Brief Pagudpud Memoirs: The Rock

I'm back in Pagudpud once more. Since I first stepped foot into its sandy beaches, there has always been a sense of familiarity about this small town, as far from it as I've grown up. I had been aching for a break from the numbing grimy stench of city life and consequently grabbed the next opportunity to pack up and look north. This time around, I found myself exploring the more known sites of the province.

The rock was an lesson in humility. Kapurpurawan, as it was called, had an initial sense of gloriousness that lent itself to the viewer when first beholding the white formation. Pride was the one word to describe it, bringing to mind the image of an old and wise mandrill raising a lion cub up high. Upon reaching the far side, however, one saw the raw savageness of nature's fury. Monstrous wave after monstrous wave crashed upon the rock as if Poseidon himself had cried havoc, leaving the nearby tidal pools afroth with sea foam.

Throughout the rage of the waters and the howling wind that constantly threatened to throw us all into the maelstrom, we were able to find peace sheltered in a small crook of the same rock that was steadfastly protecting us, standing resolutely on and commanding the sea to wait yet one more day. And, in that instant, in that feeling of utter helplessness in the face of such a display, I also felt strangely happy, as if life was whispering in my ear and telling me to remember the moment, that one glimmer in time where I was profoundly weak yet supremely secure.

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