Ruth is a full-time writer. Foodie. Happy camper. Wanders a lot. Used to have the worst taste in men. A reformed swipe-a-holic. Reviving her blog after its death.
Monday, June 09, 2003
As a post celebration of our narrow escape from college, my friends and I finally pushed our plans of sleeping under the stars, the sand as our bed, and the beach as the background music.
Ignoring the warnings of people who knew a lot about the weather, we bravely rode an outrigger canoe to another island in Batangas.
Basically, we spent two days swimming, exploring, and more swimming. We absolutely enjoyed the strong waves in the ocean. We wished that we had a surfboard so we could ride the strong ones.
We were too happy jumping with the waves to even worry about getting back. So when we did, we boarded the same dilapidated canoe and we experienced a free amusement park ride.
The same waves that we were cheering to reach us in the shoreline while we were still swimming were the same waves that rocked our little boat through and fro the ocean. I wasn’t kidding about the amusement park ride. The scene was like something taken from Enchanted Kingdom’s Water Log Jump. Our boat would be sitting on top of a huge wave one second, then plunge into a smaller wave the next.
Nat swears that there were too many close calls that it made him promise to himself that he will never ride such mode of transportation again for the rest of his life.
Anna screamed all the way to the shore, hugging her boyfriend. While Zhara held on for dear life, like me.
Actually, while we were being thrashed badly by the Pacific Ocean, I was thinking, “Heck, if this boat capsizes, I can swim (but not for long). But how can I keep my camera dry? Should I wrap my bag in a life vest? Can rescuers dive for my camera if ever?”
It’s not that I value my camera more than my life, it’s just that, deep down I know that bad persons don’t die young.
***
Note to self: Next overnight trip, don’t forget the mosquito repellant lotion.
The mosquitoes at night are vicious. They attacked and feasted on every exposed part of my body that, in the end, I was forced to wrap a towel around my toes, and extend my jacket to its maximum point.
***
These are the openings that got us through half of the night, awake.
—She became disillusioned about love that she’s now into casual sex.
—So she’s doing it already? I say, good for her. Bravo! When did she start?
—I am shocked that there is still (sex) sub-culture that I haven’t penetrated yet.
—What is the character dynamics of Meteor Garden?
—She wants to perfect the art of blowjob. I told her to practice on a banana.
—The señorita variety?
—Let me get this straight. Jerry Yan got all the character and sex appeal. Vic Chou has the good looks of the boy-next-door. Vaness got his personality to work for him. Where does that leave Ken?
—Oh, he's just the good-looking guy who can sing that fades in the background so F4 can be complete.
—I’m an open door OC. Every time I see an open door, I simply have to close it.
—So who ends up with San Chai? Dao Ming Si or Hua Cei Lei?
—Guys, lemme tell you about the pros and cons of working in a call center.
—His dick is big.
—But my god, he looks like a monster. Who’d want to have sex with him?
—She did.
—Ai-ai delas Alas was very good in Tanging Ina, worthy of a best actress trophy.
—Can we please not talk about 5566?
—You’re too slow.
—We’ll do it after we’re married. Wait.
—What will you do if Jerry Yan is a carnapper?
—I know someone who likes the water system.
—What?!?
—You know, he pees on her partner, and she pees on him.
—I want to top Jerry Yan!
—You’re sick.
***
Nat named this shot as “Misplaced”, as we were both wearing Baguio City hats in Batangas.
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