Friday, January 13, 2006

   Beach
III
Beach

“Oi! Hulaton niyo ako!” (It translates to ‘Hoy! Hintayin nyo ako’ in Bicol dialect) those are the words I always say every time I step out of our owner type jeep parked on the sands of Rizal Beach in a hot summer 7am morning. The sea was wavy at that time and I loved it. I was always the last one to get out of our jeep since my mother kept on putting on lots and LOTS of sunscreen because she doesn’t want my complexion to be ruined (FYI: my skin color was once light). The harder I break away, the harder mom’s grip clutches my tiny 5-year-old arm. I then gave up, sat there and waited impatiently for mum to finish as I watch my titos and titas run through the feet scorching white sands then plunging in the ice cold blue water hugging their black “salbabidas” which seem like HOURS (FYI: My favorite titos and titas are only a few years older than me. Two are even younger!). As my mum put on the finishing touches on my face, I made a very irritated expression then she let go. I ran as fast as I could, setting aside the painful burning of my little feet, just for me to reach the reward I’ve been anticipating for. As I got nearer, I clutched by blue salbabida tightly and I leaped for the sea. I “swam” in circles, playing with my folks and pointing at fishes if any passed by. Playing with the jellyfish is one of our favorites; we get them using our bare hands, careful enough not to touch the tentacles and bringing it to the seaside, poking it, and waiting for it to melt in the sun till it becomes smaller and smaller until a puddle of seawater is left. By around 12 noon, (my shadow was small so I estimated it to be 12noon), our parents called us to eat pancit, pandesal, and icecream in a small hut they rented. Again, I am the last one to leave the sea, still splashing water everywhere until I saw mum coming near me. I didn’t want her to scold me for being stubborn, so I left and ran again to the eating area, this time complaining about the irritating sand between my toes and how hot the sand was. I ate my pansit while scrunching my eyebrows. As soon as I slurped the last of my ice cream, mum applied more sun block on me then I ran to the seaside this time picking shells. I walked on and on, looking at the sandy floor, bending my body every so often to pick up interesting shells, then putting them inside a plastic transparent bag, often used in making “ice-tubig”. Then I heard a distant call of my name. I looked back, realizing I was very far away from them. I hurriedly went back, handed the shells to my mother, and went back to the sea with my titos and titas. When swimming became a little boring, we sat by the sea-side making little sand castles with deep moats so that our creations wont get washed away by the waves. We also drew caricatures on the sand using brances from trees. We also created “sand balls” which we bump into each other’s sand balls then the owner of the ball, which remains intact despite the collision, wins. As the water gets colder and the sun hides behind the volcano, our parents call us, with our bags already packed up. I am, again, the last one to step back in the jeep. I really dislike the fact that the day is over and we have to leave the beach. When we arrived back in our house, I hurriedly went to the bathroom with mother, I removed my pink bating suite, and she rinsed the seawater off me, then we ate dinner, then we slept.
The next morning, something smelled awful in mum’s bag. We searched the bag only to find out there was a dead hermit crab in one of the prettiest shells I found. Even if it was hard for me to let go of the shell, we had to dispose of it. It really was stinky… words can’t describe it. But here’s a little description just so that you, my dear reader J, will have an idea how it smelled like: it smelled like a fish bought from a grocery store but unfortunately left alone in the trunk of the car.
Every summer vacation, we visit our house in Bicol, my birthplace, and we always swim in the beach every week since the beach is almost walking distance from our house. Unfortunately, something very sad happened to the beach, late last year (October). A mining place located in Rapu-rapo, Albay owned by an Australian firm dumped toxic waste into a creek, which found it’s way into the open sea, and eventually, affecting all seawaters nearby, including Rizal beach. If you went to the beach last December, you would see many fishes, starfishes, and other sea creatures floating in the surface of the water. Not only marine life was affected, but also the lives of the fishermen whose only job is fishing. Also, the beach is a “tambayan” of the youth who lives nearby. Last summer, when I visited the sea, the tourists increased in number compared to previous years. I thought that Rizal beach would become a popular tourist spot some day when every one will get tired of Boracay. But because of that incident, even if the toxic will somehow disappear, only a few people will swim there, thinking there still might be traces of the toxic waste and may affect their health. When I heard the news from my grandmother who lives there, I cried since the beach became part of my life. It’s as if a loved one died. I live here in Antipolo but every summer we go back to Bicol, meet with our relatives, and have fun with them in the beach. As I’m writing this paragraph I can’t help but cry. I have shared many memories with loved ones at that beach. I learned how to swim without a salbabida at that beach, I learned to float, and I also somehow practiced my drawing and sculpting skills. I can’t help but think about how to punish the toxic dumpers. I think they should pay $100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 to the Philippines, be crucified upside-down, electrocuted, feed them with the poisoned seafood they killed, and then eventually, be fed to the “butandings” (whale shark). Their lives and their money are not enough to repay the destroyed corals built by the ancestors of the fishes. Although the last part is quite impossible since they are not carnivores. Which reminds me since Bicol is the home of the great whale shark and they eat small fishes which are already dead or poisoned by now. Man I hate to think that the beach is already dead. Summer is getting nearer and I don’t know if I still want to go back to Bicol. It‘ll just bring sadness to me.

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