traveling by boat at night in the waters of puerto galera

Jay: Di nakakatakot sa boat? Maulan di ba?
Mak: Nakakatakot. Wala nga nag-aalala. Pati magulang ko. Grabe, as in.
Jay: Drama mo. Ako nag-alala. Ehehe. Tingnan mo tinanong kita.

*******

There is something inherently melancholic about traveling by boat at night in the waters of Puerto Galera.

The darkness turns everything into nothing - anchored sailboats into silhouettes, towering islands into shrouds, fellow passengers to ghosts, the wind, but a faint echo, and the horizon blank and hollow, like the water on which we tread on.

True, that there is a certain beauty to all these. Come to think of it, the watercraft is a cradle that leisurely rides the waves, and the steady hum of the motor, the lull. Relaxing. The vibrations, soothing. But remembering being propelled forward, blindly, onto the expanse of uncertainty mixes a certain element of intensity, one leaning towards morbid fascination.

Hands gripped tight while the eyes wander at the displaced water underneath, and at the foams surging upward on the tail end. Then the boatman pauses, and poses. Silence ensued. Not a sound, not even the engine. The heart becomes more restless. Fear looming. From the corner, another boat crosses our path. Almost invisible. Coalition prevented in this one big freeway.

Forward, the boat moves again. Somewhere farther than it looks, there's a lighted enclave. It took some time but you now know you were never lost. Realizations always take time. And like how the darkness turned everything into nothing, fear made you blind and oblivious to the wonders of traveling by boat at night in the waters of Puerto Galera. In the last few minutes you let go, trusting that the boat will soon be ashore.

To travel is to weave a tale, and tales should always end in a good way.