THE DAYS of rain come to a halt as I wake up in bed at two in the afternoon. I look at the louvered window from where I lay and see a faint brightness illumine the slats of glasses. I get out of bed, pull the crank down, and the sight of the neighbors’ roofs welcome my gaze. They, too, shine with a mild glow.
Outside, a neighbor is singing Daniel Boone’s Beautiful Sunday, the videoke machine set to the highest volume. Even on rainy days, their spirits never seem to dampen. A woman’s voice usually floats through the air, a beautiful kind, accentuated from time to time with mispronounced words.
My friend, B has cooked pasta, and she tells me, as she folds her clothes neatly on the table, to help myself with it. I thank her for this. “Are you going somewhere?” I ask. “I might go around. The weather is nice,” she says. “I’ll stay here then.”
The wind blows softly, the trees sway back and forth, and upon closer look, they seem to follow a shared, well-rehearsed rhythm only they know and understand. Dry leaves. Different shades of green. They dance merrily as the wind brushes past them. The passing motorbikes maintain a relaxing pace, unlike the previous days, and you can tell by the way their engines sound, not the maddening kind of uproar the way they did the past few days as they tried to combat strong gusts of wind and heavy downpour.
B has left the house. I could hear her start her motorbike downstairs, and seconds later, the sound fades into the distance. I’m sitting alone at the veranda overlooking the main street, watching people go by. I prop my feet up on the wooden railing lined with potted plants. The sky is overcast, but a lighter shade of gray this time, promising rain later, but not insistent.
I think of my elusive friend, L who left over a week ago and hasn’t returned yet. No word from him. I wonder what’s going on in his mind. I miss him, and wish he’ll be back sooner. I think of my friends, too, and this thought settles for sometime, but I decide to tuck it in the corner. I decide to light a cigarette instead.
The neighbor has stopped singing. The wind continues to blow softly. It’s past three in the afternoon now. I hope the tide is high. I might take a swim at the beach.
[Siargao, November 6, Sunday]