When I was younger, I wrote stories about young, shy protagonists stumbling into secret nooks in nature. A hidden mountain plain here, a waterfall cave there. The more concealed a place, the more magic happened in it.
This year’s first destination was no such secret, and getting there was no accident.
The ride from San Antonio to Nagsasa Cove was sleepy and cold, water splashing onto the boat every now and then, like water sprites teasing. It could have lasted an hour or two, it’s hard to remember.
We spent the nights in tents, the days in a breezy open kubo meters away from the sea.
On the second night, we lay out our blanket and watched the stars put on a show on the earth’s dome.
There is absolutely no mobile or Internet signal there, which means our brain ran out of distractions to feed on and our bodies relaxed a bit earlier into the day. We were asleep by 9 or 10 p.m. and we were–well, I was–awake by 6 a.m. before the noon sun chased away the overcast morning.
Golden hour was my favorite; the sun set right over the horizon we were facing.
Time moves slowly in Nagsasa and all around. Mountainsides and cliff faces grew invisibly wiser every second and the royal blue waves tossed and birthed each other for miles and miles. When it’s just you and Nature–Nature, who knows no seconds or hours–it’s easy to forget that the world spins itself from days into years.