by CZERIZHA KAIZEL S. ADZUARA
THERE WAS hardly a rise and fall of the tides. Ramil approached the waters, a seastorm stirring within his chest. He watched the graceful ebb and flow of the sea—in hopes to find serenity in the coastline.
Alone and deep in thought, Ramil settled down in the sand. He felt a subtle discomfort as the sand sank his rubber shoes. The grains caused a sharp pain on his soles.
Then there came the drizzle and the western monsoon breeze.
Nonetheless, Ramil was heedless of them all. There was a stronger hurricane propelling inside him, caused by the turbulent stream of his life.
He did not need to be engulfed by the tides to drown.
Ramil had always thought of ways to tame the winds, and he always found them on the shore.
He pondered if he could rest the same way he was brought into the world: submerged in a body of water, or be among the poets who chose the silence of depths.
However, the sea desired not to pull him. The gentle waves only reached for the tip of his shoes as if the seafoam was tenderly pushing him away.
Suddenly, the waves were basked in afternoon sunbeams. The murky clouds withdrew with their drizzle. The sound of the stream and arriving people hushed his thoughts. The inner seastorm was eased for a while.
Not today then, Ramil thought, and he felt the salt air wind kiss his face. F