This is Bool, Culaba, my mom’s hometown, and it is my first time to visit the place.
There were no welcome banners when we arrived because nobody was expecting us.
We arrived at an hour when most people would be taking their afternoon naps. All is quiet on the home front.
An abandoned drawing on the ground where girls play “sagodsod”. We don’t see much of these drawings in the city anymore where most kids prefer to stay glued to their phones and tablets.
Wood rot on the church wall. I can already hear the call for donation.
This is probably one of the few fishing villages without a fish market.
Leftover fish being dried by the road side. With the right amount of salt and fried until crispy, this goes perfectly well with rice for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
What’s the use of drying the nets when it will be thrown back to sea again tomorrow?
The bottom might be rocky but the water is crystal clear.
And the water’s edge is just a few steps outside the ancestral home.
The local convenience store where transactions are done via voice command. No need for a shopping cart nor waste time hunting for the things you need.
The best halo-halo in the whole village, according to the lady who makes them. I bet she subscribes to Mary Poppin’s spoonful of sugar theory and adds her own version in the tune of “a heaping spoonful of brown sugar”.
This trip is nowhere close to “spending a great time at the beach” sort of thing. It isn’t the kind where you take as many selfies as you can to show off to friends and people whom you barely know on social media. This is a totally different experience altogether. It is the kind that says “welcome home”.