I AM not originally a Dabawenyo, but Davao has always felt familiar, almost like a second home. My relatives lived here, so every summer of my childhood was spent in the city. Coming from farmland, a trip to Davao never felt complete without a visit to the mall. And the first mall that truly left me in awe was Victoria Plaza.
Opened in 1993, Victoria Plaza was the first full-scale shopping mall in Davao City — a novelty at the time, and a symbol of a city beginning to grow beyond its borders. To a child like me, it felt enormous. I remember standing in its wide halls, eyes lifted, overwhelmed by lights, sounds, and movement. But what I remember most was the carousel, its cheerful music, the spinning horses, the photos we took, and my silent wish that the ride would never end. Those moments, simple as they were, became permanent fixtures of my childhood.
Back then, I thought life would always be that way: slow, joyful, predictable. But life, as it always does, moved on. We grew up. New malls rose; they were bigger, sleeker, more aesthetic. Somewhere along the way, I forgot the old days because I was too busy catching up with adulthood: solving problems, meeting deadlines, surviving. Like everyone else, I was “forced” to grow up, leaving behind the wonder of being a child.
Over time, Davao slowly became more than just a place I visited. In 2019, I married a Dabawenyo, and from then on, the city officially became my home for good. What once felt like a seasonal escape turned into a place where life now happens daily. And in that shift, Victoria Plaza was no longer just a childhood memory; it became a quiet witness to how far life had taken me.
Victoria Plaza, too, could not stay the same forever. In 2018, it was acquired by NCCC, and while its name changed to NCCC Mall VP, the structure largely remained. It still looked familiar — almost stubbornly holding on to its old self. For many of us, that constancy mattered. It felt like reassurance that some things, at least, were still intact.
Then came the news that saddened many Dabawenyos: the mall had been acquired once again, this time with plans for a completely new, modern development, with no plans to preserve the old structure. It felt like a loss. Victoria Plaza was not just a building; it was history. It was a memory. It was childhood for an entire generation.
Reality soon followed sentiment. As the year comes to an end, the mall will cease operations. Knowing this, I went back just to walk its halls one last time. No rush. No errands. Just a quiet stroll. It felt like saying goodbye to an old friend, the kind who may no longer fit into your present life, but shaped who you once were.
Progress is inevitable. Cities evolve. Buildings rise and fall. But as Victoria Plaza fades into memory, it leaves behind something no modern structure can replace: the sound of a carousel, the laughter of children, and a shared past that will always belong to the Dabawenyos — and now, undeniably, to me too.