Chasing the Light: A Photographer's Mementos

The sun rises in Tagbiliran Bohol. (August 28, 2010)

There's not one perfect moment. Instead, there's a myriad of breathtaking possibilities. 

Chasing the light, the elusive light that appears only at the early hours of dawn and the late hours of the afternoon as it gives in to the night can test a photographer's patience. Yet it also rewards her the most in her quest for one-of-a-kind mementos of beauty and wonder. 

A family watches the colors of dawn on a Greek ship bound towards Venice, Italy. (August 2, 2013)

Whenever I find myself in travels, I force myself to wake up very early in the morning to get a chance to capture that beauty as it peeks from the East. No words can describe the feeling every time I am one with nature as the sun lights its way up in the horizon. 

Everything seems to stand still. Yet as its rays slowly creep out and illuminate the world, all of creations begin their early praise. 

A number of birds perch on electrical wires and bask on the glow of dawn in Lebak, Sultan Kudarat. (November 1, 2011)

The rooster crows as it welcomes the start of the day. The birds flap their wings and fly from their perches towards the golden glow of the sky. The flowers open their blooms to soak the sun's warmth and to spray a heady perfume in the air. The trees stretch out their branches to bathe their leaves with the dawn's light. I, a mere mortal bask in the glorious feeling of being alive and witness this magical spectacle.

A water lily bloom opens up to the glow of the sun in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato. (June 4, 2013)

And at the end of the day when Helios flies his chariot to rendezvous with the god of darkness and shadows, I stand there and watch as he blasts his way with the various hues of pinks, blues, purples, oranges and reds. Like a moth to the flame, my senses are drawn to the seduction of the sunset; leaving me speechless and reflecting on the infinite joy that life brings to my searching soul.

The author (right) having fun with flippers as the sun sets in Picalawag, Sultan Naga Dimaporo, Lanao del Norte. (October 23, 2013)

The Water Flows in Tubak

I couldn't count how long we rode at the back of a pick-up truck, how many bumps my butt endured and how much dust I inhaled while traversing that tree-canopied rough road when the sight of the jade river winding from a series of waterfalls greeted me that scorching day in Brgy. Tubak, Ampatuan, Maguindanao.

But one thing I knew for sure: a welcoming majestic spectacle such as that signified a passage blessed with more wonders a learning wanderer like me could only hope for.

It was the blackened set of teeth from chewing betel nut of older men and women smiling warmly at me that brought me back from the enchantment of the place when they hailed us as we arrived.

They are the Dulangan Manobo people who foster this land that their ancestors passed down to them since time immemorial. Written on their faces and marked on the tattoos on their legs, were the history and the identity of their people. This is a truth that would always enthral me, a daughter of Ilonggo and Ilocano migrants who was born without much knowledge of my lineage.

But it was deep in their weary eyes, the calluses of their hands and the way their children ran around in their soiled clothes that took away the mystical and gave away the reality. This is their land no more.

Most of these lands were covered by the Integrated Forest Management Agreement (IFMA) which allowed a private company to “manage” the resources therein. On the way, I saw the vast plantation of durian and some mangosteen: cash crops that replaced forests which once served as grounds for hunting, gathering of food as and medicinal herbs. And I couldn’t help but wonder how long they will tolerate this plight. They land were taken away. Leased, if the term taken offended anybody. But it was all the same pattern: those whose lives connect to the land were driven away to give way for “development”.

As I lay awake that night, the sounds of the beating gong that the Dulangan Manobo women played late that afternoon made me afraid to close my eyes. It was a call and I had heard it before: the haunting sounds of forgotten dreams that were robbed by time and by force.

Will I be able to help? Will I be able to wake those dreams alive?

Other people may see Tubak as an idyllic place for a vacation with its foggy mornings and star-filled night sky with crickets chirping throughout the day. For me, it will remain in my memory a forgotten place, lost among the promises of a better and just life for the genuine stewards of the land unless something will be done to change this so.

Alas, there is always hope and it would shine for them soon. I can almost feel it warm and tickle my skin.

Dear Sun

Dear Sun, thank you for shining on me today.

Sun rises in the island city of Samal, Davao del Sur.

When you leisurely peeped in my window this morning, your vibrancy warmed me inside and woke all my slumbering senses.

Water hyacinths open up to the early morning sun in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato.

The moment you wrapped me with your light, I allowed myself to melt like the last winter snow softening into dew kisses on leaves of trees. 

I felt my skin opened up with your affectionate embrace like the rousing petals of the blooms in the garden in spring.

The sun paints the morning sky in Tagbiliran, Bohol.

Oh how pleasurable you are when you slowly lighted up the cerulean blue of the sky with your radiance! I knew then that my day would be complete even if the cottony clouds linger to soak up the splendor of you or even if it rains.

The scene before the sun sets in Kiamba, Sarangani.

Because just when the last of your golden rays bled and gave in to the shadows and the beautiful mystery of the night, remember that somewhere here, beyond the horizon you so loved to come home to, there’s a dreamer who longs for you.

Boys watch the sun bleed before finally fading into the horizon.

Until tomorrow.

The Dream Catcher

I heard his soft footsteps when he approached the hard unforgiving couch where I laid pretending to be asleep. My anticipation heightened when he slowly drew nearer like a cat on a hunt. I closed my eyes tightly, took a shallow deep breath and prepared myself for one of the most awaited sweetest moments of my childhood.

He picked me up carefully from the couch and I tried my best not to gasp. The familiar scent of him, a clean mixture of early morning dew and the breeze blowing from the sea filled my lungs and I found myself drifting slowly to sleep. The short distance from the couch to our bedroom seemed like eternity and I cherished every moment cradled in the warmth of his chest and the safety of his strong arms.

I felt the familiar texture of the mosquito net touching my feet as he lifted it up. Our bamboo bed melted into the luxuriously-soft mattress in that story of the Princess and the Pea when he put me down into it with intricate care. Cautious not to let the cold of the night’s mist seeped in, he wrapped me up to my neck in a blanket. Then when he was sure that I was settled in, his ritual began.

He tucked the edges of the mosquito net carefully into the mat. Then, in the darkness of the room he switched on his flashlight and tuned his ears to the buzzing of any mosquito that got in. I could hear him swat them one by one and when he thought his movements started to disturb us, he would pat me and my younger siblings on our side and brought us back to sleep.

I remembered how each night, I would drift off to sleep peacefully and woke up every morning from beautiful sweet dreams. 

Tacloban Moving Forward in Pedals and Wheels

With prices of diesel and gasoline hiking up from less than a hundred pesos to three hundred pesos a liter, survivors of supertyphoon Yolanda or Haiyan in Tacloban City found their way back to the power of the pedal to move from one place to another in search for food, water, shelter and missing loved ones. 

The day we arrived in the city on November 15, I couldn't help but notice the number of bicycles in different sizes and styles flocking the streets side-by-side motorcycles and cars which rely mainly on fuel. In this phenomenon caused by the drastic change of climate because of the excessive burning of fossil fuels, I hope that people in the whole world will see how important it is to reconsider their lifestyles which caused the death and suffering of the most vulnerable. 

Tacloban Rising from the Rubble

I came here expecting the worst and I did see the worst. It was early in the morning of November 15 when we arrived in Tacloban City, one of the most devastated places ravaged by supertyphoon Haiyan or Yolanda that fateful day of November 8, 2013. In the light of the day, the devastation was indescribable. 

The houses, overturned cars, debris and trash all fell into a huge pile of rubble. Cadavers in body bags lined down the streets as hoards of frenzied people pass by. Everything smelled of death and decay. It was a week after the typhoon's landfall and the situation remained depressing.

However, as we went around the city, I saw signs of both desperation and hope. We found a group of people waiting in a makeshift tent along the road with a signboard expressing their need for food, water and clothes while on the other side of the city, people were lining up to get their relief goods from the government and humanitarian organizations. In a nearby community, some were already rebuilding their homes with materials they picked up from the rubble. In Brgy. Magallanes, we already heard the giggling and laughing of children playing. 

Reminiscing our experience with tropical storm Sendong back in 2011, I know how important it is for the survivors to tell their stories so that others may know what they had gone through and what their hopes and aspirations are in the coming days and in the future.

The Waray emotionally shared their experience of the typhoon and I listened and struggled, not only to understand because of the language barrier but mostly in keeping my emotions at bay. Most of them lost their homes and family members and as they recounted those moments, I couldn't help but wonder how they remained strong. Asked how they will move on in the future, one of them said, "Babangon kami (We will rise); showing how their spirit is beginning to soar again. 

This was enough to keep me hopeful and inspired that we will be able to send help in anyway we can to our people in Tacloban City and to help them move valiantly on. 

To help, join us in our solidarity and support to the survivors of typhoon Yolanda, please reach out to MiHands (Mindanao Humanitarian Action Network against Disasters):

Tri-Peoples' Organization against Disasters (TRIPOD) Foundation, Inc. 

37 Tulingan St. Usman Subdivision, Bagua 2, Cotabato City 9600 Maguindanao

email: tripodcc@yahoo.com

Telephone No.: 064 421 1369

Ranaw Disaster, Relief and Rehabilitation Assistance Center (RDRRAC)

Door 2 Maca-agir Apartment, 6th East Rosario Heights, Tubod, Iligan City, 9200, Lanao del Norte
email: rdrrac_inc@yahoo.com

Telephone No.: 063 223 3171

The Hearts of Paris: A Reflection on Love

Chains and padlocks are displayed at the railings of the bridge in Pont de L'archeveche, Paris.

I chanced upon this bridge when I was strolling with friends in the city of Paris. It is popularly-known as the Lovers’ Bridge where a multitude of padlocks of different sizes, styles and shapes was attached to the metal railings of the bridge. For lovers who pledged their love to each other, the padlocks symbolized their eternal and everlasting love. Throwing the keys to the river Seine after represented the unbreakable bond between them.

But is this really what true love means? Can a padlock embody love? If taking its figurative sense, does undying love entail one to be endlessly devoted to someone? Does it also mean that love is too powerful to be broken?

I don’t believe so. A very special friend told me this sometime ago: Love is one great adventure. You’ll never know how it starts or how it ends. You have no control of the other person because to love someone is to love the freedom he or she possesses as an individual.

As for me, I don’t set out in this world to seek love that I locked up. I am constantly smitten by people who love their individuality: those people who love themselves first and most. These are individuals who know what they want and know how to get it, those who speak their minds, those who influence and make change, those who confront challenges and realities. They have their own dreams, hopes and aspirations and they keep on moving day by day to make these happen. I love them because they are the ones who inspire me to open my mind, boost my capacity to learn and encourage loving myself more so that I could love others freely.

As love is an adventure, one must also be confident in his or her capability to cope with its twists and turns, ups and downs and the whole 360-degree pivots and dangerous backflips. One of my favourite authors, Paulo Coelho wrote, “Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.” Therefore, we must be able to embrace love in all its fragility and its constant risks. And above all, we must understand that at the heart of loving is freedom; the liberty to be ourselves. 

A father and his daughter checks out the various styles, shapes and sizes of the padlocks at the Lover's Bridge.