There is nothing special about this beach, in fact, I've never been here for almost two decades. But that weekend in September after we buried our grandmother, my siblings, cousins and I, had a sentimental yearning to see the beach of our childhood. This is where we frolicked during summer vacations, learned how to swim, chased hermit crabs, watched sunsets and dreamed of the world beyond Guimaras Strait. This stretch of seashore was our playground, from the Kissing Rocks to this rustic resort. On those rocks, our grandmother taught us how to harvest and eat freshly shucked rock oysters.
Nothing has changed around here except for a wider beach erosion, and the nipa huts got older. The simplicity of life here is achingly sweet and familiar.
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