In Transit

"At talagang kinunan mo ng picture ha?"

I said while we stood at the bend, on a bridge gutting out of the reclaimed land. 

In front of us was the other face of the famed bay, seldom seen in postcards but breathtaking and inspiring nonetheless. To the fisher folks who live in ramshackle houses, the bay remains a fulcrum in their see-saw lives. They flocked its shores to mark the passing of another day, while on the horizon, the sun makes an encore as it paints the sea in electric blue. 

I was astonished at how my companion's eyes sparkled as he gazed into the emptiness. It was past six in the evening and dusk had already spread its curtains across the sky.

"Balik ulit tayo dito kapag may araw pa." I assured as we inched closer towards the concrete beam. We stayed there until what remains of the day is but a sliver of light from the sun. We then returned to the street junction to continue our destination.

What I didn't tell is that my eyes see the landscape in different hues. Passing the same road every time I visit my relatives, I've seen that bend and the sea at different times of the day. 

I could bring my companion again at some other time, so he could take pictures while the sea shimmers and the street urchins take an afternoon dip.

But with my life at the mercy of the fulcrum, who knows where our transient, but common path is heading?

Nevertheless, I saw many things that twilight - grimy-faced toddlers clinging to their street-spawned mothers; young cocky men in motor bikes on their way to the fish port, the long empty stretch of the circumferential road, and the moon, yes, the full moon gracing the eastern sky. My eyes were everywhere - save for one direction:

The pair of lovely eyes in front of me.

Unfortunately, uncertainty still blurs my vision. Even kindred spirits fail to find each other when one remains blinded by a memory. 

The joy awashed on my companion's face may have come from the fleeting seascape, or maybe from stepping foot to a realm he had seen only in maps and visions. But for me, until I find my peace, and a history cease breaking me into chunks of dry rock, all I can lay claim for the present are the ephemeral moments I now share with another.