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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.


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