Quartered!

By Emmanuelle

Rarely, actually almost never, do I write in the first person. This is one of the rare, actually almost never times. Not for the sole reason that the moment calls for the intervention of the first person, but. The moment calls for the intervention of the first person.

I apologize to Feelings readers then, paper or web. For the very personal touch. And again, another apology is in the wings.

Quartered! is not Halved! Part 2, although both titles are from the whole divided and that both stories are about half of the world not knowing how or even where the half lives.

May I proceed?

There is this province of three islands in the Visayas, so near Luzon as to be considered Region 4 before, but so Visayan in all others, as in  language, temperament, customs and traditions as to aspire to again be re-classified Region 6. A native or a tourist may reach the province via a 30-minute plane ride, or one can be more adventurous and take the sea-route, 14-16 hours via Batangas or Laguna. Or one may choose to take the more expensive but comfortable 10-hours of luxury aboard a Princess or a Queen.

But I did not set out to write about this province of three islands.

Aboard the Princess or the Queen, one may shift from salty air for cool vents, whatever one’s preference. One just climbs a ladder up one level, or one opens a privileged swishing door. There are air-conditioned cabins and the dormitory-style suites for hundreds.

For the thrifty and the smart, one takes the economy accommodation at the lower levels. One smells the crude oil and the copra, but never mind. To escape, one may leave the baggage by the cots, and rush headlong to the upper berths, to the air-conditioned restaurants. Or the videoke bar. Yes, ma’am, There is one.

Or up further to the roof, where the sky is always the limit. One takes one of the seats arranged with tilted backs for better viewing. One plugs the charger for free. One waits or answers calls or texts from loved ones, while watching Manila Bay recedes.

But I did not set out to write about the inter-island luxury ships.

What did I set out to write about? That to Romblon, or to Cebu or to islands even farther beyond, big ships  pass through almost the same watery valley  between islands, through the dark blue waves of one of the deepest parts of the Pacific Ocean.

When the sea is calm, one watches the schools of fish riding with the waves, keeping up with the humans aboard frail vessels of wood or steel. Were those dolphins? Or sharks?

When the sea is calm. Sometimes, though, it is not. It can be ugly, cruel and rough.

The cyclone with the delisted name, is a disaster, waiting to happen. Again. And again.  And, as usual, fingers point here and there to more than four directions: the ship owners, the weathermen, the port authorities, the coast guard, the captain. Sometimes, too, all fingers point to God and to nature gone berserk.   

I write about swimming right there with the victims roughly being shred to bits, to be consumed by the salty waters and sharply white fish teeth. Soon, just bones, the harder to tell apart . Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, wives, lovers, friends. Children whose frantic cries for help were the last sounds from the ship heard by those aboard the liferafts.

They died, their arms raised up in the usual drowning stance. Like reaching up for the air, the safety beyond their grasp. The life that is theirs no more.

The 800 plus lost lives in the MV Princess of the Stars is a mere quarter of the lives lost in the MV Dona Paz disaster years ago, almost along the same part of the same strait. It is such a wide, deep grave.

The guilty ones are getting away with so much.  

                                 To be continued next week . . .

(Readers may reach columnist at jingmil@yahoo.com. For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/
For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)

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