La Union waves

 08 April 2022

In this new place, I decided to wake up to welcome the morning. I did not dally but explored to see the sunrise by myself. To be joined by friends after some time.

Walking through the shore, along paths with  Tanduay signs on sensor lamp posts, I walked from the beach by El Navi to what I later came to know as Kabsat. Along those lamp posts, I inhaled calachuchi blossoms. Initially, Kabsat had a bad rap on me for blocking the sunrise but I came to enjoy it. The waves on its beach front are amazing!

After breakfast, we headed to the Turtle beach resort then Nano Surf where we were schooled on how to surf. Eventually, we were told that the instructors are on call and do not stay in the shop premises because it spooks possible clients. Hearing it  sparked sense to that primal logic.

The nose, then the side, the tail and fins: the instructor-Mr. Gilbert-has a tone of business authority which was enjoyable given that he exudes reliability borne of experience. I could see myself as the weary sounding version. I have to square my shoulders properly more often. It would take conscious effort.

Then we were introduced one by one to our respective instructors. I remember I thought of hiring for half an hour only. Mr. Michael was assigned to me and I used a pink and blue board which was short, had one fin and was covered with the material used as soles of house slippers to keep people from slipping.

The concept of the leash on the board and my ankle was funny. Though we were told not to approach it, it became instinctive to me to run after the board, instead of commanding it by pulling at the leash. The leash tie entangles me, wrapping around my ankle and I could barely fight the waves that being apart from the board, I could be caught unaware, pulled by the board and the waves; the waves wait for no one. That was how I adapted. I do not want to hit the board. I do not want the board to hit another person. And it also ends upturned, its belly, the fin, facing the sky. That alarms me, like a snake showing me its underside in submission; an unnatural state. So I come to the board. By the end, after a breather where I reapplied sunblock because I can't open my tumbler (no logic there, just a deviation for my break), I felt more in command of myself, than under the mercy of the waves.

I tugged at the leash to bring the board close. A sense of command came to me, a direct contradiction of the state of mind I was in: lying on my belly in a flat board, with my arms stretched upward to the nose and my hands gripping the sides, dependent on the guide herding me and the board facing the waves clapping the shore. I am not completely helpless. A person guides me to have fun. It was supposed to be fun; to barely catch my breath as I stretch on a board on my belly, facing the waves, salt on my tongue, its sting on my eyes. I was suffering. The waves swell, I rise with it as I face it and when it moves away, I fall - gently if the waves are closed, they roll; with a slam if the waves are open and foamy, they drop me in their wake. They were relentless: I wanted to catch my breath; they were catching theirs too because after staring at them for a while, it came to me that the oceans are the lungs of the planet and the waves are its very breath - it won't stop.

Placing myself at the board; entrusting the guide; being at the mercy of the waves' ferocity and frequency and its inevitable ripple on you; standing; balancing to the end --- surfing is beautiful. It challenges me to face the heat, the salt, the breathless moments. It naturally places my trust on the  board - the vehicle of fun; my guide - who helps me catch the wind in water; the waves - I am nothing but an opportunist in their existence. I failed to trust one thing: my person-that I would stand and then bend and allow the expiring wave to carry me to shore. I was overthinking if my form was right. There was this instance I just laid there, ready until I reached the shore, for the experience of it that I consciously chose. That one hour was brainless. I am thinking on instinct and my photos show that I always have my hands up.

I distinctly remember I was already praying: really Lord, I am supposed to have fun with this activity (?) and that I was already contemplating never doing it again. Or that I was considering surfing as the counterpart of biking in the water. And that I am so sold to just learning to do that activity on land. I was limiting myself.

My thoughts on this changed dramatically  when by the day's end, I tried jumping with the waves. It's fun! That brings me to today, when I experienced the waves fuller. When I rode it with my body, not with the board. If we're going with parallels, I was walking this time. I faced it head on. I charged against it and braced myself for the impact. I knew I could tumble; I was hoping it would just pass by me gently, like a liquid ghost brushing against my physical being. It feels free. I am free to keep on facing waves that wouldn't end. I am ready to face each wave. I am not scared. I rush to meet it, a smile on my salted lips and a sparkle in my eye. I was quick with the refractory period: standing up, pulling my loosened shorts, underwear, and leggings up, sweeping my hair from my face, running my hand through my face to wipe my eyes, then I rush to meet the next wave ever ready.