Vanishing
Shores
THE
FERRY SLIPPED out of Dumaguete’s city port just
before dawn. On the roof deck, I joined the
scattered silhouettes of morning people, each of
us drawn there by an unspoken desire to greet
the sea. I breathed deeply, greedily, each
inhale a cool balm easing the back of my throat
and each exhale exiting as a faint fog. I was
heading back home, to Zamboanga, a city on
another island some 16 hours south of the
Philippines’ Central Visayas region, where I had
once lived.
This
particular return weighed heavily on me. As the
ferry cut through the waves, I found myself
thinking of my ancestors who had once traveled
these same waters, moving from one coastal home
to another across the country’s islands in
search of better fishing grounds — guided only
by knowledge passed down among navigators in
their communities and the very real need to
provide food for the family. The whisper of the
breeze and the gentle rocking of the ferry
seemed to carry echoes of their existence,
drifting like the sea’s own breath, reminding me
of the threads that still bound me to them.
I
grew up immersed in seafaring tales. I heard
stories of how, once, after enduring days with
no substantial catch, my maternal grandfather
and his brother ventured out on the cold, open
waters off their fishing village in Cotabato, on
the island of Mindanao. When they returned, my
great-uncle developed a fever and severe cough.
By the time they sought help, it was too late. A
month after he died, news spread through their
fishing village that those who ventured farther
south to the Zamboanga Peninsula were met with
bountiful catches. The same news had reached my
paternal grandparents in village of Iloilo, in
the Western Visayas, which inspired them to make
the journey as well. In the 1950s, both families
settled in Zamboanga, unaware that they would be
among the last generations of artisanal
fisherfolk in their lines.
As
the ferry hummed along, I wondered how these
landscapes had shaped us — and what it means to
stay rooted when those very landscapes begin to
vanish.
Author Sigrid Marianne Gayangos
reflects on what The Philippines’ eroding
coastline means for a culture that remains
deeply entwined with the
sea. |
