August Hush

Of sea, sand, stars, singers and fire dancers

It was to be the climax of my August.  We strolled by the shore and took a dip at sea. We allowed ourselves to steep in the course of the ocean’s calming dance. We laid on the wallowed sealine facing the deep blue sky that shimmers with silver white peppers.  And we got lost, in habitual silence that lay between us, soaking in every wonder that night had us to offer.

We arrived in Tagbilaran at 7 o’clock in the morning after an ear-popping 34,000-feet ride. The memory of the ride was a blur to me. I was distracted by my ears that wanted to explode from the air pressure they had not prepared for. That time on I promised myself I will not fly again. But promises are always meant to be broken. Or are they?

After another hour ride in a three-wheeled cart, we arrived at our respective inn, the Chill Out. Its name spoke for itself. Indeed it was a great place to chill and bum about.   The way to our room was paved by bamboo shafts nailed altogether to form an unlikely bridge few inches up from the grassy ground, draped with vines as curtain laces. The landscape was bliss. The greens were pleasing to the eye, as much as the two-storey bamboo rooms structured in a homey stance.

Our first stop was the beach. The beach was laced with diners and coconut trees lined alternately, and sprinkled with different skins wandering about.  The ground was too soft a ground. It was actually, a milky land. There were cocktails and coffee, massage and henna tattoos as well as green mangoes and porridge being offered in handouts.

We let the time passed out until the sun was low in the sky.

The night was young so we decided to walk on by.  We wound up at a spot with white chairs and tables lit by mini candlelights. There, we ate our supper of mixed squid and shrimps, and a steaming pink fish with bits of onion, ginger and unnecessary spices. The food was not as great as the experience.

The serenade could not be any better. It was from a man who had a laudable vocals and a more laudable courage to take on songs whose words he had never seemed to have met. But we sit there, with an unspoken agreement not to discuss further about it.Or him. Good thing, there were fire dancers who made up for him.

In spite of, it was still a blissful night dabbed with music, although awkwardly sung, that smelt of food and gentle nightly breeze.

“A good story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Although, not necessarily in that order.” 

 - Jean Luc Godard