AS THE shutdown begins Thursday, April 26, so flow the torrent of memories…
STILL – The coconut palms sway, nay, sensuously sashay to the gentlest breeze.
Soft, fine grains, a divinely white bed the sandy beach does make – refuge to the body battered by endless toil.
Poetic becomes erotic – at the endless procession of kimchis in the briefest bikinis. Here –but a sprinkling of white flesh: sagging, more than nipped, tucked, and uplifted.
There – exotica in the natural habitat, far removed from the zoo cages of Fields Avenue.
The rock – the famous formation of corals that dared to rise from the depths only to lose life to wind and sun, now a hardened host to small trees and shrubs – de-natured, and with a grotto to the virgin, Catholicized.
The waters, yes, the waters. I sit, squat in the waters. Neck deep, arms outstretched to the undulating waves.
Ah, life is the sea.
In a trance now.
A fish, small, pesky, cautiously now, curiously poking, probing my left hand, the fingers one by one.
A second, bigger fish comes, going about like the first one.
Then, a whole school of fish around both hands, arms, back, stomach, legs.
A twitch, so sudden. All the fish gone as sudden.
The waters, the waves, the sea. On me. All around me. In me. The sea becomes me. The oneness of being. Nirvana, here.
STILL – Boracay makes a fine getaway.
A retreat to the realm of the senses – and transcendent spirituality too. Despite the monstrous development frenzy still ongoing there.
Hotels, more big than small, are in various stages of both construction and completion.
The waste, both biodegradable and plastic, increases by the day. Even in the off -season.
Wonder how the Supreme Court declaration of the island as public property would be received by those who have staked fame and fortune in what was once billed as the “most beautiful beach in the world.”
