The moon called to me. As the lunar new year rolled in with, ugh, the month of hearts, I found myself in Boracay with five couples, three of whom were pregnant.
You’d think I’d be the interloper, with my perennially single status and wandering eye (there is much to wander over on this stretch of sand), but couples delight me.
I get giddy when Bon times Sheena’s dip into the cool Station 1 waters precisely, because she’s down with the sickness but hankering for
a swim in the famous waters; I smile when Sherwin automatically puts his hand on Ren’s very pregnant belly when I offer to take their photo against one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world; I am happy when I third wheel Angelo and Cheen, because we seem to like eating the same food and enjoying our alcohol.
I walked the whole stretch from Station 1 to my home in Station 3, where it is quiet but suffused with the character of Boracay as it was before the world discovered her. As I pushed the gate of Sheridan Villas, a few steps from the beachfront, I let the quiet get to me. Boracay’s party is a choice, which we indulged in of course. But for a few moments you can just sit on a quiet stretch on Station 3, watch the sun paint the sky a shade of pink and baby blues, and then a melancholic orange before it dips silently on the horizon, bringing out the night.
And then I put on the neon bikini I had been saving just for the occasion and made a choice.
A trek back to Station 1 for choriburger and a beer for tonight sounds just right.
The trip home was on a pedicab, also known as a trisikad because it is a sikad (kick) that propels it along. At one junction, my driver mutters “beep beep”. On the next, where a gaggle of Koreans block our way, he says “pang pang”, and further on with the Chinese tourists: “tee tee”. Even the
language of the honk has become so world class here, it is fascinating.
(To check out Sheridan Villa’s very affordable family rooms on the quiet stretch of Angol, Station 3, log on to boracaysheridan.com)