8/9/08

My Morning Habit (Photo borrowed from Ayla Liberato)

I woke up from the surreal imagery of revolving worlds and camera flashes in different colors. I guess alcohol-caused nausea can jolt you into consciousness. With a botched sense of balance, I carefully made my way out of my tent. I nearly stumbled face-front but I managed to get out unscathed.

Outside, a half-filled container of distilled water loomed into view, strategically positioned to cue me into replenishing the liquids I lost due to an evening’s worth of dehydration. It was around six in the morning and though I was still sleep-deprived, I had to wake up to shake off the effects of cheap gin, brandy and tequila. Hangovers can cause unbearable feelings.

It was sort of a gloomy morning but still the turquoise waters in the distance looked every bit refreshing. A steady, cool breeze was blowing, a complete opposite to the warm, humid air that hung around stubbornly inside the tent. Some campers had already woken up and had begun strolling. They were the ones who turned in early the night before. Those who partied till the wee hours were still soundly asleep in their sandy tents. Some had not managed to crawl back to their tents and were left lying in damp groundsheets next to emptied bottles, crumpled plastic cups and all sorts of litter. It was like a scene from an American Pie sequel, where a great night had just passed and a slow-rising sun revealed the aftermath’s casualties.

It was a perfect moment to light a cigarette, but I had already run out. I glanced around for the usual suspects, but they were all in deep slumber. Besides, I knew they had run out as well. And even if I wanted to roam around to search for someone who still had some, my mind and body couldn’t coordinate properly.

I clutched my water container and clumsily dragged myself to a spot under the tree, with an opening that provided an awesome vista of the unchanged sea. There, I sat and stared blankly at the ocean with my hand holding my head for support, rehydrating at every opportunity. Friends have told me that this is my island morning habit. I tell them that water is my one, true friend.

After a good 40 minutes, I had successfully eliminated my hangover and my secondary dilemma of sleep-deprivation presented itself. I didn’t want to go back to my tent. That would’ve been regressive. I rummaged through my backpack to find my malong. I walked away from the campsite and over to the shore where I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed by the sounds caused by other people waking up. On the way, one of my classmates who was already eating her breakfast asked “Anong gagawin mo?” “Matutulog,” I casually replied.

And with that, I wrapped myself inside the malong, lay down on the cool sand and went back to sleep.

Good morning Calaguas Island.