DRAWN BY THE WAVES

IN my previous blog I mentioned my eagerness to go back to Paraiso ni Juan in Sulvec, Narvacan, Ilocos Sur and scale again its landmark rock called Immagamang. It materialized in my latest homecoming last December. This time, it was Uncle Boni’s plan (he is my mother’s younger brother) to go to the place, in his desire to have the children—my nephews and nieces, and my own children, most of them having their Christmas vacation in town, get a nice dip on the beach. He chose the rocky place over other beaches which have sands rather than rocks.

It was low tide that day (December 26) when we went to Paraiso with my uncle’s van. The morning breeze and shallow water were comfortably cool for the kids. But Dudoy was complaining; he preferred a sandy beach and deeper water to swim. So my son just contented himself wading the shallow water, climbing on the rocks along with his siblings and cousins, and finding interesting shells and other small sea creatures he could find. 

But I myself was not satisfied with such activity on the beach. Seeing the big solitary rock not far from the shoreline, I suggested to the children to climb the rock for one brief but thrilling adventure. Except my son Nathaniel who had reached the top of the rock (I carried him then) when he was about three years old, not one of them had done it before. So they readily accepted my challenge. The rock was about 400 meters from where they were wading. The rocky and rugged pathway was visible in the low tide. The kids raced to the rock, and I, who was supposed to be their guide, and my brother Romel who went with us, just lagged behind. Even my daughter Eya, the youngest among them, enjoyed wading and hopping from one craggy rock to another.

To my surprise, the children climbed the rock so easily. They stayed on top for a moment to savor their achievement and had their pictures taken with the cloudless sky as backdrop. After a couple of minutes they climbed down the rock and cavorted on a flat area at its foot. Dudoy and the boys continued their shell hunting, and the girls their giggles and fun with the ankle-deep water on the rock’s surface. Then we went around the rock, my first time actually to do so. A narrow span of flat rock was very visible on the back side, and it was so near the roaring waves breaking against the edges of the rock.

It was Dudoy’s idea to play with the waves, after he got bored with shell hunting, and now he appeared to be drawn by the frothy waves, bright and gay, running up to where he sat on the rocky edge. Suddenly he shouted in exhilaration, just after a big wave splashed on him. The rest of the kids joined him. They lined themselves on the edge of the rock, and waited patiently for the next big wave, and how they shouted when they saw the crested waves creeping higher than before and falling on them in a big splash, and screaming hysterically for more. That anticipation and the moment with the big wave I captured with my camera.

Ah, it seems eons ago when I was like these kids enjoying rambunctious moments with the waves! 

Perhaps I’m getting a bit too romantic. But waves had been a childhood playmate of mine, when my time on the beach was mostly spent with gathering of shells, frolicking with the waves, drawing images with a stick on the moist sand, and making my own sandcastles. And big, unruly waves terrified me like a bully when I started to learn how to swim.

When I was in high school, a conference of young campus writers which I joined was held in a public school at a beach front. In the first day of the confab, I woke up before sunrise and from our quarters, I walked along the shore until I reached an old, abandoned pantalan (wharf). The sun was just breaking, the soft light hitting the smooth surface of the sea, tempered by the soft rhythm of the wave. It was a seaside imagery I wanted to capture in words. It was then that I decided to be a writer. 

While in my childhood, watching the waves was a game of anticipation, this time at my age, it was a moment of solitude and meditation. 

When was the last time I sat on the beach and watched the beautiful wave come tumbling right up to me? But even now, I can still feel the magnetism of those gigantic ripples of the sea. I still crave for a quiet moment just doing nothing or just sitting and looking at the sea, and watching the waves rolling in, bumping other waves in its glee, and then sliding back.  

Now I wonder what it is in a wave that attracts young and old alike. Maybe it’s the gravitational pull of the sea, complemented by the captivating breeze, which causes the tidal movements. A magnetism that draws us to the smooth water surface and be mesmerized by the constancy of the ripples. Or maybe it’s the movement, a manifestation of the spin or revolution of our good Earth, creating a constant swing of crests and troughs. A constancy of rhythm that holds our breath while we watch with anticipation those usually kind, warm and playful ripples rushing at the shore.

Maybe it’s the special attribute of the shoreline as both a starting point for a journey, leading to an uncharted path, and a destination, a refuge of seafarers and travelers during a sudden violent storm. A two-way direction. That’s why when you gaze out from land upon the horizontal stretch of the sea, you can contemplate about your future, and think of whether you would go away or you had just headed home.

I think I always have this intimacy with the waves, and it is being near them, sitting in reverie, and watching the changing colors and sizes of the waves as they break upon the shore, that I feel truly spiritual. I am inspired by the consistency rather than the highs and the lows of the waves. Just like life, with its ups and downs, but then it pushes itself forward in its own rhythm.