I was in a moving tricycle going to Dumaguete airport to catch my flight back to Manila. I was reminiscing the 26 hours that I have been in Siquijor. I was captured by the idea that the 26 hours was over and that this was goodbye. All of a sudden, tears were slowly forming on my eyes.My sadness was interrupted by a disbelief that I was crying over a place that adopted me for just 26 hours.
If one day, things get so rough that my brave soul isn’t enough to face the world, I’d leave everything behind and I will go to Siquijor.
I will stay in a villa in front of a beach. I will wake up to a calm sea. I will linger on the silence of the morning. Because I know that mornings in here are slow paced. I will sip a coffee as I watch the glare of the sun against the sea.
If this so called adulthood becomes intense, I will take a dip in the clear falls.
Maybe I’d jump into the falls. I will play with the water just like what kids do. I will play with other kids. I will ask their name and I will wish to be an innocent child like them even just for that moment. I will let the flow of the waterfalls wash all the burdens of a life covered with demands and expectations.
If things get so harsh that my mind becomes so weak, I will lay down on a hammock, hung between two coconut trees.
I will let the sun touch my skin until it settles down. I will watch the sunset while my feet are lying at the edge of the hammock. I will be reminded that even the sun is slowly leaving and that all things will eventually be gone. But as the sun sets, another sunrise will come, another hope and a new beginning.
There’s something about Siquijor that captured my feelings. Maybe it’s silence. Maybe it’s magic.
And if someday, I suddenly get away, find me in Siquijor.