At some points, the road was bumpy, and the sea was rough.
But it was a journey worth taking. The company was good. After all, it was a group of classmates and their families. I brought my whole family with me, in fact.
It was a sentimental journey as well, a search for that youthfulness still deeply embedded in a body now facing the specter of graying and/or balding hairs for some, of beer bellies for others, and yes, the weakening of knees and joints brought about by the advancement in years for many.
Life was good. Life IS good! We have in our company tales of survival, not only of some of us who surpassed life-threatening encounters, but of the trip itself, that started in Quezon City, to a pick-up point in Los Banos, for an overnight journey to Guinobatan interrupted only by a pit-stop in Tiaong and Calauag. We had our first serious moment of heaven when we had our breakfast there at Casa Basilisa, a fitting opening of a day full of fun to a company of 19 batchmates, some with their loved ones and companions, to make a happy crowd of 43 plus the presence of one generous class-mate who made it all possible, and an amiable PENRO whose hospitality made this distant place a home for us. And yes, our drivers, whose mysterious demeanors elicited both fear and discomfort, but nevertheless was necessary for us, to remind us that the road to paradise could be littered with inconvenience, but still, what matters most is the destination, and of course, the company.
The visit to the ruins of Cagsawa, and a view of the majestic Mayon, and the trip to the Camarines Sur Water Sports Complex are but a tip of the iceberg, an undercard experience, a usual appetizer, a needed preview for the more breath taking scenes that awaited us. But for me, the other significant homecoming, not only since Cam Sur is my home province, is that the trip provided my wife and I the chance to visit my parents, and my children the gift of seeing once again their Lolo and Lola, who I know are very fond of them. My father is already blind, but I saw in his face the joy that he usually hides, and can only feel even if he could no longer see how such joy has brought tears to my eyes. My mother is old but still the ever gracious woman that nurtured and protected me from the pains of childhood to enable me to experience its joys. Her smile provided me the assurance that while we may not be seeing each other often, the love is always there to transcend distance.
But it was a journey worth taking. The company was good. After all, it was a group of classmates and their families. I brought my whole family with me, in fact.
It was a sentimental journey as well, a search for that youthfulness still deeply embedded in a body now facing the specter of graying and/or balding hairs for some, of beer bellies for others, and yes, the weakening of knees and joints brought about by the advancement in years for many.
Life was good. Life IS good! We have in our company tales of survival, not only of some of us who surpassed life-threatening encounters, but of the trip itself, that started in Quezon City, to a pick-up point in Los Banos, for an overnight journey to Guinobatan interrupted only by a pit-stop in Tiaong and Calauag. We had our first serious moment of heaven when we had our breakfast there at Casa Basilisa, a fitting opening of a day full of fun to a company of 19 batchmates, some with their loved ones and companions, to make a happy crowd of 43 plus the presence of one generous class-mate who made it all possible, and an amiable PENRO whose hospitality made this distant place a home for us. And yes, our drivers, whose mysterious demeanors elicited both fear and discomfort, but nevertheless was necessary for us, to remind us that the road to paradise could be littered with inconvenience, but still, what matters most is the destination, and of course, the company.
The visit to the ruins of Cagsawa, and a view of the majestic Mayon, and the trip to the Camarines Sur Water Sports Complex are but a tip of the iceberg, an undercard experience, a usual appetizer, a needed preview for the more breath taking scenes that awaited us. But for me, the other significant homecoming, not only since Cam Sur is my home province, is that the trip provided my wife and I the chance to visit my parents, and my children the gift of seeing once again their Lolo and Lola, who I know are very fond of them. My father is already blind, but I saw in his face the joy that he usually hides, and can only feel even if he could no longer see how such joy has brought tears to my eyes. My mother is old but still the ever gracious woman that nurtured and protected me from the pains of childhood to enable me to experience its joys. Her smile provided me the assurance that while we may not be seeing each other often, the love is always there to transcend distance.
And yes, the food they served. Simple. Delicious. From the heart.
For me, the brief stop-over in Buhi was the most significant part of the trip.
But not to be outdone is the experience that Caramoan bestowed on all of us. Awed by the natural beauty that unfolded in our very eyes, my son, the ever respectful and prude person I know he is, asked permission from me if he can curse as a way of expressing his admiration to the natural museum of beauty that paraded in front of us. The sights of Caramoan made me forget the dangers of the sometimes rough seas we had to endure, or the inconvenience of the dirt roads we had to travel. These are but small prices we had to pay for a priceless experience.
And yes, the people we had to meet, in addition to the ones we already are with, are part of the rewards of the journey. The amazing feat of the boatmen that steered our craft, their skillful demeanor as they navigate the randomness of the waves which for them have become part of their lives, are just remarkable in their simple message. Here are people who are not as highly placed in our totem poles, yet they show us the main metaphor for survival.
In awe, a thought came to me as I savored the beauty of Caramoan in the company of my loving and beautiful family, and together with my batch mates in what could now be considered as the "Batch" that may not have produced rulers, but has been blessed by talent and opportunity to be together as we travelled this rough road and seas to experience the beauty of nature and the priceless rewards of camaraderie. There, I rediscovered the mystery of life--how beauty is to be savored despite the risks, how family has to be loved despite the distance, and how friendship has to be kept despite different pathways taken.
As pointed out, some in our batch are actual survivors--they survived life-threatening experiences. Others were already feeling the toll of advancing years, with wobbly knees and feet. The fact that we all managed to complete the journey to paradise, and live to tell stories of beauty, family and friendship is in itself a mystery of creation.
For a moment, I forgot the political drama unfolding in the country, and the possibility of having a mentally-challenged President. In those days of paradise, what mattered most was the company. In the beauty of Caramoan that I discovered lies the metaphor of hope. Sometimes, you just have to take a journey in order for you to realize the beauty of life.
My son asked me the permission to curse, as his expression of awe.
It's my turn now to say, "Shit! Life is so beautiful!"
For me, the brief stop-over in Buhi was the most significant part of the trip.
But not to be outdone is the experience that Caramoan bestowed on all of us. Awed by the natural beauty that unfolded in our very eyes, my son, the ever respectful and prude person I know he is, asked permission from me if he can curse as a way of expressing his admiration to the natural museum of beauty that paraded in front of us. The sights of Caramoan made me forget the dangers of the sometimes rough seas we had to endure, or the inconvenience of the dirt roads we had to travel. These are but small prices we had to pay for a priceless experience.
And yes, the people we had to meet, in addition to the ones we already are with, are part of the rewards of the journey. The amazing feat of the boatmen that steered our craft, their skillful demeanor as they navigate the randomness of the waves which for them have become part of their lives, are just remarkable in their simple message. Here are people who are not as highly placed in our totem poles, yet they show us the main metaphor for survival.
In awe, a thought came to me as I savored the beauty of Caramoan in the company of my loving and beautiful family, and together with my batch mates in what could now be considered as the "Batch" that may not have produced rulers, but has been blessed by talent and opportunity to be together as we travelled this rough road and seas to experience the beauty of nature and the priceless rewards of camaraderie. There, I rediscovered the mystery of life--how beauty is to be savored despite the risks, how family has to be loved despite the distance, and how friendship has to be kept despite different pathways taken.
As pointed out, some in our batch are actual survivors--they survived life-threatening experiences. Others were already feeling the toll of advancing years, with wobbly knees and feet. The fact that we all managed to complete the journey to paradise, and live to tell stories of beauty, family and friendship is in itself a mystery of creation.
For a moment, I forgot the political drama unfolding in the country, and the possibility of having a mentally-challenged President. In those days of paradise, what mattered most was the company. In the beauty of Caramoan that I discovered lies the metaphor of hope. Sometimes, you just have to take a journey in order for you to realize the beauty of life.
My son asked me the permission to curse, as his expression of awe.
It's my turn now to say, "Shit! Life is so beautiful!"
