Skip to main content

A Feast for the Eyes

BORACAY--This is my first time to visit these shores. And the moment we neared the beach passing by the festive stores, there was a certain vibe in the air very much as if something was about to happen. It was a Saturday and people packed the sandy streets, hurrying to and fro indistinguishable point to indistinguishable point. There is a kind of indifference along the shores: it didn't matter where you stopped to eat or where you lay down on the sand. The beach was vast, its waters a cool turquoise, and the waves kind. So this was what others had called paradise.

Women clad in bikinis scatter on the shores. They looked like bronze Olympian goddesses, followed by men bathed in laughter and plastered with wide smiles. It was a feast for the eyes, not so much because of the beauty of the young bodies in parade but more so for the exuberant spirits now free to run and let go. This is a place to be young, free and to be under the sun. There is glory to be witnessed in flesh suddenly renewed by the island breeze and the unforgiving heat.

Where men have cheap beer with lunch and the ladies down pinacoladas and margaritas in the afternoon. Food does not matter for everything tastes good after a long swim in the slightly salty waters. Here, people do not go for a dip; they indulge in a swim. One can merely go to the sea at any point in one's pilgrimage through the shores and its tenant, cafes and restaurants. Cool shakes are quite popular for the young, refreshing their bodies from perhaps a night of debauchery and alcohol. Excess is the rule, and to to shy away from it is to miss the experience.

And of course, there is the sand. Bali or Hawaii hold up nothing compared the powder you set foot on here. As you clutch a handful of sand, you begin to wonder how such a thing happened, how a vast expanse could be filled with this gift. This is my only experience of infinity. And in the afternoons, the shores and the people turn golden-red with the setting sun. It bids goodbye for the night, proud and knowing that it lorded over the day and gave life to a few hundred of people who in this place bask under it whereas they hide from it in the dead cities they inhabit. And so evening sets in and another kind of life emerges in Boracay. How does one keep up with this place? How does one find rest when to do so would be suicide?

I've been to a lot of places here and abroad. But I guess what separates this island from the rest is the spirit and life they induce to those who are weary. This place excites the flesh, wakes the senses from their slumber, and much like submerging yourself in its cool waters, makes you feel alive again and that everything shall be okay.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Fields of Amorsolo

The first National Artist in Philippine history, referred to warmly as the “Grand Old Man of Philippine Art,” Fernando Amorsolo (1892–1972) still stands today as a looming figure in Philippine art responsible for being one of the artists who helped define what we up to now visually imagine as essentially Filipino. The images of rural life, of golden fields below clear blue, blue skies; the smiles of farmers which diminish their weariness as they plant, harvest, and winnow rice;most especially the iconic figure of the Filipina maiden working in the fields—the beloved dalagang bukid--; these, I believe, even after generations of Filipino painters since Amorsolo, have remained in our hearts and memory. Amorsolo did what great masters do for their country: bestow upon it its own icons, represent its native beauty, that is, to give its people and lands an identity and a face. There are, however, as many intentions for art as there are works of art. And these intentions will always remain in…

Without Why (The Rose) II

Lifetime is a child at play; moving pieces in a game.
Kingship belongs to the child.

Heraclitus, Fragment 52


The child at play never asks itself why it plays. The child just plays; and if it could, it will play as long as possible, it will play throughout its life. See its delight and witness its smile.

If it would never go hungry or if the sun would never set it too will never leave its playmates and playthings. Time flies at play because it stops or suspends time. Time -- as we grownups only know too well -- is the culprit for order, schedules and priorities; yet for the child, there is no time, there is only bottomless play. It is we who impose that this or that should be done at this or that time. We stop the absurd and supposedly endless play ("He does nothing but play") because we insist that discipline, order and priorities be instilled in the child at an early age ("He needs to learn other things beside playing"). So that the child will become like us one da…

A Love Sooner than Later

BROWN PENNY William Butler YeatsI whispered, 'I am too young,' And then, 'I am old enough'; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. 'Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair.' Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair. O love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One cannot begin it too soon.

*
One cannot begin to love too soon--conversely, one should not love too late or in life's demise. That waiting for the "right time," or the "right person" to love, what are these but the cries or sighs of an unready, even tired, heart? One becomes ready only when one begins to understand love slowly (or again), and one understands love progressively when one, simply, performs the act of love. Love, like mos…