. How to clean it. How to check each bullet and shell. A yellow ribbon tied her black hair back. Her glasses were on the table. Riga squinted at each shot. Gold and copper coloured. Pretty killing things. She slotted each one into a nylon belt. This went from the full ammo box through the gun to the empty box. Riga was only wearing green army shorts. Her legs looked desirable. The belt and shiny bullets lay across both thighs. It was a surreal pretty and deeply erotic image. Her thighs tight against the thin green fabric. Some male pilots were checking their own weapons and rounds. They glanced over to the gal when she wasn't looking. This was why she faced them checking the shots. To raise their blood pressure! She did this discreetly. Knew what buttons to push. Why her shorts were one size to small. Why she wore them. Why she wore no bra. Why she was Riga. She was good. And allowed to do this. Moral and desire increased to the sky and got results. Shot down enemy planes. Little Riga checking her bullets. Only a combat pilot yet so much more. All things to all men especially those already taken. It the way she handled herself, looked at you or flirted with you. Even if she said she didn't. Nobody was like her. No other gal checked bullets this way. Just look at her smile...

Riga Vehicle

 

Riga Vehicle

It always came back to travelling. Riga going on a journey again. This time she was leaving her ex. Another ex in another city. One day she promised this would stop. When would that be Riga? She got onto the transporter. The engine ticked over. A noise she felt more in her chest than heard. It had a big engine. Four hundred horses give or take. She sat down. Through the window she saw the city. A Portuguese coastal city. Her time here was over. It hadn't been bad. They had given her a job in a bar and also a factory making tennis shoes. She'd met Julian there. Four months together. Nothing heavy. She ended it before it got heated and they fell in love. Deeply. She told him she had to go back to Bangladesh. This was true. Her mother requested to see her. Her sister was ill. There were other reasons too. Known only to Riga. Another job offer. Going back to her old trade. Or at least one of them. The transporter set off. Riga clutched her travel bag to her chest. It contained all her possessions from six months in Portugal. She has no case or big things. It was always this way. They drove down the ring road from the centre. To the airport and her flight. Multiple hours and she would change jets twice. A day of travel. She welcomed the movement and sights. To be home again. It had been a long couple of years. Riga liked to be abroad. When would she settle down? If ever. Her marriage had failed. There were two daughters from that. What of the future? Riga knew some of the answers. The others would be provided in time. For now, she enjoyed the trip. Riga the traveller.

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Riga Number Four

 

 

Riga Number Four

Riga held the baby. It was light brown coloured. Her number four. It was a boy unlike three girls. This large size small baby was fathered by Pedro. In this reality Riga and he were together. There were no issues. Pedro had left his legal wife. Moved to another country and changed his numbers and emails. His ex-wife had no way to find and harass him. He was a ghost to her. Pedro moved in with Riga. The other kids lived there. Their home was in a town near Dhaka. Riga’s mother lived there too. All were happy. Riga doted over the baby. She fed big/little Vega when needed. And sang to him. Pedro played guitar to this. The baby adored it. These early years passed quickly. They weren’t small forever. Pedro worked as a delivery driver distributing bottled water. Riga worked at home for a small call centre. There would be no more working abroad. She was home now with her family and new fiancée. There were different realities. In this one all were fine. Riga came to terms with her father dying. She went to his grave once a fortnight to light a candle. Dhaka was a modern city now. The political instability was over. People concentrated on living life and their own wellbeing. Vega was destined to have a good future. Riga and Pedro promised not to fight, to openly communicate and work any issues out. He promised to always be true to her. Pedro wished they had met twenty or more years ago. That was uncontrollable. They worked with what they had. That was themselves and their family. Make each day count for they passed quickly.

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Riga Soldier Art

Riga Soldier Art

Riga was a soldier of art. She was employed to guard the National Museum in Santiago. It was a splendid museum. There were six big halls. Each was as big as a football field. Different themes occupied each one. For example the first one was dedicated to humanity. And the fourth was for the Universe and cosmos. Riga patrolled the entire site. She carried a carbine and pistol. Her equipment included a whistle, a torch, water, plastic cuffs, a radio and discreet Kevlar body armour. The body armour was small and Riga shaped. There two bulges in the front for her boobs. The usual concerns she dealt with was unruly college students. A quiet word always made them behave. If a terrorist attacked the museum then Riga was ready. The small ones were always bad tempered. And Riga was small. She was also an excellent critical thinker. This was good in her job. Knowing the layout of the buildings in her heads. The correct tactical decisions had to be made. Especially if peoples lives were involved. There had been no incidents yet but complacency had no place here. Twice a year the museum held an exercise with the police and army. This was how to respond to any terror threat. The museum represented Chile and any attack was an attack on the state. Museums were considered soft targets. This is why Riga was employed. Her 7.62mm carbine would be used if need be. Riga took her job seriously. If any Communist or Muslim rebel tried to make mischief Riga would be ready. Her bad moods would be overruled by her critical thinking. Small but terrible. Just like the bullets in her gun!

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Riga shimmers

Riga Shimmer

See how it shimmers. The clear computer graphics on screen. In the cockpit of the Russian fighter bomber. Contrasting to the even clearer sky. No light pollution this far north. Dark on the horizon behind me. Orange purple yellow ahead of me. Soon dark everywhere. Seemingly flat. I can fly high enough to see the planet's curve. Something mystical magical other worldly about all of this. Maybe God and His angels see this? As does the flying saucer on my right wing. There is Riga. On time as agreed. Her silver craft part dark part shiny in the dying light. We agreed to fly together. I have missed my old flame. Did she miss me? One thing I learned. Make it count your time together.  Take nothing for granted. Especially love with an alien gal...

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Riga Venez Return

 

 

 

Riga Venez Return

Was it possible to be in a place before you were there? Yes. It was green. In the jungle. Riga had a job to do. Intercept a boat and kill the target without getting wet. She was the best. Trained in several things. Weapons use, living off the land, leadership training. She knew most of these things. Training added to it. A small female with excellent critical thinking skills. But bad moods. Small but terrible! Ask her ex-boyfriend Pedro. He was beasted many times. Riga went back to Venez after she left him. For the love of God don't go there! You will get killed! No, I will be fine. I will kill a target. Just like my time there before. Let me go! We are over Pedro. This is final. Thank you for your concern. I will be fine. I am Riga! You take care too. In all ways. My old boss wants me back. To work. Yes, him. I know you don't like him. We were lovers before. Like you, he likes my curves. He loves my fantastic arse! Enough of that. Go and find a new lover, Pedro. I am busy. Do not disturb me. Respect my time away from you. I have training to do. I need to increase my fitness. No flirting now. Or touching. Boundaries now. Move on. I order you to let me go! Control your moods and don't ask if we are fine. I am going to Venez soon. There will be no goodbyes. Riga was already back in the jungles of Venezuela. It was the same but different. The trees were the same but her rifle was different. She'd missed this place. Trees water wildlife. Leadership shooting soldiering critical thinking and unsaid things. Soon now.

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