The Disappearance Of Maria Makiling

Nobody in Los Baños really knew Maria M. She had no digital footprint—no Facebook, no Instagram, not even a LinkedIn profile. The only place you’d find her was deep in the forests of Mount Makiling, tending to her small, off-the-grid cabin. People whispered about her. Some said she was hiding from something, or someone. Others claimed she was a diwata—a spirit of the mountain.

Javi didn’t believe in ghosts, but he did believe in mysteries. As a journalism student at UP Los Baños, he needed a solid story for his final project. Something more than the usual political scandals or campus protests. Something unforgettable.

And so, when he overheard the old manang selling suman at the bus stop talking about a woman who never aged, who lived alone in the woods and only appeared after storms to help lost hikers—he knew he had found his story.

"Maria M.," manang had said, her eyes darting around like someone might be listening. "People used to see her all the time. But now, only when the mountain calls for her."

A woman who never aged? A hermit with a hidden past? Javi’s journalist instincts were on fire. He had to find her.



The Search for Maria

On a humid Saturday morning, Javi packed his camera, notebook, and a few bottles of water. His best friend, Cass, a photographer and self-proclaimed skeptic, agreed to come along.

"So, let me get this straight," Cass said as they hiked up a dirt path. "You think this Maria chick is some kind of immortal forest goddess?"

"I don’t think anything yet," Javi said. "That’s why we’re here. To find out."

Cass rolled her eyes but followed anyway, snapping photos of the towering trees and the golden sun peeking through the branches.

The deeper they went, the quieter the world became. No signal, no distant hum of traffic—just the rustling leaves and the occasional bird call.

Then, as they turned a corner near a small clearing, they saw her.

She stood barefoot on a moss-covered rock, long black hair cascading down her back. A simple white dress clung to her frame, and her skin—smooth, sun-kissed—was untouched by time.

Maria M.

Javi felt his throat go dry.

Cass, usually the one with quick comebacks, whispered, "No freaking way."

Maria turned her head, dark eyes locking onto Javi's. "You shouldn't be here," she said softly.

But Javi had come too far to turn back now.



The Woman Who Never Aged

"Are you Maria?" he asked.

She hesitated. "That name... I haven’t heard it in a long time."

Cass raised an eyebrow. "So what do people call you now?"

Maria tilted her head. "No one calls me anything. Not anymore."

The silence stretched. Javi finally spoke. "I want to know your story. People say you help hikers after storms. That you never age."

Maria sighed, stepping off the rock and onto the damp earth. "People say many things. Most of them are untrue."

"But you don’t age," Cass pressed. "You look younger than my Tita, and she just got Botox."

A small smile ghosted Maria’s lips. "Looks can be deceiving."

Javi watched her closely. She wasn’t just some recluse living in the mountains—there was something different about her. Something ancient.

"You were Maria Makiling, weren’t you?" he asked. "The diwata from the old stories?"

Maria’s expression darkened. The trees seemed to lean in, listening.

"I was once called that," she admitted.

Cass let out a low whistle. "Holy shit."

"But you disappeared," Javi said. "Why?"

Maria hesitated, looking toward the horizon where Mount Makiling’s peak kissed the sky.

"Because people stopped believing," she murmured. "And when people stop believing... we fade."



The Curse of Forgetting

Maria walked ahead, motioning for them to follow. She led them to a small wooden house, hidden beneath the canopy of towering trees. Inside, dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a small clay pot simmered over an open fire, filling the air with the scent of ginger and lemongrass.

She sat by the window, fingers tracing the wood grain of the table. "There was a time when this land was different," she said. "When spirits and humans lived side by side. When the mountains thrived because they were respected."

"But times changed," Javi guessed.

Maria nodded. "People built roads, cut trees, poisoned the rivers. They named places after me, but they no longer knew me."

She exhaled. "And so, I became a ghost. Not dead, not alive. Just... forgotten."

Javi’s chest tightened. He had spent his whole life scrolling past tweets about deforestation, about vanishing species. But sitting here, looking into Maria’s timeless eyes, it felt personal.

"Is that why you help lost hikers?" Cass asked. "So people don’t forget you completely?"

Maria gave a small, sad smile. "I help because it is my nature. But yes... I hope, in some way, they will remember me."

Javi leaned forward. "Then let me tell your story. Not just as a myth, but as truth."

Maria studied him. "And if no one believes?"

"Then I’ll make them," Javi said.



A New Legend

That night, Javi and Cass left the mountain with more than just a story. They carried Maria’s legacy.

Javi spent weeks writing. He didn’t just report—he wove her tale into something that couldn’t be ignored. He dug into history, found old accounts of disappearances near Mount Makiling, linked them to Maria’s sightings. He talked about the destruction of the forest, the dying rivers.

His article, The Disappearance of Maria M., went viral.

Some called it fantasy. Others, a wake-up call. Environmental groups picked it up, demanding action. Even those who didn’t believe in Maria Makiling couldn’t ignore the truth: something was disappearing, whether it was a spirit or the land itself.

A month after the article’s release, Javi received an email. No sender. No subject. Just a single line:

"Thank you for remembering."

He looked out his window, toward Mount Makiling in the distance. For a moment, he swore he saw a figure standing at the tree line, watching.

Then, just like the legend itself—she was gone.

---

The legend of Maria Makiling has existed for centuries, but today, she takes a new form. Maybe she is still out there, waiting for people to believe again. Maybe she’s not just a myth—but a reminder.

Of what we’ve lost.

Of what we still have time to save.