Revisits offer new perspectives. For several reasons. First, time. It’s been three years since my first visit. Three years could do and change a lot to a place or to a person. Siquijor has changed. I am changed. Second, the mean of transport. Pressed for time, my friend from work and I pakyaw-ed a tricycle for the island tour. This time around despite my sleeplessness, I asked for directions, rode tricycles with the locals, paid the minimum fare, and devoured a deliciously fried native chicken leg.
My first day in Siquijor—travel-wise—was rather unproductive. I slept the entire afternoon away. I woke up past six in the evening with the wind’s howling intensified.
I started my day early on the following day. I woke up while most parts of Siquijor were still asleep.
Macaw? Since I slept the entire afternoon away, I had a hard time sleeping at night. I was alone in a big dorm. Only a flimsy curtain covered the glass doors. A blackout occurred three times. A bird cawed in the dead of the night. I mistook it for wakwak. It must be this bird. When I walked past the cages, one of them crooned “Hello, pretty.” Damn, this pretty knows how to flatter! Capilay Spring in the morning light. It was quite. Tilapias were undisturbed in their morning algae feeding. I passed by this place on my way back, and kids happily dove, dipped into the water. One of the trees I admire a lot. Look at those coiling branches. I sometimes think that Gustav Klimt’s “Tree of Life” is patterned after an acacia tree.Talking about trees. Here is the mystical Lazi’s four-hundred-year-old dakit tree. Its trunk is like many bodies molded, reshaped to become a huge bulk of a tree. Definitely not an engkantada. I am merely looking for my alter-witch. San Isidro Labrador Parish—commonly known as Lazi Church—is really beautiful. These kids were so adorable as well. And the cutest of them all is the two-year-old trying his best to outrun everyone! Lazi Church front door’s curtain. 🙂
Kuya Danny—my tricycle driver for my Lazi trip—instantly became my photographer. Cambugahay’s bed is rather slippery. I left my slippers on the other side, so I could feel the river bed and anticipate its treachery. And tada!!! Haha! I wanted to take a dip. But before that, I took a snapshot of the body of water that is Cambugahay and mine since there is nobody around to model for me. It is just an excuse of course.
Tay Danny captioned this photo: the Monkey at Cambugahay. Haha! Look! I was supposed to take the 3 o’Clock ride back to Dumaguete. But I made it in time for the noon trip. This is the water at Siquijor—the little province’s capital. I was tempted to jump into the water. The noon ride was delayed. So I left my backpack by a throng and talked with an angler for a while. He hammered the seashells for bait.
The Siquijor I left. But in the middle of the strait, the waves turned furious. The ship tilted several times, passengers pretended calmness, most worn life jackets, some cried. My tummy was as tumultuous as the sea. I threw up.