Manila Bay

The Water Is Wide

The haunting lyrics and imagery of The Water Is Wide, a folk song of Scottish origin, have inspired this series.

A ship there is, and she sails the sea.

Do you remember your Easter morning tradition as a youth?

Great! Me, too.

Mum and Dadee always brought a caravan of seven children to the sunrise service at the Luneta.

If you recognized the premise of 'caravan' and guessed the resultant scenario of me getting lost, you win a prize. That was because you thought about the November post Hold Hands And Stick Together, right?

Indeed, I had let go of Mum's hands once more, for I was transfixed on the gigantic white cross that stood on the central area of Rizal Park waiting for Christ to materialize and eventually rise to the heavens.

But this post dwells more on the happy after the lost-and-found scenario. Like all past Easter mornings, as soon as the faint strains of the Hallelujah chorus winged their way back toward heaven, we were off on a banca boat ride along Manila Bay.

Come along now, Mum tilted her head, shouting overly loud to her unruly brood.

The bay was a natural harbor that scooped around the city like a hug. Everything was set in the curved arch of the inlet: the Jai Alai center, Max's restaurant, and various commercial buildings strung together by a stretch of coconut trees. Along the loop of the waterfront, the curling ripples were rolling in with perfect innocence, running like children up the seawall.

It is a glorious scene, don't you agree?

From the marina, I gazed at the blossoming waves, gulls skimming the surface. The faint light of half a dozen shrimp boats, only big enough to fit two or three people, bathed on the water.

We boarded one of the docked double outrigger wooden crafts. It was motorized and held around fifteen passengers or so.

Come sit by me, Youngest Brother, I nodded toward him encouragingly. But keep your hands on your side or the 'bakunawa' sea serpent will get you, I warned him, trying to make my voice sound as authoritative as possible.

Sorry, it wasn't intentional.

It just came out.

I took every opportunity to gibe at The Brat, my flippant reference to my spoiled, youngest sibling.

He complained noisily to Dadee, but the latter simply grinned. The Brat gave me one of his infamous pouts. Your mouth is going to freeze lopsided that way, if you don't stop looking sulky, I threatened him. He immediately retracted his lips and cuddled closer to Mummie.

As we munched on our traditional Easter morning snack of hard-boiled eggs sprinkled with rock salt that Mum had packed, my eyes feasted on the reflection of the sky, a mingling of many colors. And then there was the color of the water itself.

Ever-changing.

I started dreaming of places I could go. The incredible life that was waiting behind the next curve. And the family (including Spoiled Brat) who would walk beside me every step of the way.

The air smelled so fresh I felt clean just by breathing in it. I closed my eyes and listened to the secret sound of the place where earth met the water. 

Sail on, I muttered, the ghost of a smile whispering over my lips.

Already, I knew how lovely the Easter morning was going to be.