Despite going to bed after 12:30 again, I set my alarm to wake me up at 7am today. I wanted to go for a long walk, an hour or more, and even checked the tide tables to be sure I'd have enough time and beach to do so. I made toast, took my pill and went over my new Spanish flashcards, just like I'd planned last night. Lately I've been waking up only to say, "Ah screw it, I'm on vacation."
I wasn't originally going to bring my iPod or brand spanking new headphones (Only thirteen dollars here, can you believe it!? I paid twenty-five for them back home, on crazy-sale.) but after a short debate that really was just to justify the already-made decision, I brought them on the condition I listen only to relaxing, thoughtful music; no DnB, DJ ____, house, beeping/wompwomp stuff.
Halfway between the house and the point that's past Well Beach and the boat repair, I saw rainclouds drifting purposefully across the sea. I saw the haze of rain falling over the ocean, but still I kept walking. I figured I'd be ahead of the rain, and if it caught up to me, I could hide under flat-topped, thorny trees that punctuate the beach. By the time I rounded the point, the spits of rain were turning to tiny drops and I knew I had to find shelter if I wanted my electronics to survive.
Isn't that a sad sentence?
I mean, I'd known since I saw the raincloud, and I was aware of knowing; I ignored the information, stubbornly pressing on. Ego overrode essence.
I looked for a dry place, but the trees didn't look promising. The breeze picked up to a good wind, blowing harder every couple of seconds before falling back down; rise and fall, repeat. There was no way I'd make it to the boat repairs and Well Beach Resort unless I ran over rocks, shells and some glass. There was an unfinished shack, raised off of the sand, next to an abandoned boat cabin within distance. I trotted over and climbed into the shack, testing each worn patch of floor, where there was any. The roof frame was set up, but only a 1/4 section covered. I realized it wasn't unfinished, as I had thought, but that it was another victim of the typhoon that passed through in December. A pile of wood sat behind it on the inland side, blown off and mixed in with crisp, sun-dried coconut palm-fronds. Unfortunately the only section of floor wasn't under the only section of roof, meaning my iPod and headphones were still getting rained on. I peered around for another shelter, noted the boat cabin, and relocated.
There wasn't much room under the cabin. A massive, rusting motor sat dead center, so that I'd have to stick my bikini-clad bottom on the sand and in ant-territory if I wanted to be completely sheltered. I opted instead to put the electronics well under cover, and forme to sit at the open end of the cabin. I was partially protected by a thick square board, peeling faded, blue paint laying against one corner of the opening. Iwas waiting for it fall, ready to jump out of the way and probably bang a body part into the rusty engine.
A guy who looked about 15 walked by in the rain, smiling the "Oh Hi Foreign Girl" smile when he caught sight of me huddled under the cabin. The rain picked up and he came to stand under the overhang of the 1/4 section of roof, outside of the battered structure. When, after ten minutes, he stepped out to check the sky to the east, where the wind almost always blows from, I asked him,
"Is it clearing up at all?"
"Whaaa--?" He looked confused.
"The rain clouds, are they going away?" I asked. "No?" I filled in the blanks when he smiled blankly and moved his head in a nod-shake-circle. He had no idea what I was asking him; he wore the same look as me when Sol (*my stepmom, or as the Spanish say, mi madrastra) starts talking to me in Tagalog and finishes in English.
It was a half hour before the sky cleared up enough to head home. About ten minutes in, I texted Dad, asking if he could see any sun down at his end, to the east. He predicted the rain would pass in about fifteen minutes, and was right, of course. At first my ego flared up, turning the simple rainstorm into a melodrama from which I needed to be rescued. I listened to Jack Johnson in my head, let go and enjoyed the pattering of the rain; isn't getting caught in the rain a bucket list type event/item? I was still warm in my bikini, and the ants were keeping away from me for the most part. I watched a spider hopping on an old coconut frond, amazed at how well I could see his/her raised eyes and mouth pincers. It looked like s/he was watching me, evaluating, while s/he cleaned/groomed each pincer. I'm sorry to say I shook the frond lightly in a brief swell of fear, and she tumbled into the pile of fronds & wood worn by the insects and elements.
Bonk.
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