The Tiny Herb Garden at Heartbreak Hill

I started a small herb garden today, with Jes' prodding and step-by-step guidance.  I am filled with excitement and hope. I promise to grow my herbs to the best way I can. I can't wait for my next pay check so I can get more gardening tools and seeds to grow. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. 

The House that Benjie Reyes Built

Theirs is a home with the warmest embrace. The gentle whisper of a small waterfall greets visitors as the seemingly friendly phantoms of age-old handcrafted wooden furniture smile to anyone entering this paradise.

The house started with sculptor Benjie Reyes' dream and continued on to become a reality. It stands on a forested hillside in the enigmatic mountains of Rizal. There is a luring silence but not the ghostly kind. There is an endless breeze kissing the high-ceilinged living room. Every piece of furniture has a story to tell. It is a fiery dance, a poetry in motion, a mother's lullaby. Or a repository of memory of two little girls playing in their younger years.

Thank you to the Reyeses for sharing with us a piece of paradise for Jes' assignment, one warm afternoon, here in the mystic mountains of Rizal.

All photos by the author except the first, by Jes Aznar

Filipina Moms Find Family Exile in Overseas Work | Womens eNews

Below is my latest story for Womens eNews. Thank you to Lanie, Jhe and Agnes for sharing their heartbreaking stories. I salute your courage and determination!

Filipina Moms Find Family Exile in Overseas Work | Womens eNews

Melanie Torres beside her 91-year-old client.

Credit: Iris C. Gonzales.

QUEZON CITY, Philippines (WOMENSENEWS)--Melanie Torres, 38, was gushing with excitement as she rushed out of the exit doors of the Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila.

She was back in the Philippines and was about to be reunited with her husband and two daughters after working for three years in the Middle Eastern country of Bahrain as a caregiver. It was February 2012.

The reunion wasn't what she'd hoped. When she stepped outside, she saw a boyish 9-year-old girl in a blue cap, worn-out jeans and sneakers with a slight pout instead of an excited smile. Her youngest daughter, 4 years old, wore the same distant expression. It was as though both girls saw a stranger.

Before Torres left in 2009, her daughters always wanted to be with her. They were mama's girls and she loved every second of it. But all that changed when Torres left.

"They became noticeably distant. When I came back, they always called out to their papa. I felt I was no longer needed," she said.

Torres is among the millions of Filipinos who endure long separations from their loved ones to work abroad because they can't find jobs--or ones that pay well enough--at home.

The money they send back home accounts for about 8 percent of the economy. Last year, remittances hit $20.117 billion, with the United States accounting for 39 percent of total inflows, according to the latest data from the Philippine Central Bank.

Harsh working conditions, cultural adjustments and, in some places, the bite of winter are common themes. They miss birthdays, graduations, first dates, funerals.

When Torres's eldest daughter turned 9 and had her period, her husband did not know what to do. Torres was still in Manama, the capital of the island nation of Bahrain.

"That was one of my biggest regrets. As a mother, I desperately wanted to be there," she said.

Growing Female Workers

Of the country's 2.2 million overseas workers, a growing portion--almost 48 percent--are women, according to a 2011 governmental survey published by the Philippine Commission on Women.

These female workers, many of whom have children, are scattered all over the world; about 18 percent in the United Arab Emirates, 14 percent in Saudi Arabia and more than 10 percent in Hong Kong.

Roughly 300,000 Filipinos also work in the United States, according to the Philippine Central Bank. Of these workers, there are 10,000 Filipino nurses, according to the Philippine Nurses Association of America.

Gina Esguerra is secretary-general of International Migrant, a Manila-based advocacy group for overseas Filipinos. In a recent interview on the sidelines of a press conference on human trafficking, she said the government must provide more jobs at home instead of pushing for labor-export policies.

"The government has been too focused on training people to work abroad and on producing students that are skilled abroad. What it needs to do is to provide jobs in the country," Esguerra said.

The tale of every overseas female worker is unique, but when woven together they form a common fabric of survival, desperation and hope.

For Torres, the desperate problem was her husband's health. He'd developed a tumor on his spine and had to stop working. She said working abroad was the only way she could pay for his medical fees and send their daughters to school.

The day she left, she stood in a cramped commuter bus that took her from the family home in Cavite, an hour away from the airport, to board her flight to Bahrain. There is a strong Filipino custom of accompanying friends and family to the airport for large good-byes. But she went alone because her family could not pay for the additional bus fare for her husband and two children.

"We were that hard-up," she said, fighting back tears.

'Felt So Helpless'

While in Bahrain, she allotted $25 to call home three times a week to check on her daughters, but it was no substitute for seeing them face-to-face. "I felt so helpless," she said. She kept herself busy to fight the loneliness.

Torres is home now, working as a nightshift caregiver to a 91-year-old woman.

She earns roughly $600 a month.

Though she is not with her children at night, she said it is much better than the life she led in Bahrain. But this will not be for long. Torres plans to leave again soon.

"I have no choice. I am only waiting for my papers for a job in Australia. What I am earning now is still not enough for my husband and our daughters," she said in an interview one recent night while on duty in her client's house in Quezon City.

She excused herself. Her elderly client was about to have dinner. After that she will get bathed and be put to bed. In Cavite, about eight miles away, two young girls will do the same and tuck themselves into bed, without their mother beside them.

Jhe Aquino, 27 years old, works as a waitress at the five-star Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Doha, Qatar. She has been in Doha for seven months now, leaving behind her two daughters.

Her daughters, 5 and 4, are with her husband. She left the Philippines because she could not find a job that paid enough to raise her family. She landed a job in Doha so she grabbed the opportunity. Her husband stays home and could not find a job in the country or abroad.

Aquino talks to her daughters via Yahoo Messenger whenever they're online and when her schedule permits. She said parenting from a distance is so difficult.

"I plan to go home after two years because it's so hard. I just want to save," she told Women's eNews.

Saving Up

Her co-waitress at the lobby lounge of the Ritz-Carlton, Agnes Lapuz, 32 years old, is saving up to buy a computer so she, too, can communicate with her five children, ages 6 to 12, through the Internet.

For now, she contents herself with calling three times a week with a local SIM card she loads and reloads.

It is frustrating, Lapuz said, especially when her children pour their hearts out to her because of sibling squabbles or other daily upsets and she can only offer comfort from miles away.

Lapuz's own mother is a Filipina nurse who works in Greece. Now she feels for her children.

"Growing up, I used to envy my classmates when I saw their mothers bring them to school or attend school activities. I used to think, how lucky they are their mothers are with them," she said in an interview in Doha.

She vowed then she would not do the same, but circumstances forced her to do otherwise. Lapuz said she left because her alcoholic husband beat her. She broke up with her violent husband and left for Qatar two years ago to feed her five children who are in the care of relatives.

One day, she plans to go home to the Philippines when circumstances are better. Her mother, still in Greece, says the same thing.

Iris Gonzales is a Manila-based journalist and blogger, writing economic, development and humanitarian stories. Some of her works may be read at http://www.irisgonzales.blogspot.com.

Beyond the Barricade

Below is my story published by The New Internationalist magazine, April 2013 edition. The story is part of my continuing personal project on slum areas in the Philippines.

Mayhem Rules for Filipina Mom in Shanty Baby Boom

For several months now, I've been going to different slums in the Philippines for a personal project. I don't really know how I can help even just one individual out of the country's four million slum dwellers, but perhaps, by sharing the stories I've gathered, maybe, just maybe, someone will listen. Below is one story of an amazing mother of eight children, carried by Women's eNews. Thank you to Ka Lito of Kadamay for the opportunity.

Mayhem Rules for Filipina Mom in Shanty Baby Boom | Womens eNews

Teresita Buctot, 46, with her 4-year-old son Brian on her lap and 20-year-old son Albert and his child behind her, in their home in Quezon City, Philippines.

Credit: Iris Gonzales

QUEZON CITY, Philippines (WOMENSENEWS)--The smell of a simmering pot of rice wafts in the air in this slapdash shanty of sticks and plywood, here in a slum dwelling in the northern part of Quezon City, Philippines.

Teresita "Tes" Buctot, 46, calls her son Keith to put out the fire. Keith is 12 but looks half his age because of malnutrition. He is carrying his 2-year-old sister Rhea, impossibly heavy for his thin and lanky frame, drooping in his oversized royal blue shirt. He puts her down on the rickety wooden staircase and turns on the battered television before rushing to the cooking area, now hazy with smoke. Rhea sobs uncontrollably and cries out to mama.

But Buctot has her hands full, preparing to wash heaps of laundry scattered on the floor; shirts, blankets, a pink bra, some worn-out men's jeans, too. She calls Jon, another son, 6 years old, to attend to Rhea and wipe her runny nose.

Welcome to mayhem, Buctot's home, here in a shanty community filled with sacks of colored plastic bags recycled from trash.

Buctot, a plump woman with some strands of gray hair, whirls of dark eye bags, chipped-off fuchsia toenail polish and a light purple shirt that reads Princess, is mother to eight children, aged 2 to 21.

She dreamt of having only three children but could not afford to buy birth control pills, costing $10 for a month's supply. Buctot earns between $50 and $100 a month by weeding through dumpsites for plastic bags that she sells to a recycling factory for a measly $0.42 per kilo.

Buctot is among the 4 million slum settlers in the Philippines, a country of 94 million that is predominantly Catholic, the only one in the world where there is no divorce.

Children-Filled Communities

There are more children in these communities than anywhere else in the country. In 2008, the total fertility rate for women in the poorest quintile was 5.2 percent, compared with 1.9 percent in the richest quintile, government statistics show.

A new law, the Reproductive Health (RH) Act of 2012, stuck in a legal challenge, is designed to help women such as Buctot afford contraception by providing the poor with universal access to condoms and pills and an adequate supply of these contraceptives.

But conservatives identified with the church have the legislation blocked in court now and with the national elections scheduled in May, the church has launched a campaign against candidates who voted in favor of the RH bill, dubbing them as Team Patay, the Filipino word for death.

Some Catholics went as far as to link the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI to the passage of the measure. "I'm not in favor of him resigning just because of his health. For sure, he has underlying reasons behind--with issues such as the RH Bill," said Marvin Rubio, a driver, in an article published by Manila Bulletin, a local daily.

The name of Manila Archbishop Luis Antonio Cardinal Tagle, a charismatic leader, is constantly mentioned in reports on Pope Benedict's possible successor, with suggestions that he's among the top 10 candidates, although there are no official candidates.

But the Gabriela Women's Group Party-list, an organization fighting for women's rights in the country, expressed apprehension over Tagle being elected as the next pope. Luz Ilagan, the group's representative in Congress, said in a statement that as a Catholic living in a world beset by modern problems, "she would like to have a pope who can shepherd the flock in these perilous and challenging times."

Staunch Opposition

The reproductive health measure languished in Congress for 13 years because of the Catholic Church's staunch opposition. But President Benigno Aquino, citing the country's high poverty incidence of 26.5 percent, lobbied allies in Congress.

The battle was tough and highly divisive, with church-led rallies organized across the country since Aquino began pushing for the bill in 2010. Sunday sermons turned into campaign speeches against the measure.

"RH Bill if passed into law can harm our nation. Contraception corrupts the soul," said the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, the official organization of the Catholic hierarchy in the Philippines, in a Dec. 12, 2012, pastoral letter.

But just before the clock struck 8 in the evening of Dec. 17, 2012, Congress approved the bill.

"The Catholic Church has not opened its eyes. For us in the medical profession, what we are seeing in the field is that the situation is affecting the welfare of the poor people," said Dr. Antonieta Inumerable, thechief public health officer in Quezon City.

She says women have the right to make a choice in planning their families because the lack of family planning affects their health and that of their children. "It also affects their economic situation," she added.

Once a month, Buctot walks across muddy roads and broken concrete to a nearby public health center to get free birth control pills, but sometimes the center runs out of their supply.

She goes home without pills but come Saturday night, she forgets about this and eagerly awaits her husband with a spray of cheap cologne and a dab of red lipstick. Her husband is home only on weekends because of the long commute from the province where he works as a technician. And when the last of the light disappears and the young ones are all asleep, she said they make love through the night on their faded white mat.

Iris Gonzales is a Manila-based journalist and blogger, writing economic, development and humanitarian stories. Some of her works may be read at http://www.irisgonzales.blogspot.com.

Strolling the Streets of Doha, Qatar. March 2013

Everyone has his or her own drug. Mine is the first taste of air in a foreign country as soon as the airport's exit doors open. I started travelling to see the world when I was 13 and have fallen in love with the lure of travel ever since. No trip has ever disappointed me and every journey is still visible in my inner's mind eye. Travelling is the one thing I do for myself, enjoying everything new and unfamiliar.

My latest trip is in the Middle Eastern country of Qatar and my drug did not disappoint. The high was unbelievable, the surge cut deep in my senses. It is an enigmatic place with a high-desert yellow sun and crescent moons on golden mosques casting shadows on its paved streets.  The trip was yet another  stop in this lifelong unfinished journey between Tokyo, Japan and the tiny shack I live in, right at the top of Heartbreak Hill.

Doha for a Day

I woke up to a rising crimson sun, crawling from the far-away horizon somewhere at the end of a long stretch of a distant desert here in the Middle Eastern country of Qatar.

It is Monday, 5:30 am local time when I opened the airport’s exit doors to a waiting black car sent by the hotel. My eyes slowly adjusted to the sunlight and soon I saw majestic skyscrapers and centuries-old mosques casting shadows on the sandy pavement.

“Welcome to Doha,” said the Qatari driver named after King Solomon, the biblical King of Israel, said to be the wisest of all men.

Nestled halfway down the west coast of the Gulf, Qatar is a peninsula with a size of 11,521 square kilometers and a population of more than 1.5 million.

I am in Qatar for a three-day tightly scheduled coverage, which meant I only had Doha for a day.

But if a day was all I had, so be it. I ignored the lure of the soft bed and the call of the bathtub in my cozy tangerine colored room with dancing white draperies and a charming balcony facing the Arabian Peninsula. Instead, I took a quick shower and hopped on a waiting hotel service.

Raul, the Filipino driver, is said to be the hotel’s best city guide.

“He is a walking brochure,” said the man at the concierge.

Raul, in a sleek black coat and red tie, turned out exactly as I was promised. He took me around the paved streets of Doha, shimmering with shiny limousines and Porsche SUVs.

I saw a golden mosque, with its crescent moon glistening under the blinding rays of the sun. I saw majestic buildings standing alongside traditional Islamic homes, teeming with age-old architecture. I saw construction of buildings and malls everywhere, no doubt a reflection of economic boom in this gas-rich country.

When I stepped out of the car, I felt the scorching sun on my skin; the thermometer read 32 degrees Celsius. The air was dead dry. I felt like a watch in Dali's paintings, melting in the heat.

But this was no deterrent. The first stop was the local bank to exchange some cash. Here, I saw Filipinos standing in a long queue to send their hard earned Qatar Riyals to loved ones back home. There are roughly 150,000 Filipinos here in Qatar, government statistics show and indeed, they are everywhere. I saw them in classy restaurants, at the hotel’s concierge desk, behind the wheels of the hotel’s limo services, in buses and in malls.

We then went to the busy Souq Waqif, located in the center of Doha, near the busy palm-lined Corniche Road. The souq or market is a long, winding street of curio shops selling anything and everything, from the exotic to the ordinary. There are bags made of camel skin, Persian rags, antique wares, chimes and what-have- you.

There are stores selling figs, dates, Cashew nuts, coffee and honey. The smell of spices and shisha smoke wafted in the air.

Qatari women, covered in their floor length black Abaya filled the streets of the market, shopping and smiling while their husbands work in the offices and make money--the norm in this part of the world.

They stride in elegance, wear red lipstick, deep black mascara and heavy pearl earrings. And when they walk past you, the smell of their perfume will pervade long after they are gone. Imelda Marcos, known for her lingering signature Perry Ellis scent, comes to mind.

I bought a traditional red-checkered scarf, a brown vintage leather bag made out of camel skin and a golden chime adorned with stones of red, green and blue.

The next stop is the Museum of Islamic Art, a grand white building that rises majestically out of the emerald blue waters of Doha Bay.

Entering the five-story building, designed by Pritzker Prize laureate I M Pei, I found myself in a time warp as artworks, manuscripts, artifacts, ceramics, precious stones and textiles from the 7^th to the 19^th centuries filled the exhibition halls.

By the time I was on the last exhibit -- the Heritage of Art Diplomacy, which includes four 17^th century paintings commissioned by the Habsburg ambassador von Kuefstein after his diplomatic mission in Istanbul -- I had spent more than two hours inside the museum.

I went back to the present-day as Raul took me next to the Katara Valley of Cultures, a quaint cultural village. I saw chic restaurants serving local cuisine, art shops and galleries. I wandered aimlessly in the narrow alleys of this maze-like district. Katara, to me, is Doha’s mini version of New York's Greenwich Village, flourishing with creativity and culture. There is a stunning and grand amphitheater in the league of the Rome Colosseum. The seats were empty when I visited but the voices of theater artists, performers and phantoms seem to reverberate in the eerie silence.

We drove by the State Mosque at high noon, during one of the Muslims’ five daily prayer hours. This sacred place can accommodate up to 10,000 worshippers inside and 30,000 outside.

Raul also brought me to the Villagio Mall in the Aspire Zone on Al Waab Street, past the Sports City. 

Walking inside the Villagio, I am told, would give one a taste of Venice, Italy’s romantic “City of Canals,” with real gondolas plying the 150-meter indoor canal under a painted baby blue sky.

If one craves for luxury, the Villagio has a lot, selling at lower prices compared to the Philippines because of lower duties.

I saw women strolling with their newly bought bags of LV and Gucci.

"For the women here, Louis Vuitton is just like Mango in the Philippines. They buy a new one as often as they want," said Raul.

The last stop was the Pearl-Qatar, a breathtaking picturesque dock of private yachts owned by Doha’s rich and famous. This waterfront is home to international luxury names such as Ferragamo and Ferrari. Visitors can book boat trips here in between alfresco dining or sipping brewed coffee in world-class coffee shops that line the dock.

By late afternoon, I was back in my hotel, the five-star Ritz-Carlton, where I immediately headed to its famed spa on the ground floor for a deep-tissue massage to soothe my tired legs. Unfortunately, all the therapists were booked for the day but the Filipina staff gladly showed me the impressive first-class steam room and Jacuzzi, exactly as I had read on the pages of the plane’s in-flight magazine.

I ended the day with a sumptuous dinner at La Mer, the hotel’s signature restaurant on the 23^rd floor, which provides a majestic view of the Persian Gulf and a gastronomic adventure of Modern French cuisine. It is a place to experience classical dining in its finest.

After roaming Doha for a day, I was off to the industrial city of Ras Laffan, two hours away from the capital for my coverage. On the two- hour trip, I saw the vastness of the desert and remembered travel writer Pico Iyer’s words he used to describe Ethiopia. “Just miles and miles and miles of nothingness.” Indeed, from the highway, I saw mostly a monotonous shade of brown.

Soon it was time to bid Qatar goodbye.

I left Doha in the middle of night; there was nothing but a round yellow moon and city lights. Yet, Doha's beauty shines in the darkness. She is a feast for the senses, teeming with remnants of bygone times and vignettes of modern life. She is no different from the Qatari woman, covered in her black Abaya with every strand of hair tucked under her veil; She is enigmatic and quiet, with a graceful sway and high-heeled black shoes, unable to conceal the beauty that she is and unwittingly captivating those who glance her way.

In Today's Starweek: Life Among the Waves

Life Among the Waves

by IRIS C. GONZALES

MANILA, Philippines - From the air, I could see the tear drop-shaped island, a patch of green-covered earth, as our plane prepared to descend.

It seemed enticing enough – sun, sea and sand. But I would later discover that what was visible to the eye would pale in comparison to the experience that Siargao has to offer.

Nestled in the province of Surigao del Norte, roughly 800 kilometers southeast of Manila, Siargao is the country’s surfing capital and the world’s eighth top surfing destination. It is a welcome break from other beaches bursting with tourists.

It is still fresh and relatively raw, with an embrace that is warm and welcoming to any visitor.

There are a lot of foreigners in the island – Australians, Americans, Europeans – many of whom opted to relocate to the Philippines for the love of the waves or simply for love. Each foreigner here has a story to tell – some lured by the great escape, some smitten by sun-kissed island girls while others simply forgot to go home – wherever home may be. Some work in inns as cooks, managers or surfing instructors in exchange for food and a bed to sleep on.

From the airport, one can hire a motorcycle or tricycle to General Luna Street where most room accommodations can be found. One can choose from small inns, high-end hotels, bed-and-breakfasts or homes that welcome visitors at affordable rates.

To enjoy Siargao is to let it linger, like a sip of ice-cold beer or the surge of a shot of Scotch in one’s veins.

Life in the island is as laid back as island life can be. There’s no fake euphoria or manicured festivities, just pure no-fuss paradise living.

Time stops in Siargao. People don’t look at their timepieces, if they have any. Instead, they look at the sky and check where the wind is blowing to see if the waves will permit a good surf ride.

I roamed the island with documentary photographer Jes Aznar, with the six-star $800-a-night Dedon Island Resort as our first stop.

Neither one of us – or both of us combined – had $800 to spare for a night at Dedon, but a quick visit to the island resort allowed us a taste of luxury, albeit short lived.

Dedon, from the German outdoor designer furniture company of the same name, is a high-end intimate nine-villa resort designed by Jean-Marie Massaud and Daniel Pouzet. It has a gaming room, bar, swimming pool, a relaxing massage hut and a dining room where guests have a perfect view of the clear blue sky while feasting on a gastronomic adventure prepared by Chef Nico, who hails all the way from France.

Guests can walk around the island resort barefoot and lounge by any of Dedon’s signature furniture pieces. The perfect spot is the brown “nestrest” – a chair shaped like a piece of Kisses chocolate – hanging perfectly from a tree by the beach.

The villa is another paradise in itself. It is so inviting guests would not want to step out, if not for the lure of the waves or the embrace of the warm yellow sun.

Inside each intricately-designed villa, white curtains and drapery swing to the rhythm of the wind, like ballerinas dancing in harmony.

It is filled with signature Dedon home furniture pieces, such as the swingrest, a seductive hanging lounge chair. There is a canopy bed with the softest sheets.

The gem inside is the walk-in shower, with the shower itself positioned in a way that water rains down on a cradle of pebbles.

Guests who wish to just lounge around the island resort have the option to experience deep-tissue massage in a candle-lit cozy hut, at the hands of a masseur who came all the way from Spain.

Aside from Dedon, there are other places to stay such as Buddha Bar or The Board Walk at Cloud 9.

The Board Walk at Cloud 9, a no-frills inn, is perfectly situated on the famed Cloud 9 spot, one of the best known surfing waves in the world because of its thick, froth-like hollow tubes. It is the site of the annual Siargao international surfing competition.

According to Wikipedia, surfing enthusiasts discovered the wave in the late 1980s.

“It was named after a chocolate bar of the same name, and made famous by American photographer John Callahan, who published the first major feature on Siargao Island in the United States-based Surfer Magazine in March 1993, and hundreds of his photos in many other books and magazines since his first visit in 1992. Callahan has put the island on the international map and has drawn thousands of surfers and tourists to Siargao,” the article said.

Surfing enthusiasts, both beginners and veterans, locals and foreigners, usually wait for the perfect weather to hit the board.

In between waiting for the perfect combination of wind and wave, islanders just go to where their feet will take them, sometimes to another island, a boat ride, a far-away cliff, an inn to enjoy whisky, wine, beer or a hot cup of barako by the bar or from one home to another, feasting on food and booze.

We gate crashed a birthday party, thanks to Marlo Gallardo, a surfer we met along the way. The celebrant is an Australian who moved to the island many years ago, the same man I saw at the check-in counter at the airport in Mactan, Cebu on the way to Siargao. He came from Cebu where he runs a business that makes skateboards out of bamboo.

His fellow foreigners from all over the island joined the party and feasted on lechon, pasta, seafood casseroles, vegetable dishes and a wide array of desserts, prepared by his Filipina wife.

Guests danced under a round yellow moon and strobe lights, to the beat of music that blared from loud speakers.

Amidst the deafening music, Marlo tried to convince me to hit the board, saying that it is worth every second.

Marlo is a laid back guy with strands of sun-roasted hair falling on his tanned shoulders, without a care in the world except for the thrill of surfing.

Like many other men and women who chose to live in the island, he was once just an ordinary visitor who hit a rented board. It was love at first sight, he confesses. He boarded the plane back home only to tender his resignation from an eight-to-five office job.

Now, Marlo spends his time enjoying the waves as they swoosh and splash in all shapes and sizes. He doesn’t need money or a high-paying job, he says. He just needs to be close to the water so he can hit the waves anytime. It is a paradise truly his own, and there is an unbelievable high, he enthuses.

“You just have to try it. You have nothing to lose,” Marlo says with a dream-like gaze.

I give in and on my last day in Siargao, I rented a yellow surfboard. I was promised it would be easy. 

And I believed him. After all, I know how to bike, skateboard, rollerskate, ice skate and even do the stand-up jet-ski. In short, I know how to balance. But surfing was a totally different experience.

First try = splash. Second try = splash. Third try = splash... I lost count of the number of attempts.

And then, miracle of miracles, it happens. For several fleeting moments, I succeed. I will never forget the first time.

There it goes...the world freezes and time stops. There is nothing but blue water, splashing waves and 

my 100-pound heart and soul on a surfboard, riding the waves.

Ah, truly a dharma of sorts...here in a paradise of an island called Siargao.

Photos by the author, Marlo and last photo is by Jes Aznar