A real life experience

"Why do you love Donsol that deep, Tutu?" Andromeda inquired, my blogging partner. She who types for me and sometimes puts ad-libs in my works! "It is because of so many becauses." I answered her.

And out of the box of memories is my simple story that happened more than half a century ago.

At that time, the Donsol River was immeasurably wide and deep and crystal clear that it can accommodate large boats like batels, paraos, big cascos, and sibidsibids by the number. But one day, twin giant odd-looking boats entered the waters of Donsol and anchored sail along our rimpiolas or sea walls only meters away from the delta. They came to buy food and water supplies. Also, perhaps to seek refuge from the pirates? Japanese warships? Or bad weather? Innocently, the coming of the Chinese junks was a welcome episode in our diving careers as "sea creatures of Donsol". Now, we can prove our diving prowess from that towering height of a ship. The crew accommodated us to use the proa of these fantastic vessels as diving boards. It was awesome to make a dive from that super height! That was a really cool experience compared to the batels and paraos which we normally used as diving boards. We kids around Punta were sea addicts. We swam all day long during summer, frolicking and crossing the wide river delta from the rimpiolas to the Dancalan riverbanks when it was high tide; the wider the river, the better. I was a good swimmer and so was everybody in the block. However, we were not coached to swim, scientifically; our swimming technique was acquired from natural instinct to float and swim like a fish. My skin during summertime turns into silky black. We were not aware then of any sunblock lotion or whitening cream.

My first dive from that foreign ship was a nerve-wracking experience. This thrill of a lifetime jump made my heart pound wildly, accompanied by wobbly knees, trembling like crazy. From this point I needed something to reassure myself that I would surface alive after the plunge. Down there, below the ship, I heard the encouraging shouts from those successful jumpers like, "Kaya mo 'yan!". And, I made it! Our life then was full of fun innocence nurtured in the bosom of this unknown and rurally small town called Donsol.

By the way, the Chinese Junks were sea vessels that you can only see in the movies, or the Hong Kong Bay. They have this big stiff triangular masts made strong by bamboo ribs (I supposed then).

I am writing this from the mind and eyes of that little girl who loved the sea, the sun, the lighthouse (where a deep sense of family ties was carved), and everything that was Donsol. The church, the schools, classmates, fiestas, Lenten seasons, harvest times, kinunot, linatik (tastier than the Bicol express), kusidong Donsol (with lemoncito as pang-asim), the barbaric slang words--like tugalsik, and tugalpak, sa bu**-nina-mo, oragon. That is why at that young age, statistics and specs of objects and structures were unknown complexities. It is a treasured childhood, a wondrous magical world.

Where are you now, my swimming buddies, you who were a part of my enchanting fairytale of a childhood where we shared the fantastical ships of the orient and the deep mysteries of Donsol's waters? Our happy childhood with us forever, don't you wanna know where we are NOW? What we have TRULY become? Dorito, Tony, Josefina, Carola, Delia, Herbie, Sonia, Edmundo (the boy who accidentally hit a sharp portion of the ill-repaired rimpiolas near the mouth of the river--I still am sorry for the rips it caused). Edmundo... he affected us greatly because his breast was ripped open. But, it was not his fault. Just that the event was undeniably etched into my eternal memory, decades and decades past cannot fade nor erase it. There are more names that hath faded away in the march of time but are safely locked in my treasure box full of memories. Filled with the wonders that I have seen, and full of emotions for the dearly beloved Donsol.