Goodbye Hambil, Hello Hambil

by Mylene Grace Velasquez (Philippines)

I didn't expect to find Philippines

The diving board beckoned my name under the heat of the sun. It taunted me, challenged me, just by existing and protruding from the side of the cliff. It called to me and I humored it by standing on its base and gazing at the thin line where the sea met the sky. I have no diving experience but something about this trip was urging me to. The international travel ban due to CoVID-19 made my former colleagues from Austria reschedule their visit to the Philippines. I’m already based in Manila so the plan was to join them in travelling to Tuguegarao, Guimaras and Boracay. The advisory left me on the plane to Iloilo alone in the midst of strangers. Either that or let non-refundable, domestic tickets go to waste. No problem. I’m used to travelling solo but some cousins were also on the loose-end and decided to meet up with me after Guimaras. At some point during the four-hour travel from Iloilo to Caticlan, a decision to scrap Boracay in favor of Hambil was made. I’m stoked. Hambil is my island as much as summer vacations would allow me to own it. The lullabye of the waves that lulled me into sleep. The crunch and taste of Indian mangoes (Mangifera indica) as we swam into crystal clear sea. My grandfather sitting on the porch watching and greeting his neighbors as they passed by. The island held that sacred part of my childhood. The trails of monsoon winds made the one-hour motorboat journey from Caticlan to Hambil rocky. The boatmen assisted us in disembarking, one of them offering to carry us over his shoulder if we did not want to take a chance with the waves. I accepted the assistance to steady myself in the ramp but declined being carried over. I stepped on the shore and found Hambil that was not. The stretch of white beach lined by leaning coconuts welcomed me with familiarity. Small, white crabs still scuttled sideways to safety as we walked by but the vista has altered. Advertisements meant to attract tourists are now brightly painted on walls and fences. More restaurants. A hardware store. An ATM machine or two. Electricity that used to be available only from dusk until 10.00 at night had been replaced by a 24-hour run. Cellular signals are still weak and the internet is non-existent but the rate of developments will remedy these in the next few years. It has truly turned into an island that has not yet arrived but it is on its way there. I did not want it to be. My deceased grandparent’s ancestral home had succumbed to the march of progress as it now stores merchandise. Where was the timelessness of that house that I felt in my youth? Some things really were gone, its remnants only in my memories. While I struggled to process a sense of loss, my cousins voted to explore Cathedral Cave and Diving Cliff located in the other side of the island, now accessible due to new roads. We packed our things into a tricycle modified to carry more passengers. Only parts of the road had been paved and the vehicle bounced violently in its cracks and crevices, with it our buttocks. There was something inexplicably charming about arriving in our destination covered in dust. It felt like we were just on a great adventure and we overcame an obstacle. We parked our things and enjoyed the mango shake we ordered in a cottage built on the side of the cliff then opted to explore the cavernous cavity of the Cathedral Cave. The entrance was tight, dark and narrow which required strategy and caution. The guide pointed formations of stalagmites and stalactites but my fascination was held by the unexpected color of the lagoon inside that allowed us to dip in its teal waters. The sun was on its way to the horizon when I stood on the board and contemplated whether to take the plunge into the blue sea or not. I struggled to let go. In the end, the move not taken is the one that will haunt you. Maybe, Hambil also had to choose.