While in Transit

It was one of those days wherein you could feel the rays of the sun seeping through your skin – it was a perfect day to be in a water park. From a distance, you'd think that the queue resembled something like a pack of canned sardines. Who's to blame when everybody just wants to beat the heat? Sliding down the giant slide was a lot faster than lining up for it. The moment I got out of the slide and into water felt like an embrace with a singing choir of angels to match. At least that's how I'd like to remember it. This is what really happened:

It happened on the first day of the last month of the year. We were on a boat ride towards a remote island called Calaguas in Bicol. It was the perfect getaway – white sand, clear waters, limited cellular data, and no electricity. What could go wrong? As we approached the delta, the waves grew angrier and angrier. The first big wave came to us like an unexpected guest; the second one left our mouths open, the third and final one begged for our attention. There in the mouth of the river, our boat kissed the waves, and it was the kiss of death. The tip of the boat had snapped, and water soon swallowed the boat. Before I knew it, I was underwater and underneath what remained of the boat.

Thoughts of death flooded my mind. As the waves drifted, my mind drifted with it. I was brought to a time and place where everything and everyone shone under the sun. In a single motion of ceasing to breathe, I could get to that place. Thud. The boat hit me in the head as if to tell me that it wasn't time yet. I had to fight to find the light. Thud. Found the light. Thud. Thud. How was I supposed to go to the light when the boat kept hitting me, causing me to stay down? A couple more thuds occurred before I got to resurface.

The scene looked like something that had come out of a dystopian movie. Huge nails stuck out from the pieces of wood that floated by and everyone was crying out for help. In one corner, a girl was having an asthma attack and her boyfriend was telling her to hold on. One man kept looking for his wife – he went underwater and came back with his head bleeding severely (this resulted to 7 stitches). I watched all of this happen while hanging on to a rod, like a pig about to be roasted.

A year and a half later, the fires that nearly burned me alive have been reduced to embers; still hot, but not as wild as it once was – like a distant memory reminding me that there is always hope and that life is meant to be lived.