Welcome to the Field: Reflections from L125 Nueva Vizcaya

Our days start the same. Most of the time, at least. The sun trickles in–no, it bursts through the open window of our room–allowing both light and warmth to seep into our sleeping muscles. It’s a better alarm for our sleep-deprived brains, because there’s nothing quite like waking up to a warmth on your skin that not even electric fans set to the highest number can fight against. A knock on our door comes next. Sometimes, it’s a staff member asking to borrow our electric fans for the events taking place on the rooftop, but most of the time, it’s from half of the class, the early birds who sleep in Room 213. 

They come in with a gentle reminder that it’s 7:30 AM and we only have 30 minutes left before 8 AM, the hour when it’s time for us to start our day. We go through the motions of our morning routines sluggishly, only to start panicking and move faster when it’s 7:59 AM. Yet, despite the slow start to our mornings, the rest of our days are anything but.

By 8 AM, everyone’s downstairs at the mess hall. We’re at our respective tables, notebooks and pens in hand, laptops pulled open, cameras and audio recorders ready to start blinking red. We’re all set and ready to really begin our day. As soon as we hear a loud clap come from one corner of the room, it’s a major case of #LockedIn. 

The morning routines are always the same. But the rest of our days are like blind boxes; you’ve got expectations for the day ahead of you, just like you’ve got expectations of which figurine you may get the chance of pulling. But like blind boxes, even though you’re ready for what’s to come, you’re always in for a surprise. But you know what they say, welcome to the field!

A day in the life of a fieldworker

Constantino recordings, FLEx entries, and interviews on the history of the community and language vitality; these three tasks became our norm for two weeks. Each day, we’d get assigned to one of three, and even if you say you had experienced working on a task more than once, surprises and challenges will still linger in a hidden alley, waiting to jump out at you and catch you off guard. 

Even mundane chores such as buying food for lunch or going out for groceries were an adventure themselves, as our lodging was about a ten-minute walk away from the nearest food establishments. Since each group wrapped up its tasks at different times, it was inefficient for us to all leave together; thus, figuring out a strategy for something as simple as meals became part of the fieldwork puzzle. So we learned to slowly piece the puzzles by coordinating with everyone who would buy food and adjusting depending on which group was ready.

After lunch, our rhythm would shift. Once again, another round of elicitation sessions would start, but this time, we’d sit in pairs– preparing ourselves to focus on writing our squibs that were centered on morphophonemic processes, pronoun paradigms, clitic ordering, case marking, and imperative constructions in Bugkalot/Eģongot. We’d get the chance to learn more about the community’s language and culture because these sessions were more focused on the structure and the technicalities of the language. It came as no surprise to anyone that by the end of the fieldwork, we had a bit of a better grasp on the language and could even speak a bit of it! 

Because these sessions were catered to helping us write our papers for the class, we would try to make the most out of it, and would usually end our sessions at around 4 or 5 PM. By then, everyone would be exhausted because of the full day we had, but it did not mean we didn’t have enough energy for our debriefing sessions. We’d gather round and sit in a circle (well, it was more of an oblong because there were 11 of us, and we’d sit around a long table), where we would then share our experiences and realizations for that day. These debriefing sessions were among our favorite parts of our day, because they always gave us a sense of comfort and togetherness, that whatever we were learning, experiencing, and going through, we knew we’d always have each other to rely on. Lingg 125 X3-1 students during their data elicitation sessions.

In photos: Lingg 125 X3-1 students during their data elicitation sessions.

With our energy slightly renewed by the debriefing session, we’d get ready for dinner– sometimes we’d all make the trip down, taking in the sights and daily life in Bayombong that we couldn’t get to witness during the day. We’d try their specialties too, savoring not just the flavors in every bite, but even their affordable prices that can be considered a rarity in Metro Manila. On the days when we’re especially tired, we’d have food delivered and talk about our day and what we’ll do after dinner. Enjoying the calm moments of our days in the form of shared meals always allowed us to ground ourselves amidst the hectic schedules we had.  

As the evenings slowly crept up on our seemingly unending days, we would get another chance to slow down, but never run out of things to do– backing up the recordings, charging our devices, and putting in order the fragments of data that we had collected. It helped us stay on track, and we always made sure to have everything in order before reaching the end of our day.

As the moments of the day blurred into one another, our final task, writing field notes, became a way for us to mark our memories into a record that made sure that no detail was lost. This way, we’re able to look back on our days on the field and remind ourselves why we’re doing all this in the first place.

The lessons we brought home

It may have only been two weeks, but everything we lived through—the laughter, the conversations, the quiet discoveries—reaches farther than the pages of our notebooks or the hours of audio and video files we’ve recorded. And through it all, one thing became clear: it’s that language documentation is never a one-sided task. It’s not just about asking questions or recording data; it’s about listening deeply, sharing stories, and realizing that the hope that the community holds for their language is the very reason our work has meaning.

In photos: Lingg 125 X3-1 students during their squib consultation sessions.

Still, even with this clarity, doubt found its way in at times. We found ourselves questioning whether we were asking the right questions or if our skills were enough. But each day reminded us that fieldwork is less about perfection and more about growth. Mistakes are inevitable, but they are also necessary. You will make mistakes, but what matters most is navigating how to learn from them. Every error becomes a teacher, and every small success is a quiet encouragement to keep going.

Beyond the work, what stood out most were the connections we formed—over shared meals, jokes in between interviews, and intimate conversations that revealed the depth of the community’s history and identity. These moments showed us that documentation doesn’t just revitalize languages; it also connects people in ways that data alone never could.

In the end, the experience wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t supposed to be. Fieldwork taught us to be brave enough to try, even when unsure; to pause and learn how to appreciate the small joys; and to trust that the time spent in the service of language is time that will always matter.

We almost forgot this was the whole point 

So, why go on fieldwork? Well, why not?

Doing fieldwork in Nueva Vizcaya allowed us to step into the heart of a language community where we encountered Philippine languages, each carrying its own history, identity, and way of life. Unlike the city where we were mainly immersed in Tagalog and English shaped by media and urban life, doing fieldwork in the communities whose languages aren’t easily accessible taught us things that no textbook or classroom could—you get to see how people actually use language in everyday contexts, from casual conversations to cultural practices, and discover language as a lived reality. Being on the field also opened our eyes to the urgency and need for language documentation: many indigenous languages remain under-recorded, and every narrative, word list, or grammatical pattern collected contributes to preserving a community’s linguistic heritage for future generations, making our work feel meaningful and purposeful.

In photo: Lingg 125 X3-1 students enjoying the sunrise at Ambaguio.

At its core, fieldwork is a deeply human and collaborative experience. Communities generously share not only their language but also their stories, food, place, and time. The relationships we built became as important as the data we collected, while the inevitable challenges, such as navigating logistics, handling technology issues, developing elicitation methods, and managing unexpected data, trained us to be more resourceful and resilient as researchers.

Finally, this fieldwork experience we had was worth every second because of the personal and collective growth it brought us. As a class, we learned to navigate unfamiliar places, laugh and worry through small mishaps, and share moments that turned into lasting memories. When we look back on these memories in the future, we remember not just the academic work we did, but the bonds formed, the lessons learned, and the profound feeling of contributing to something larger than ourselves.

In photos: ( Left)Sketches of the Lingg 125 X3-1 students that they made for each other; (Right) Lingg 125 X3-1 students, Profs. Ria Rafael, JM De Pano, and Tina Gallego (left to right), and members of the Bugkalot/Eg̓ongot community.