Must be my biological clock gone awry at 49 years old. For some reason, I wake up early with disgusting regularity nowadays. This morning was no different; my watch confirmed the read out: 4:45AM. I would have wanted to sleep a bit more to rest these weary bones, but sleep released his spell on me.
The waking was abrupt. It did not come gently with fluttering of the eye or a moment of transition from dreamland to reality, no. The return was a blast and jarring. So sudden that there were times when some residue of dreams spill out into the waking world; disorienting me for a second or two.
This is the picture that paints the thousand words. This is Sumilon island. How it got its name is one tale worthy of telling; but that’s a story for another day.
This latest tourism Mecca in Cebu is a 24-hectare coral island of 15 minute ride in a small fisherman’s boat off the coast of barangay Bancogon in the municipality of Oslob, Cebu.
Like all coral islands, Sumilon is an island lifted above sea level by tiny workers – the corals.
A coral is nothing more than an individual polyp with a protective outer shell. While the polyp eats and lives, it excretes a substance that hardens, forming the coral shell around it. Upon reaching maturity, the coral divides itself again and again forming huge coral formations or masses. An example is the brain coral.
In hopes to get the very first scoop of her coming out, the newsmen camera was locked, focused unto the massive door for hours with nothing more on my TV screen but the words emblazoned in screaming fonts, “ Hon. LEILA M. DELIMA, Senator”.
The catatonic stillness was interrupted only when passersby depicted themselves in quick reflections that made the gold plated letters seem to quiver. Actually, I like the entire picture composition: the gleaming nameplate burnishes what is beautiful while the door grants cover to what is not.
When CIDG personnel materialized themselves in the premises, the senate sergeant at arms, fueled by the backing of their boss, Koko Pimentel, upped their watchfulness and positioned themselves by the door, guarding the contents therein if needed, with their lives.
I use to jog in Mactan Memorial Gardens in Marigondon, Lapu-Lapu city. The place is big with widest skies and pavements without cars and tricycles that fester. The expansive green grass is soothing although in summer it is parched brown by an angry sun.
The place, being the resting grounds of Opon’s descent, is a place of recollection – a place where one relishes shared memories of the dearly departed with stories that amuse and also those that exact tears. It is where you can wear your heart on your sleeve and not be bothered with neighbors; after all they may have gone through the same experience. No wonder the place is called Memorial Gardens.
One late afternoon, as I started to jog in hopes to ward off all afflictions of inheritable nature, I saw this gorgeous young lady slowing down to a walking pace from a jog. She wore a teeny-weeny red running short that accentuates her long slender legs. She sports an equally long hair that are tied neatly but let loose to dangle on end, probably done on purpose to sway and quiver with each footfall.