The sea is heaving. The waves, restless and angry, threaten to upturn our outrigger boat manned by two young Hambil locals. The boat creaks as it bobs over a deep blue bayou that stretches out to the treacherous Tablas Strait in the west. For nearly about an hour, my heart is in my throat.

Sailing to Boracay from Tablas, Romblon when the waves are rough can be a scary ordeal. The sea that separates both islands tends to get tumultuous even during summer months. They say there's a powerful current that flows from Sibuyan in the east all the way to Palawan in the west. Even local fishermen who knew these waters like the back of their hands were not spared from its menace. I remember a friend who grew up in Carabao Island telling me stories about fishing boats being washed away by these tricky waves - the hapless fishermen were found miles away in the south, near the waters of Mindoro and even as far as Palawan.

"WHO ARE YOU WITH SIR?" she asked in a tone coated with so much sweetness it sounded nearly cloying.

"Oh, I'm just alone," I responded, mildly hurt with her question despite its innocence.

"But your room has two beds, sir," she argued, ogling at the piece of paper with my name on it, probably checking if she had the correct document.

"Where is my room located?" I said, diverting the topic with an air of apparent annoyance. The receptionist, a local girl in her early 20s, hardly missed the message her guest was trying to send across but she nonetheless maintained her composure.

She called her colleague and asked for assistance but nobody seemed to have heard her. The thickness of the bushes flourishing in great abundance inside the resort must have sucked out her call. Without any hint of irritation, she took on the job of accompanying her guest to the assigned room - a small villa made of sawali, nipa hut and wooden bamboo floor.
"Enjoy your stay, sir," she told me while dropping my stuff in front of the door. The giddiness in her voice was still palpable and far from waning.

As I was taking a swig of Cuba Libre at Epic, one of the many bars in Station 2 in Boracay, a small commotion erupted from an adjacent table. A large chunk of dried coconut leaves fell from the sky and landed unceremoniously on a group of foreign party-goers, momentarily breaking the monotony in that part of the bar. It was such a miracle that no one got hurt, except perhaps for a few scratches on one guy's arm. Like everyone else, he laughed it off. Grinning, I took another sip and looked overhead, wondering if 'falling dried leaves' was a common occurrence in Boracay's famous White Beach.

Night parties are, even in low season (June to October). The long stretch of walkway running from Station 1 all the way to Station 3 is dotted with restaurants, boutiques, bars, hotels, cafes and other tourism-related establishments that get swarmed with tourists especially at night. Some parts of this small path that had become more of an alley can get clogged. You'll practically and literally rub elbows with people from different countries. Parties do get wild and normally last till dawn.