Miss the sea water in the Philippines! Why Mindanao should be on your travel list!

In a summer

One summer, I was fascinated by the complex patterns on the shells of small sea turtles who were being cared for in the Pawikan reserve in Maitum, Sarangani Province. I imagine how the fishermen in town might have held these gentle creatures in their hands when they decided to protect them rather than boil eggs for food.

One summer, I was fascinated by the complex patterns on the shells of small sea turtles who were being cared for in the Pawikan reserve in Maitum, Sarangani Province. I imagine how the fishermen in town might have held these gentle creatures in their hands when they decided to protect them rather than boil eggs for food.

On another summer, as I was traveling on a motorboat to West Dawasarangani, I reached into the waters of the Cilibes Sea, just a few miles from the maritime border between the Philippines and Indonesia. I remember when its blue color went from light to green and then to deep, the water became a little cold. I then used this description as a metaphor in a story I wrote about children navigating their identity in a mobile multicultural society.

"Touch" Zamboanga

As travelers, we travel the world by touching other people-patting the shoulder to ask for directions, shaking hands with new acquaintance or shaking hands with traveling companions as they explore a place. I like to touch handmade works, such as when I check the thickness and softness of colored textiles sold at the Canelar barter trade center in Zamboanga.

As some merchants shared with me, these fabric-woven and dyed stories straddle the waters of the Malay archipelago, as most of the items they sell have sailed through the waters of Indonesia and Malaysia before reaching the Philippines. That trip ended with me bringing home a marlon with floral batik.

On another trip, I visited the Great Mosque of Cotabato City, the largest in the Philippines, and personally examined the unique curvature and sculpted design that make up its grand architectural plan. In talking to the motorcyclist who took me to the mosque, he explained how the Grand Mosque connected them to the people of Brunei Darussalam, because the latter's Sultan helped to finance its construction, so it was officially called by name by the Sudanese.

He also said that the mosque is a symbol of openness, and while it is a Muslim building, it welcomes people from all walks of life to come in -- a fitting description, I think, of how the diverse composition of their city works. I recalled this conversation in one of my poems, describing the mouth near the mosque, "nagsasanib dito ang alat at ang tabang," based on the driver's observation, where the brackish waters of the sea and the fresh waters of the river meet.

I emphasize past travel because I haven't traveled for months since the pandemic began. As someone who writes about moments of touching objects, places and people, I find myself unable to write. I looked at the items I collected during the trip, expecting that one time I could travel freely again, and now I hold Malone with a floral batik pattern in my hand and remember Zamboanga. I began to plan other destinations in Mindanao waiting for travelers like me.