There he was, running Anda’s long stretch of beach, arms flailing in the air with one hand holding a bandana, fluttering in the wind. He was barefoot, a blue athletic shorts underneath his striated white and orange old shorts, orange t-shirt and a smile on his face.
He was running back and forth in wild abandon, cheerily enjoying the strong breeze and white sand on his feet.
And there I was, seated under the shade of the hut along Quinale Beach, having my lunch while smiling at the carefree attitude of the man who passed infront of me several times. If only, I saw him earlier, I would have spent longer at the warm shallow water.
I headed to Anda on cheap travel, taking fast craft from Pier 3 in Cebu to Getafe in Bohol, then took a habalhabal all the way to Talibon where I marvelled at the church then headed to Ubay, to Jagna, then Guindulman where I took another habalhabal for this municipality.
Tiring? Yes. But I’ve gotten used to it. To the constant rides, the bends and curves. The wind blowing on my face as I am enjoying the passing vista of the Bohol countryside. Of riding boats, motorcycles, buses and vans. Of waiting for the vehicle to fill with passengers. The stops and gos. The constant tedium of traveling from point A to B.
I was there. I dipped into the warm waters of Anda’s beautiful white beaches. I savored the strong breeze and felt the fine sand on my feet. But as I was floating there, the fear of being alone crept. And I loathed that feeling that I was there but didn’t have somebody to share it with. And so I got out of the water. And showered. And ate lunch. It shouldn’t be like that.
I have to go back to Anda. I have to swim in its beautiful beaches again. Not for anyone else, but for myself. I will be back. Holy Week 2013. Before the month ends.