My favorite thing about Wanderland is the fact that I rarely ever know the artists playing.
I’ve been a serial Wanderer for 3 years in a row now, so I think I have some authority to say that Wanderland is best experienced when you’re coming in a little blind. Now for its hefty price tag, that might be a hot take — but hear me out.
The first time I heard about this music festival was approximately 8 years ago, when my eldest sister, Ate Aika, attended with her own friends back in 2016. We have a 10 year age gap, which means that I automatically found everything she did cool.
At this moment, I’d like you to imagine 16 year old Fran scrolling on the logo-font-was-still-in-script Instagram and seeing pictures of her 26 year old ate laying on the grass with her friends, all cheesy smiles and big laughs with their sunglasses and beer cups peppered between photos. The sprawling Wanderland stage sat in the far distance of the photos, the crowds’ movement captured in blurs: a telltale sign that something so Cool was undoubtedly happening, it wouldn’t even stay still for a picture. In other words, you just had to be there. Now as you imagine this scenario, please include the mental visual of me sitting in my Cookie Monster pajamas as I stared longingly at these photos in between finishing my quadratic functions worksheet.
In that moment, I knew that the peak of my incoming adulthood would not be paying taxes or getting a job, but having the luxury to lounge on a field surrounded by live music and my bestest friends.
The dream of Wanderland haunted me like a slowed down metabolism — I knew it was going to happen someday, it was just a matter of when.
In 2018, at the height of prom-posals and soirees, all the Cool Girls at school went with their barkadas the year Daniel Caesar headlined. What once was just a little dream to be half as hipster and cultured as my older sister, was now a proverbial right of passage: You weren’t living large as a teenager unless you were partying at Wanderland with your girls-and-boys friend group and, for the even cooler teens, your “MU” in tow.
However, despite my many attempts to both save up enough of my allowance to afford the tickets and convince my friends and crush to go, I ultimately had to close the door on the fantasy because my parents felt I was simply too young to go.
Looking back now, I don’t blame them — the festival is best enjoyed without a 10PM curfew, after all.
2023
5 years later, it was finally my time.
Fresh out of the pandemic and filled with a thirst for life that only a newly inagurated 22 year old could have, I made it a point to buy my Wanderland tickets nearly the moment they went on sale.
My friend group, aka my Wanderbuddies, were my good friends from college and high school. We had talked about going together even before we graduated, so the plan to finally attend was one that was 4 years in the making. I distinctly remember how we had to force one of our friends, Jess, to come with because she was iffy about the lineup. She only knew the headliner, Cary Rae Jepsen, and even so, could not justify going to the festival for only one artist.
“But we’re not going for the artists, we’re going for the vibe!” was my extremely foolproof and very convincing response. It sounds silly, but it was also the truth. For me, Wanderland was never about the artists — it was about the fact that for one weekend, you were whisked away to the outskirts of the South surrounded by nothing but good friends, good food and good music. Vibes.
Jess ended up coming and our whole group came in themed outfits for the whole 2-day affair.
We treated the festival like a full on trip. We slept over at Jess’ place which was closer to the venue, established call times and had a thoughtfully planned out itinerary. As first time goers, Wanderland was a whole production for us. In retrospect, we must have looked so silly being so meticulous about something so fundamentally chill, but I think our enthusiasm was just a testament to how much this meant for all of us.
At some point during Day 2, I remember standing in line for food with one of my friends and looking out at the crowds around us.
“Damn, everyone really came with a jowa, huh?” he said, motioning towards the couples surrounding the perimeter.
“Well, that’s pretty expected.” I shrugged. “It is quite romantic to be sitting on a picnic blanket with love songs playing right in front of you. Of course it’s a couple thing.”
After a moment, he began nodding to himself. “Bet, next year we’ll have partners to bring, okay?” he said, suddenly filled with resolve.
“Deal.” I said, knowing damn well neither of us had absolutely no way of ensuring that.
Hope hung heavy in the air, creating a kind of warmth not even the cool Alabang wind could rival.
2024
Fresh off the high of last year’s Wanderland, our group bought the Early Wanderer package — discounted tickets sold at nearly 50% off because you were purchasing it one whole year in advance.
By the time March finally rolled around again, the topic of the festival was hot on our tongues, especially because the dates overlapped with Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour in Singapore.
And yes, you guessed it — my friend group was going to that too.
Perhaps any rational barkada would have simply sold their Wanderland tickets the moment we scored the highly coveted Eras Tour ones. After all, Wanderland happens ever year, but Eras Tour was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
However, we never claimed to be a practical bunch.
Instead, only 24 hours after blowing out our vocal cords at Taylor’s concert in Singapore, we flew back to Manila, hopped off our flight and straight into the Wanderland Festival Grounds.
And yes, for those wondering about logistics, our friends did in fact pick us up from the airport and drive right to the festival.
In retrospect, I can tell you now that this was not a well thought out plan. We refused to give up either of the concerts, and fueled by the kind of insane audacity and lack of foresight only a friend group in their early twenties could have, we insisted on going to both. We were trying to build a tradition of going to Wanderland every year, and if we missed it out on this year, we felt like it would break our momentum.
Sure we ended up pushing through with our plan, but our group was in shambles.
First, the half us were coming from Singapore and had different arrival times. This meant that we were operating on varying levels of adrenaline and exhaustion.
Second, not only was I heavily PMS-ing, I was also sleep deprived and physically drained from the trip. As much as I was trying to keep it together, my social battery was very quickly depleting.
Third, and the cherry top, was the entrance booth having trouble scanning our tickets. We still don’t know for certain what caused it, but suddenly all our tickets were reflecting as invalid because, apparently, having multiple copies of the tickets distributed among each other (ex. Me having the downloaded copy from the ticket website, one friend having a copy from the forwarded confirmation email, another friend having a copy from someone else’s screenshot, etc.) messed with its QR codes. As a result, only the original buyer could hold the tickets. This meant that the only tickets they could scan, were the ones that came directly from my phone.
It wouldn’t have been an issue if I were there, but at that point in the day, I had asked my friends to go to the festival ahead while I attempted to get a massage at the nearby mall to help with my period cramps and back pain. I had just finished dropping them off at the entrance and began walking through the maze that was Festival Mall, when my best friend Psyche called me about the problem.
I was already irritable from being lost in the mall as a first timer there, so having to walk all the way back to the festival grounds and troubleshoot the problem then go back for my massage appointment while I was already in so much physical pain was making me lose my sanity. Did I mention I also forgot to eat that day?
As I recall this memory, I think about how this moment was the true test of friendship between me and Psyche. We had just survived the stresses of our Singapore trip together, and now we had to deal with this one last major inconvenience. We were both so exhausted and irritable, this could’ve been the moment we just exploded at each other — not necessarily because anyone was at fault, but just because the situation was so mentally debilitating and we both just needed some release.
Eventually, we solved the problem without blowing our tops, and we reconvened 3 hours later post-massage, with me operating on only a 20% increase in social battery.
Admittedly, I don’t actually remember much from the performances that day. I was only mentally present enough to have photos taken with my friends, but the music itself was just pleasant background ambiance for me as I all but collapsed in the picnic mats we laid out.
That year, there was no themed outfits and no wistful conversations. No perfectly coordinated schedule or feelings of a childhood dream finally coming into fruition.
There was just tired friends lumped together on a banig, keeping a tradition alive despite barely feeling alive ourselves.
Despite this, hope hung over us as we blearily looked up at the sky, wishing that next year would be a little bit kinder.
2025
So here we are.
When I was dreaming up both the intro of this post and this specific part in my head, I was having a really hard time figuring out how to start it, or specifically where. Do I talk about how after last year’s abysmal experience, no one else bought the Early Wanderer package but me? Do I start it strong by saying I finally made good on my promise of going with a partner? Do I talk about how I convinced Psyche and Paco to buy tickets 4 months before the festival, then Anicia on the day itself? Or that as 3 year Wander-veterans, we neither planned too much or too little this time which gave us the most easygoing and laidback weekend so far?
These all seemed like great starter points, but I also felt like there was no way I could authentically write this post without getting straight into the thought that inspired it in the first place.
This year was the festival’s 10 year anniversary, so the organizers filled the lineup with their previous headliners. Kind of like an All Stars cast, if you will. I thought the pinnacle of this weekend would be the fact that, by some strange and miraculous twist of events, I was actually going to be able to fulfill my teenage dream of watching Daniel Caesar in Wanderland with my crush, or in this case (and even better), my boyfriend Ry.
However, my most striking moment was actually during the performance of an artist whose songs I barely knew. Honne, was this year’s main act on Day 2. I knew approximately 2 of their Tiktok-famous hits, so as their segment drew closer, I was neither too excited or completely uninterested. I was already coming off the high from having such a wonderful weekend filled with great tunes and even greater company, so I was beginning to simmer down, thinking I had already reached the climax of my sentimental, i-am-so-grateful-for-how-everything-turned-out internal monologues.
But the moment Honne got on that stage, the whole festival came alive.
Ry had been on and off napping throughout the day, so I was pretty amused when he basically sprung to life the moment the duo began playing.
Next thing I know, he’s grabbing my hand and we’re flail dancing and head banging to songs I was hearing for the very first time. There was a kind of familiarity that wafted in the air as Honne sang to thousands of Wanderers that gleefully screamed their lyrics back.
They mentioned in between that they had already performed in the Philippines 3 times before, and I thought about how the little niche Filipino references they made (ex. correctly using the phrase “sobrang Latina” in the right context with their thick English accents) were testaments to how close they felt to us — to how at home they now were standing on the Wanderland stage.
Looking at the sea of swaying bodies in the audience, I then realized it wasn’t just them that felt that.
There’s a lyric in their ballad Crying Over You that goes “And though I can’t say when, I know love will find its way again” that felt incredibly spiritual to hear for the first time. Now if you’ve never heard this song, I suggest you give it a listen right now so you have some context to what I’m about to say next.
The line is said in the final bridge, where the instruments are softened ever so slightly to isolate the fragility of the vocals. It’s sang with so much wistful tenderness, it’s almost bittersweet. One look at the audience, and I could see everyone responding in a sway with a kind of slow and somber reverence. But as the song continued and the instruments built up to a gradual crescendo, we were thrown into the powerful last chorus that instantly had everyone shaking from their awed frenzy and jumping up and down, basking in joy and newfound resolve.
It was in this moment that I realized with sudden certainty that the lyric was never a prayer of hope. No — it was a proclamation. A promise that one day all the love they gave out to the world would come back to them tenfold.
I looked at my friends, my dear Wanderbuddies, and wondered if they knew they were each the personifications of the very line they were dancing to.
One person let go of a life that made them feel like they had to dull their corners to be accepted, and now they’re singing their heart out and jumping hand-in-hand with their best friends, radiating with the light they once tried to dull.
Somebody let go of the wish that all friendships — ours included— could stay the same when we started growing up, and now that they’ve let our friendship evolve, we’ve found ourselves walking different paths but excitedly running to each other in the little spaces where we both cross.
One friend let go of the idea that they needed to erase their past in order to be worthy of love, and now they’re in a committed long-term relationship, all because they’ve learned to give themself the patience and acceptance they offer to those closest to them.
Someone let go of the idea that they had to be perfect to deserve good things in life, and now their days are full of the love they have finally come to accept they deserve, because ever so slowly, vulnerability is no longer starting to feel like weakness.
And me — a girl who let go of the “I am broken goods” mindset that once kept her safe from disappointment but also kept away the chance for real happiness, now embracing that my imperfections don’t make me incapable of love, they just make me human.
When the festival finally came to end and my barkada made its way through the sea of confetti to the parking lot, I thought about how, despite the initial criticism the organizers received for reusing/repeating acts, it ended up becoming the most fitting way to celebrate the thriving Wanderland world they’ve built today.
The festival’s full circle moment has given way for attendees like myself to look back on their own journey and how far they’ve come since the last time they stood in these grassy Wanderland grounds.
Today, as I browsed through my photos from the weekend, I couldn’t help but laugh.
There I was: Laying on the grass with my friends, all cheesy smiles and big laughs with our sunglasses and beer cups peppered between photos. The sprawling Wanderland stage sat in the far distance of the photos, the crowds’ movement captured in blurs: a telltale sign that something so Cool was undoubtedly happening, it wouldn’t even stay still for a picture. In other words, you just had to be there.
And guess what?
I was.
