I laid on the beach, my back on the sand, staring at the starry sky above. I had not seen so many stars in my life. It was, as if, for that night stars were sprinkled over the sky.
I could hear the waves crashing, loud and hard. From a few feet behind me was laughter over a game of cards. That was the last I heard before I slept in the sand.
I awoke many times that night. I was alone, the others opting to crash inside the tents. I listened to the waves, the snores, and the calaguas sound at night.
Someone nudged me. It was dawn. And it was time. I groggily woke up, grabbed my camera, and strapped my Tribu sandals to my feet.
Four of us started our trek in the night. We lost our way once but found the paved path leading to the hidden village on the other side of the island.
The village was a small one. Fishing, I think, was their main means of livelihood. Electricity was existent only for a few hours in the night. They made do with candles and oil lamps. They watched movies on a betamax on the barangay hall. The houses were made of nipa hut. Only some had hollowed blocks as foundation. Kids roamed barefoot.
We trekked towards the hills. The grasses were tall, waist high. Paths, at times, were unavailable and we had to make our own. The land was expansive. The hills massive. Bodies of water seen on all sides.
The sky started to brighten and we hurried to the peak. the sun rose underneath a storm of clouds. We laughed. We jumped. And I ripped my pants.
The island we were on, Tinaga according to Dong Ho and another travel blogger whose name i have forgotten as of of this writing, has its simple charms. It was relatively untouched. And i hope it stays the same way for a long, long time.