The moment my mother said these words, a rush of memories filled my head. I remembered riding a big boat, a roro, I think it’s called. I threw up once, while riding the roro. I was six years old. There were so many people crowded on the boat, and the sun was mercilessly shining that day. I ruined my grandmother’s pants, soiled my cousin’s slippers, and smelled vile. It would have been a horrendous (not to mention, a terribly embarrassing) experience, were it not for the dolphins. The friendly creatures chose that moment – my moment of shame and sickness – to put on the show for the roro passengers. There were three of them jumping in and out of a crystal-blue sea, keeping up with the boat as it made its way to the beautiful island of Puerto Galera in Mindoro. Thanks to them, I could almost ignore the terrible smell, the heat, my headache, and the bile threatening to rise once again in my throat.
This memory is the most vivid of all my experiences in and going to the island – a meaningful statement considering that I’ve seen mini tornadoes, sea turtles washed up on shore, and seahorses playing in the shallow pools along the coast of Puerto Galera. With all of these wonderful and not-so-wonderful recollections in my head, I could barely contain my excitement that I had an opportunity to go back to my favorite place in the Philippines, the beach of my childhood.
The boat trip this time around was a far cry from the roro commute I had done 12 years ago. For one, I didn’t ride on a roro. My mom rented a bangka, or the local speedboat, to ferry us to Mindoro. No dolphins swam alongside the boat. The sky was overcast, and rain seemed to be on the horizon. But I didn’t care. Things changed, I told myself. I was going back to Puerto Galera. That was all that mattered.
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| Bangkas waiting for passengers idle by the shore. |
