Once, the sea brought life. It was you. Our island was filled with joy like never before.
Even though time passed by very slowly and life is simple, our island seldom knew hunger. Around us were rings of corals and abundance of animals. Our rich culture kept us alive. By the sea, your mother wove yards of cloth as well as dreams for you.
As you grew, you always went to the shore. Your eyes fixed at the horizon.
You found the end of the horizon alluring but also intimidating. Your eyes gleaming with desire.
The unforgiving glimpse of the horizonless present have made you set sail.
You cannot wait for the tides to take you away, your eyes fixed at the end of the world.
No one can stop you from following the trail of the sun, but don’t forget what our people have always told us. What came from the sea, has to return to the sea.
You learned more about the ways of the other world. You learned how to kneel and to venerate in colossal monuments.
You learned how to walk in streets drenched in glowing hues. To communicate to people in a harsher and staccato sounding language. To ride a silver animal that has a cry louder than any animal that could have inhabited our island.
But you complained about how your dreams have deserted you and of how you cannot understand the strange sickness that has come into you. Your memories, so distinct, has now been replaced by the knowledge of the world. You complained how you feel like your soul has departed you.
But I know you won’t forget who you are and where you came from. Tell yourself everyday, that you came from the east, from our island.
We will continue to wait for you here, where the world began. Where the sand and the sea meet. Where you will always long to return.
Ilocos, 2011 (C) Jan Pineda
