I CLOSED MY EYES AND CAUGHT the smell of summer wafting through the air. A May breeze, gentle and warm, swelling up like a piece of wild fruit bursting with colors, its tiny seeds exploding with aroma. It's a perfectly beautiful Friday afternoon in El Nido - the light of the sun hammered down to its heart's content.
Sitting at the edge of the beach, Bong (our tour guide) and I looked across the water toward the gigantic karst walls surrounding this small haven called Hidden Beach. The summer breeze stirred the leaves of shrubs and trees behind us, rustling faintly and raising small ripples on the surface of the shallow waters, ebbing ever so slowly like time.
With arms and legs flapping against the sand, an act reminiscent of that peculiar scene in Stephen Chbosky's film adaptation of "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" which involved Charlie getting high while helplessly lying on the ground covered with snow, M blurted out a quintessential question I've been meaning to ask - "Have you ever dreamed about doing this everyday? This, spending all day and night on the beach, practically doing nothing but getting paid?"
M wasn't high. A bit delirious maybe, but definitely not drugged. He's a quirky human being, a modern day Alexander Supertramp whose spontaneity can knock the wind out of you. "Let's go to Batangas," he said over a text message on a Sunday morning. "I've no phone. Let's meet at Metro Point in Rotonda."
On a Sunday morning with an overcast sky, our Calatagan adventure began.
Yeah, I dream about doing nothing like lounging on the beach but getting paid. I told M. Please let me do this everyday, I said to a falling star, which streaked across a cloudless sky. The sky over Burot was blanketed by millions of stars - flickering and glimmering - perpetual canvass of wonder. They stayed with us the whole night. Them stars - important reminders of life's simple pleasures, having a quiet time like this, among other things. On a beach like Burot.
Noah and the Whale's "Shape of my Heart" was playing on M's tablet
carelessly placed over a Bruno Mars' hat. The waves gently lapped on
the shore, the sea breeze kissing our skin. A random idea crossed my mind - I'd like to save on music man guitar.
"At some point, all this traveling can get pointless so you tend to stop and focus on more important things - like building a house or something," M said a few hours back when we were busy building a bonfire at some rocky beach, which was still part of Burot but hidden by a small cove. Our campfire was composed poorly of random woods and dry thorny vines we had gathered from a thin thicket of shrubs nearby. I almost had my eyes poked by those thorny, pesky plants.