
(Photo courtesy of Kat of Tara Let's Anywhere, sorry I had to cut out your watermark. Please forgive me. Labyu!)
“If you were the sea,” I muttered, almost absentmindedly, as I slid off the prow of the pump boat, onto the island called Bisaya-Bisaya.
That morning in early October was like a borrowed summer day: the sun out; the sky a cloudless, faultless blue. As soon as the engine sputtered to a halt, the lull of waves and sea breeze took to playing in the background. I shielded my eyes, not from the sun, but from the sparkling, powdery shore that stretched on either side of where I stood – so white and reflective it was hard to look at without squinting. I then ambled to my companions who were heading toward the grove of coconut trees, away from the harsh mid-morning glare. Just before the trees began were masts of colorful vinta sails – a reminder that we were, indeed, still in the vibrant city of Zamboanga. We then found an array of wooden cottages, on which we deposited our things. Rid of bags, I turned on my heel and finally faced the sea.