(#5) CHILDREN OF PARAW

By J. Rakista



It felt like a certain part of me was still asleep when these Restless Soles were standing in the middle of the famed dark gray beach of Villa, Iloilo City at 4:45 in the chilly morning of February 22, 2015, the last day of the 43rd Annual Iloilo Paraw Regatta Festival. What fully shook off the remains of sleep was a certain horizontal glow with a bit of neon green around it hovering over the island of Guimaras. It didn't last long that by the moment I finished rubbing off from my eyes last night’s debris from my short trip to the dreamland, it was already gone.

I looked around and realized that my travel buddies had already dissolved into the crowd who, like us, also hoped that God would grant us a sunrise that could blend beautifully with the man-made colors of the outrigger boats’ sails.

I took my little camera out from my backpack, readied my tripod and began to take pictures; it was, after all, the reason why we woke up in the wee hours and cut short our soles’ rest.

With the crowd, I hurried to roam around looking for an angle that has never been done before, trying to discover a new composition in an event that has already been photographed in a number of ways for 43 festivals now, and praying for that one elusive shot of a lifetime while all the time keeping an eye at the ever-changing colors of dawn.

It took me more than three hundred crappy over-the-top shots and two almost aimless trips through and around that part of the beach being used for boat parking to realize that one had to sometimes put down his camera to be able to see it all.

Perhaps, this is what the organizers of the annual Paraw Regatta haven't considered even after 43 years. In one fleeting moment after another fleeting moment, one would be able to witness a spectacle like no other: man-made colors being united with God's breaking dawn -- two creations becoming one. And in different hues and saturations at that. And repeatedly, still.

Slowly, the crowd got denser and it became easy to get lost in it. Lost in that crowd, we became one with it too. For it awoke the inner child in each of us – our appreciation for the simple joys brought about by utterly simple things around us; our sense of wonder in discovering something new and colorful and beautiful; and our resolve, when it’s over and done, to be there again next time and experience it once more.

Oblivious of the other parts of the festival, these Restless Soles, along the beach, would walk, run, and perhaps dance a little. Then we'd pause a while and trace the horizon and watch the boatmen prepare their sails. And then we'd pause a little more and examine the dark sand that stuck unevenly at our feet. And then again we'd pause some more and realize that, after those countless walking, running and perhaps dancing, after those countless almost aimless strolls with those countless nameless and almost faceless expectators, and after those countless color changes in the sky and the sea, the sun would just effortlessly show its might and fade almost everything in its path as it always did a countless times before.

Without being there, one would never know how the fading of the horizon’s multi-color light show gave way to the slow and dramatic unveiling of those native outrigger boats that proudly fly their colorful sails for everyone to see. The Paraw we call them.

For more information about the annual Iloilo Paraw Regatta Festival, visit its official site: http://iloiloparawregatta.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=3&Itemid=3

(#4) Passing Through the Graves of San Joaquin Cemetery

By Cento Ron

The previous night, these Restless Soles were anxious to make the most of our Panay trip, and reach as many remarkable places as possible. We agreed to head south of the island and kept ourselves open for pleasant surprises along the way.

Before the streaks of dawn, we were already hitting the road to southwest of Iloilo City on our way to Antique.

 Just as the sun was rising at the horizon, we were standing by the roadside facing the San Joaquin Cemetery, with soft light illuminating the chapel. This was supposed to be a mere short stopover, a kidney-break at that, considering that my two travel buddies had been here the other afternoon. The majestic structure simply beholden us and made us spend more time than expected marveling at its classic grandeur.

The San Joaquin Cemetery Chapel sits a little elevated from the national road, following its terrain through a flight of 20 steps from the ground level by the gate. Its construction which dates back to 1892 is ascribed to Fray Mariano Vamba, the last Augustinian Parish Priest of the town.

Perhaps, the most photographed angle of this majestic cultural treasure is by the roadside capturing and using its lone gate as a frame to the Baroque-inspired architecture.

We took several pictures of the chapel, all from different perspectives. Despite the varied viewpoints, a common sight loomed at our horizon, that is, that this cemetery must have been deliberately built along the national road as a visual reminder to all passersby that no matter where everyone is heading towards, we are all merely passing by. And, eventually, we shall be heading towards a single destination.

What a way to start our day! We tried to take a piece of memory through our photography. Subtly, we were also confronted by our mortality. We knew that stacking meaningful memories shall usher us through in this passing journey.

(#3) Cabatuan Graves Encounter

By Cento Ron


Is there any better way to be confronted with your mortality than being where the once or, otherwise, forever brave mortals lay?

One idle afternoon, these Restless Soles, together with friends from way, way back, were dragged to one of the structurally grandest cemeteries we’ve visited in Iloilo -- the Cabatuan Catholic Cemetery.

As we alighted from our borrowed car, silence greeted us save for some uneven rhythm orchestrated from a distance by two grave diggers with a pair of shovels hitting pebbles, gravels and rock bottoms. The humid afternoon breeze provided little soothing comfort. The three conspicuously arched gates stole our attention leading our gaze towards the massive centerpiece, standing wide and tall over other visible structures, the cemetery chapel.

The undeniably Spanish structure accentuates Roman and Byzantine influences. The marker indicates that this was built in February 4, 1894 by Fr. Juan Porras. Order pervades the entire vicinity through a perfect square enclosed by well-crafted steel railings through solid limestone base, with the chapel as the anchor of all other structures.

Due to harsh afternoon sunlight, we borrowed shade from several mid-rise condo-type tombs while waiting for our cameras to snap what beyond our eyes can capture. We had not seen each other for more than 8 months now, and as we exchanged captured landscapes through our view finders, we also exchanged stories -- stories that date back to almost three decades ago, and counting.

While stories were shared, we waited for clouds to form at the horizon. We waited… and waited. Moments passed, but the clouds seemed to elude us. There were too few of them. After several camera clicks and stories shared, we left the place.

My thoughts wandered. I wondered what possible common story do the disparate graves, grave-owners, and grave-dwellers share?

We took shelter at the Lizares Mansion, now Angelicum School, in Tabuc Suba, Jaro, Iloilo City, which became our home for a couple of days. Although not strangers to the Mansion having been there for several occasions, we still found ourselves charmed by it. ( http://restless-soles.blogspot.com/2015/02/haunted-as-it-may-have-seemed-to-be-in.html )