No. 1: The One with the Volcano

Liv & Daragang Mayon, taken in broad daylight, at the Cagsawa Ruins. 

Bicol. Thanks to my first job, I have been to the region more times than I could count. Most tourists settle with Legazpi or Naga, but my job was to find far-flung schools in need of additional school buildings, and small, non-descript farmer cooperatives in need of a livelihood boost. So from Iriga to Ligao, Tabaco to Sorsogon, I rode the heck out of our organization's pick-up truck with our trusty company driver, Mang Fred, literally hours on end.

Things blur when you do something too many times though. At some point, the spice went out of the pinangat. But a recent photo of Mayon Volcano taken and posted on FB by someone seeing it for the first time reminded me of the many happy memories I had there. It inspired me to build on the current #100happydays trend with my own #100happymemories. The aim of the latter is not to get stuck in the past, of course. The first hashtag, the way I figure it, is for people who want to be content with what they have. The second is for people who also want to affirm that their life have had purpose all along, if they take a moment to reflect. 

The most moving memory I have of Bicol happened in 2006, where the best view of the then irascible Mayon Volcano can be seen from Daraga Church at night. First of all, it’s always interesting to go to old churches nearing midnight. In daylight, the worshiping masses populate the place and cancels out the strange energies. But during the quiet of the night, you’re not quite sure if another kind of population is surrounding you. But we weren’t there to hunt for ghosts. We were there to bear witness to an event Man cannot control.

Mayon Volcano has erupted again and the hardy townsfolks were so well prepared that it presented little inconvenience to their everyday life. But for a city girl like me, seeing a force of nature showcasing its strangeness before my eyes is nothing short of awe-inspiring.  The silhouette of the volcano was limned in glowing scarlet. A crimson river flowed from its mouth to its mid-base, flashing silver where the lava was hottest. I was watching from a safe distance, but I am not naive. I know that the earlier eruptions have taken lives. I know that it buried whole towns -- the Cagsawa ruins a testament to the destruction it can wield. And yet... there is seduction in its terrifying beauty.

I scrambled to capture that memory, but my point-and-shoot camera was useless. Camera phones were not a thing yet. All I had was my eyes and my brain, and a friend who could corroborate this story. It was she who told me, “Forget it. Let’s just watch!”

We sat there for about an hour without talking. She smoked a cigarette, a detail I remember because the red glow of the stick when she takes a puff was a counterpoint to the embers of the volcano in front of us. I was wearing a thin shirt, perfect under the harsh Albay midday sun, but ineffective in the steady night breeze. It wasn't what made me shiver though. It was more of the realization of how flimsy and fleeting a human life is, compared to what we were seeing. I understood why our forefathers treated volcanoes as potent deities. Today, we may understand how and why volcanoes erupt, but science wouldn't really be able to completely explain why we are fascinated by its power. 

We both knew it when it was time to leave. Without words, I got up, she followed, and we went back to Legazpi in near perfect silence. 

This is the first happy memory I would like to share. The memory of a volcano which is symbolic of the folks who live in the region. People who could live their lives with a volcano in their backyard and still look unruffled while they diligently prepare for the worst. 

Bicolanos whose beauty is graceful, and yet, fiery, fierce.