Cariño: Baguio Connections 31

THIS week, to rewards. Like the many moments on a road trip to Bicol with the dearest of friends who are as sisters to each other...

One of those moments is of waking up to the sound of waves proverbially crashing on a proverbial shore...

Last night, the sound could also have been rain or both rain and the waves. This morning though, it is clearly the waves I hear, because sunlight is shining on the leaves of the flora outside the open windows above my bed.

Below the high windows, perched on a shelf, is a sign. It is black with an off-white frame painted on it. Inside the frame, it is written, also in off-white: “The best antiques are old friends.”

I stretch and roll to the very side of my bed to see a half-empty mattress on the floor. The half that is empty had my old friend Thess, and I know that she is already up and about. The other half has my old friend Noreen. I know that she will need a minimum of two hours more to get up, just like me.

Beside this mattress of Noreen and Thess is another one, where my old friend Maichie still lies sleeping. We are four of us the best of antiques here, old roommates actually, sleeping by the sea, taking in majestic Mayon, eating of Bicol's famous cuisine, and road tripping through the province the Maichie calls home. It is also her beach house we are waking up in, by the Gulf of Ragay.

Connectivity is a problem, yes. Mobile signals can get iffy, yes. The waves carry some flotsam jetsam, yes. And the next day the waves are clean. It matters not if we can swim today or tomorrow or not at all.

We are here because as Maichie told Noreen: “There´s a magical and wonderfully tasting lemonade with your name on it waiting for you in Naga. When you drink it together with the three of us, you will be transported to 1984 and you will laugh the laugh that comes from the deepest recesses of your bosom and your eyes will produce the saltiest of tears to wash and erase the grime between that year and this.”

And so it is.

We drink of irresistible magic lemonade in this house by the sea, in glasses that have our names on them and we are us old friends in Together, that place where indeed, the laughter of our souls rises to sing with the waves at the shore, the clouds atop Mayon, the briny air. Where too Biggs and Jibby and John take to that laughter with their own. And Renato's, whatever its cause. Because no one quite knows. Again, it matters not.

Breakfast will be at noon, lunch at 4:00 in the afternoon, and supper whenever the fancy takes. There is too much to catch up on, talk about, do. There are moments to make to add to our precious memories, lately of being bakets on the road trip of Life.

And next week... is next week.

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