What if you've already watched your life unfold before your eyes, beneath the warmth of your skin, beneath the unrelenting contempt, but at the start of the end---comes to besiege you, vulnerable and weak you came underneath.
Now comes the end of the beginning, your life neither started nor ended---it just so happens that it is, would you change what you see? would you change what you've become or will happen to be? or would you follow the path that was predetermined?
In the end, it all comes down to you.
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September 20, 1987
Two years ago---we've all made a pact, a promise to travel once a year to each ethnic group all over the Philippines, a symbol of reunion every year. The fellowship included Andrea, Carmeline, Ysabel, Gabriel, and me, James.
For the past two years, we've mounted heights from the mountain tops of Banaue rice terraces, living among the native ethnic group known as the " Igorots ", learning their traditions, rituals even, understanding their ways of life.
From scaling mountain tops to reaching a plateau from what felt like a hundred-mile trek, from civilization to almost isolation. Pampanga was set in our sights last year, our trip to Pampanga lead us to Huduan, and from that city comes the trek of our lives, reaching what felt like an uncharted forest, and ghastly river banks, but eventually found ourselves at the community of Sitio.
Sitio is a small community of " Aetas " where the Rotary community in Makati helped built to strengthen their ancestral land and to give them a voice of liberty and recognition as one of the true ancestral kin of the Philippines.
From mountain tops to a stretch of plateau, this year---we planned differently, or rather, Ysabel planned differently. On the September of 20, 1987---we were all set to the island of Batanes, Batanes is completely isolated and the farthest Northern province and isle of the Philippines where it holds the smallest and least population record over the entire country.
The province of Batanes is so secluded that there are only two small islands with the isle of Batan as its capital and isle of Batanes---the farthest Northern island of the Philippines.
Just like that, we were all sitting side by side at the airport getting ready for a flight at 3:oo am. Words flew with comfort, some vile, others were warm, and most are just---bold, we were all glad and merry seeing each other well and in the flesh.
Andrea, Drey for short, merry as always, vigorous and self-determined, yet suffers from her own obliviousity---makes fun over the walk-alator in front of Mel and Gab since our flight won't start for at least an hour.
Carmeline, Mel for short, curious as always, bold yet self-defiant---chatters with Gabriel by the dozen rows of metal sit.
Gabriel, Gab for short, cautious and self-reliant yet condemned by his own thoughts---exchanges jitter and rigorous experiences with Mel.
Ysabel, Ysa for short, busy as always, a kindled spirit yet significantly deflates on her false sense of security---holds two cans of milk creamed coffee beside me who just came out of the store with three cans of decaf coffee.
What was supposed to be an hour just felt like minutes for us, as the speaker now announces the numbers on our ticket. Finally---our new adventure truly begins.
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6 HOURS LATER...
With safety now ensured as we arrive at the Batan isle, hunger surely took its toll, arriving famished---but none the less astonished by the glaring rays of fleeting light over all this seldom noise of a crowd waiting for their love ones to walk out of these doors.
I can see the " least population " part of my research up close. Not long after gathering all our baggage, a middle-aged woman picked us up in her white Nissan Urvan. She was an energetic fellow with her old model van, but not old enough to keep us from riding it.
Our next destination leads us to the edge of this small island, where a ferry station settled. Our tour guide handled most of the interactions, for most people in Batanes has a native tongue that habits me most fascinated.
" Ivatan " said the tour guide, but that was nothing compared to the dialect and overall culture of the ancestral kins who live deep in the island of Batanes, she added.
The ferry fitted at least twenty-four people aboard including baggage, with our final destination coming a close, Gab couldn't bubble out the question in his head about what the tour guide had said, which I presume also held us captive.
" What you said back then, did you mean that people from Batan and from Batanes have a significant difference in cultures? " asked Gab as he tries to whirl his head around the mystery.
The tourist guide also had her trouble trying to accurately point out the facts.
" Yes...from what I know, not many tourists and travelers come to this island. "
" Why is that? " asked Ysabel
She hesitated for a while, finding the right words I'd imagine.
" People around this part of the island---doesn't accommodate tourists too well, their dialect, language, and even writings too are hard to translate into Tagalog. You see, only a small portion of people from that island are familiar with Ivatan, almost all of the residence there are natives that speak in---a very, old---tongue, the same goes for their writings. "
" You do speak their language---right? " protruded Mel.
" No--- " said our guide, then continued, " But as I said, there is a small portion of residences that do speak Ivatan, they're part of the package that you bought. Just like me as your guide and them as your room accommodators. "
Drey fell short on the conversation, laying back with ease, and lets the deep blue sea trinkle on her fingertips as she intertwines with rays of the glittering day. "How can this day be any better?" a thought that fluttered away as quickly as it came. A seemingly cloudy stream could be seen hovering near the isle in a rather calm stir as the thought of rain cast both her eyebrow to meet.
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2 HOURS LATER...
We were quickly accommodated by our tourist and two other people, a man that seems to be in charge of the handworks and driving, and an old proper woman---she seems to be in charge of household services including the cooking too.
A team of three hosts, a significant small service crew for a tourist-inn, I'm impressed they can manage to keep this inn as whole and tidy as it could, seeing that we were the only customers as well.
They manage a tourists-inn at the first couple miles of driving away from the ferry station, and into this well-maintenance inn, the inn looked so old that vines were pouring out on the roof and ferns at the ground floor flourished, but all that only contributed to the aesthetic beauty of the overall atmosphere and vibe of the inn, with matching orange lantern lights by night and a shivering breeze that would make you think twice about leaving the room with thin clothes.
After a quick settling in, we set out at 12:00 pm to visit three tourist spots before the day runs low. By 7:00 pm we returned back to the inn with dinner set proper and diligently at the open dining room as the room itself is set in the middle of the inn, by the time we were all finished eating, Gab, Ysa, and Drey went to the second floor where our room is and got settled in for tomorrow.
Mel and I were left by the well-furnished long wooden table where; lush river runs of lanterns light and an ear-wrenching cricket noise collided in one---obscure scene.
" You seem to be distracted? " Mel questioned.
" Not at all. " followed by a comforting smile. " Just...all this. It's breathtaking. Wouldn't you agree? "
Mel replied with a smirk followed by a gesture that we'd all be familiar off by now. " Don't take too long. "
unknowingly, minutes had passed by when my attention started to shift by the trees peripheral to my view, a cluttered carving on the base of the tree, as the only thing I can make out of it is a circle, another to the right where a tree also had unusual markings, but the only thing I could make out of it is a triangle.
As I stare at the last tree which was in front of me, the old wooden chair suddenly felt so...reclusive, as if I was diving beneath something...comforting, the markings at the base of the last tree in sight were so disturbing that I felt shaken just by trying to know what it is.
It was certainly eye-catching and gut-wrenching when I saw a dying face out of all that anonymity. I could feel all the food that I ate at the edge of my throat but nothing seems to come out no matter how hard I wanted to vomit.
A cacophony of gluttonous miasma buried me dead, as the trees now cinder in red and shrieks death over my entirety. The trees who cried blood now cascades on my cheek.
" HELP US... "
" PLEASE HELP US... "
" AAGHHHHHHHHH... "
I heard people---dying. I heard people...burning. Blood now runs dry over my face, everything suddenly went still and dead bearing no sound, then as I held my breath---delirious voices of all sort; men, women, and children rapidly shrieks inside my ear, all gibberish, white noise, and cries.
The voices in my head were rampant and savage that my nose and ears started to bleed causing my entire body to be stretched farther to my back and my eyes to roll back making them entirely white.
A light grip on my left shoulder rattles me off my chair as I almost threw it all the way back, it was the old woman, looking pleasant and neat, I quickly run my fingers over my face as there is no hint of blood on it, I turned back to check the trees, they were all fine, none burnt nor bare any carvings on it.
There was no, fire, no screams, no blood, and no bellows from the dead---only those of the crickets and the burning of the lantern. My heart was rapidly skipping a beat as the old woman stares me down wearing a grin.
I tightly held my chest for it still crumbles in noxious fumes, every part of me felt immediate flight as if my soul no longer inhabits my body, the old woman still standing as if nothing had just happened, she was calm and collected as her grin continues to rather shake me disturbed at this point.
For a long while her eyes met with mine as did her grin, with no exchange of words, I cautiously made my way swiftly to our room but as I did, I couldn't stop feeling that her eyes were still dotted at me, before entering our room, I stepped near the balcony and was grimly disturbed by what I saw.
The old woman was still staring at me as she grins, those protruding eyes that completely cleave every ounce of strength I have. What kind of erebus was etched to scorn another, an immense unfathomable feeling that belittles one no smaller than a grain of dust.
There goes a truly obscure scene.