before sunrise

There’s a picture tucked in my head. It comes up every time I close my eyes. And it makes me smile—this still shot in my mind. I almost always take a deep breath, too, as if taking a whiff of remembered scents.

What evokes the most vivid of memories?

Is it colors?

Photographs?

Words?

Or, is it the never-ending yearning for the sights, smells and sounds of home?

A few weeks before I left to work in another country, two friends decided to grant me my heart’s wish at that time. Oh, I’ve always had plain pleasures and simple desires, so their going-away gift didn’t involve massive ATM withdrawals, only loads of patience and sore muscles! The treat was a trip along the secret roads and secluded beaches of Southern Leyte—on a motorbike.  

And this is the picture, caught from among numerous adventures of that special ride, carefully preserved in the memory, and conjured whenever the heart longs for home.

A beach before sunrise.

On the first night of our tour, I slept on a hammock by a beach in Macrohon. But had it been any other beach in Southern Leyte, the wonder would still be the same.  There was certainly none of Bali’s or Boracay’s unwanted intrusions and racket. No need to struggle here for space, or to pay for it! Be it in a Maasin or Macrohon or Malitbog beach, one could sit by the shore at nightfall, and gaze out quietly into the darkness of an ocean broken only by the flickering torches of fishing boats. One could lie down on the damp sand and stare up at the endless stretch of black sky and winking stars. The solitude is priceless. I dozed off doing just that, fanned by the cold evening breeze, lulled by the soft crash of lapping waves and the chirping of crickets all around. I didn’t fear for life and limb. Why should I? This was Southern Leyte.

But the best part was yet to come.

The smell of the sea gently shook me awake long before my other senses did. I swear the Southern Leyte sea has a different smell than the other seas in the world! No beach I have ever been in has that tangy, sea-weedy smell of the beaches back home. It hit me like a warm fuzzy, the scent of the ocean—salty, weedy, fishy but strangely pleasant and comforting. It made me think of washed up sea shells, shiny pebbles, cool blue waters, foamy waves, and the odd wriggling fish even before I opened my eyes and saw them.

With the scent came the sounds. Do you know that the waves make a different sound in the morning than they do at night? That morning, the waves sounded frisky—as if inviting me to jump in and splash around! I could hear the trilling of birds up the trees now. From the outskirts of the beach, where the grass started to grow, and where a few nipa huts peeked in between rows of coconut trees, came the muffled sounds of a blaring radio, crowing cocks, a barking dog, and the indistinct voices of people who, like me, have just woken up again to another beautiful day.

I jumped down from the hammock as a burst of laughter reached me. My friends were just dragging themselves out of the cold waters, dripping, shivering and howling “Painit na!” Racing to the nearest hut, we charmed a sleepy Manang into giving us hot water, then filled our handy tin cups with instant Nescafe Classic bought from the perennial sari-sari store nearby. As if on cue, an oldish man in frayed shorts and buli hat slowly pedaled by, eyeing us expectantly, a basket of freshly-baked hot elordes strapped securely behind his 70s-style bicycle.  We bought a plastic-full of the hot buns, hopped back to our spot by the beach, munched our bread and sipped our smoking bean juice.  The sun was just rising, its rays painting the sea and sky different tints of blue, and life wasgood.

We went on to other places after that.  We discovered picturesque graveyards, concealed paths, old wells, flowing rivers, rocky islets. There’s no lack of such quaint attractions in Southern Leyte if you have the patience and the imagination to find them.

But the sound and feel and smell of the beach stayed with me all throughout the trip… and all throughout these years.

I have taken that image as my own. I kept it as a personal talisman of sorts. It calms my fears, soothes my loneliness, and gives me a promise: as long as folks by the beach share their hot water to strangers, as long as anyone can sleep on a hammock by the shore, as long as the sun rises and sets on the same sound and smell of that sea–I shall never lack for home.

Note: By all rights, this personal essay belongs to Caimito Beach Hotel as an entry. :)