Losing it all at sea
There are many things I would not easily forget in my life.
Like how my beloved kitten, whom I found inside a white plastic bag, no longer returned home one day. And how I waited and hoped she would suddenly show up. And how much I feared she was crushed by a car or was lost along the way or was claimed by somebody else.
Or how your calming voice would lull me to sleep, even if you called exactly to wake me up in the morning.
Above all else, though, the missed opportunities would linger longer in my memory.
Of course, I did not know it then. I did not know that being raised by a critical father would make me my own worst critic, instead of my own best friend. I did not know that a childhood of limitations and restrictions would ultimately contribute to my apprehensions, of not being good enough, of not being enough.
I did not know I would — and could — miss and yearn for an experience I did not, in the first place, have.
My fondest — and dare I say, only — childhood memory of the sand and sea was when I was only about six or seven. It was a summer trip with the family. I still vividly recall how my mother built a sandcastle for me and my younger sister, and how we would both embellish it with seashells and weeds we found from the shore. I remember, too, how my older sister attempted to build her own sandcastle, which turned out to be a sand mountain where a stray dog would later piss on. And how we laughed and laughed the whole day through.
But that was it. For many years I thought I was not missing much, especially of my summer days. The logical part of myself would rationalize and make excuses. But the one governed by my feelings just knew there would be an eternal hankering if the subconscious need would not be addressed.
Sometime in the last quarter of 2013, I went to Matabungkay Beach Resort in Lian, Batangas — the first time I hit the beach in more than a decade.
^ I swear I wasn’t hoarding starfish.
About a year and a half later, I went to the remote Burot Beach in Calatagan, Batangas for a day trip.
Not long after, I had to file a nearly week-long vacation leave — a big deal for workaholic me — and stayed near the coastlines of Bolinao, Pangasinan at Puerto del Sol.
And I just lost it, there and then. With the summer breeze blowing my hair and the taste of salt dancing in my mouth, the warmth of the sun caressing my skin and the texture of sand tickling my feet — I just knew I had met, finally, that which unknowingly had been missing in my life.
There was not much I could do. I instantly fell in love.
^ Bolinao Falls
^ Hello, West Philippine Sea!
^ Waves slammed against rock formations, and a cave emerged.
All I had were three days. And those were more than enough to etch these memories in my head for the rest of my life.
I will be coming back. •
Like how my beloved kitten, whom I found inside a white plastic bag, no longer returned home one day. And how I waited and hoped she would suddenly show up. And how much I feared she was crushed by a car or was lost along the way or was claimed by somebody else.
Or how your calming voice would lull me to sleep, even if you called exactly to wake me up in the morning.
Above all else, though, the missed opportunities would linger longer in my memory.
Of course, I did not know it then. I did not know that being raised by a critical father would make me my own worst critic, instead of my own best friend. I did not know that a childhood of limitations and restrictions would ultimately contribute to my apprehensions, of not being good enough, of not being enough.
I did not know I would — and could — miss and yearn for an experience I did not, in the first place, have.
My fondest — and dare I say, only — childhood memory of the sand and sea was when I was only about six or seven. It was a summer trip with the family. I still vividly recall how my mother built a sandcastle for me and my younger sister, and how we would both embellish it with seashells and weeds we found from the shore. I remember, too, how my older sister attempted to build her own sandcastle, which turned out to be a sand mountain where a stray dog would later piss on. And how we laughed and laughed the whole day through.
But that was it. For many years I thought I was not missing much, especially of my summer days. The logical part of myself would rationalize and make excuses. But the one governed by my feelings just knew there would be an eternal hankering if the subconscious need would not be addressed.
Sometime in the last quarter of 2013, I went to Matabungkay Beach Resort in Lian, Batangas — the first time I hit the beach in more than a decade.
^ I swear I wasn’t hoarding starfish.
About a year and a half later, I went to the remote Burot Beach in Calatagan, Batangas for a day trip.
Not long after, I had to file a nearly week-long vacation leave — a big deal for workaholic me — and stayed near the coastlines of Bolinao, Pangasinan at Puerto del Sol.
And I just lost it, there and then. With the summer breeze blowing my hair and the taste of salt dancing in my mouth, the warmth of the sun caressing my skin and the texture of sand tickling my feet — I just knew I had met, finally, that which unknowingly had been missing in my life.
There was not much I could do. I instantly fell in love.
^ Bolinao Falls
^ Hello, West Philippine Sea!
^ Waves slammed against rock formations, and a cave emerged.
All I had were three days. And those were more than enough to etch these memories in my head for the rest of my life.
I will be coming back. •