It started in a window seat next to a woman with a kid,
thousands of feet above, with the sight of floating clouds of vapor about to
take over the earth below any moment.
I was busy fumbling through my pockets, excited to exclaim
in a text message, “I am already here. A bit of rain shower out here.” The kid
turned to his mother, which then I figured, he’s expecting his Lolo to be
there. It was an awaited homecoming of hugs and kisses, and trips to the beach
in the afternoon I thought. Thankfully the weather got better that day.
A crowded hallway led me outside the airport, where vans and signage written with name of strangers. Families I hoped I belong to somehow, but I was happy all by myself, yet could be happier with a company perhaps.
Moments later, I found myself in a port talking to a local,
asking the best way possible to get to Puraran, but I learned otherwise.
She kept coming back and forth. I pretended not to notice
her at first, but she was insistent. Someone told me before that people come
into our lives with a gift, they are being pulled by a string of energy coming
from them and through us making it a human experience.
Virgie came to me with a handful of fish crackers and bags of peanuts tied against something I thought was strong, enough for her four kids and a husband in a deathbed to look up to, her heart.
How I wish I am good enough to speak on her behalf, to tell
her stories like how she told me about them, but I can only sit across her in
that instant, to listen and wish her well.
Puraran is known to surfers for its incredible waves and
serene view, situated in what seems like a cove between two uphill terrains. By
the afternoon I got myself a cheap, but nice hut facing the beach where I spent
most of my time there. The place was fairly peaceful and laid-back, most times
you’ll feel like you have the beach all to yourself.
In my second morning, I met up with my guide, as promised he
brought me to Balacay to watch the sunrise.
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