The Transformation Of Memory

From 2005

The resort's service drove us over to Station Two. This was the bustle of the beach on a Monday: blonde European (Eastern European, seems like) stick figures paraded in their bikinis. Preschool American girls walked like barbie dolls, their southern-accented parents scouting the restaurant menus for cheeseburgers and french fries. Foreigners from the Asia Pacific stuttered in broken English as they ordered mango shakes. The dazed voices of teenagers. The lethargic, hung-over hum of twenty-somethings in conversation. A little while later, when the tides are low for the sunset, the hardworking middle class of the Philippines visiting this island will take pictures of themselves during sunset in a fleeting moment of majesty. The last embers of sunshine will paint the landscape golden, against blue sails, powdery white sand and green turning into teal then blue waters.

2014

It's all beautiful, but there's also an unconsoling effect in how places lose their old-world flair. "It didn't have the charm it had when you first brought me here." D. says. We were dismayed with how overly commercialized the place was, with how the back of the beach looked like a typical busy street in downtown Manila. The beach also had a Starbucks, Pancake House, Andoks, several banks. While we don't loathe those establishments it was certainly a sign of decay for a place such as the beach. Many years ago, there were small-scale, not-so-known restaurants here which played good music, served decent food and nurtured a thriving spirit. What we truly abhored, with a passion, were people who leave their garbage and cigarette butts in the beach.

And while our expectations were properly gauged, the beach remains spectacular enough to assuage our disappointments. The moment our heels pressed against the purity, the softness the sand, we were delighted to be back. We sipped the welcome drink. We've only been to a couple of beaches, but this had the most immaculate sand greeting our toes like old friends. The little one found the sand irresistible. The sand was anthropomorphic - it was a living playmate to him.

Summer is on its way to its peak, but it drizzled every now and then and it was mostly cloudy. There was a better spread of sunshine and it wasn't too scorchingly hot.

D. made a terrific choice in our resort. Beach-front, quiet, less cramped and fits our tastes and preferences like a glove - family oriented, decent liquor prices during happy hour, and excellent pizza. We associate the beach with the smell of baking bread. As we gobbled their thin crust four-cheese with pale pilsen, we were gearing up for a new high.

The enzymes of food was being broken down by my mouth, and it lights a neuron in my brain: the margherita pizza I had in Hey Jude, here, around a decade ago. I was eating it while watching a Daliesque sunset, like being inside his "Persistence of Memory," watching time melt. I was lot more alone, and I only thought I was wiser. I can't say I'm any wiser now, but I certainly have developed an ability to positively, more strongly adapt and respond to change, to my own life's catalytic actions. I didn't know what I really wanted back then. And looking at what I have now, so less of myself, I have everything.

We spent a lot of time lying down in the beach-front cabanas. There was a bigger foreigner versus local resident ratio and people mostly read while getting a tan. You can hear some faint chillout music which was back from the late 90s and that's a nice glimmer of an older, kindred spirit. 

On our second day, we went to a music bar that's been around since the first time I was here. It was 2pm and couples were having drinks and enjoying the music. In conversation, D. remarked, “That’s what it’s supposed to be like. Like Riley bay with the music.”

Boracay is known as a party resort, but that perspective really depends on what you do when you get here. We weren't here to party or meet people, but we sought out our own unique pleasures. We didn't go para-sailing or the water sports. I. and D. were sun-worshiping and building sandcastles. And we all went swimming too, the pressures and worries of ordinary life getting cleansed. The resulting saltiness in our tongue was washed away with Jonah's fruit shakes. I did go running barefoot in this soft sand, spanning all the stations of the island. I also started juggling a football with my legs and toes and a moment later, I was doing some passes with a Russian family. All in this in between enjoying the 1pm - 8pm happy hour.

On the resort's wide beach front, there were poles of a volleyball court and a net planted on the sand. There was a home vs away set-up: foreigners vs locals. I took time off my book tow watch and look around. Two Caucasian gentlemen who had their skin toasted to an orange were playing racket. Around them, some teenagers, in their bikinis and board shorts, were throwing each other a frisbee.

There's an LTE signal and the beach air was thick with wifi, but we preferred conversations with each other and with some guests at the resort. We barely touched our phones, and only posted a picture or two. We didn't expect to make friends, but from a good distance, we naturally do some small talk with a family from Canada who traveled with their one year old, and exchanged a welcoming gesture to the family we rode with in the resort's shuttle. I suppose our little one was friendlier than us. He sits with kids in 

the sand, and borrows or trades the beach toys.

We only spent three days, and put as much sun block on the little one as possible. But he was surprisingly all tan after the trip. Well, we all were. We will light up afterward, but in the meantime we will enjoy this color. Its the sun's thousand kisses scattering itself on its skin. And in our minds, it creates this beautiful, impermanent ripple of memories that's always positively transforming.