By Neal H. Cruz
It will be officially summer a week from now, and Holy Week two weeks later when the annual exodus to the provinces and the resorts begins.
By Peter Wallace
I visited Aklan last week on the invitation of Rep. Ted Haresco to witness the groundbreaking for a new concrete bridge. The new bridge is important not only because it will improve traffic from Kalibo to Caticlan and then on to Boracay but also because it signaled new life after the devastating effects of Supertyphoon “Yolanda/Haiyan.”
Murder in paradise. That headline has applied to Boracay on a number of occasions in the last few years, as the avalanche of visitors to the island and its pell-mell race to development have led to incidents of shocking crime. The most gruesome had been the deaths of architect John Cowperthwaite, art dealer Manfred Schoeni, German developer Anton Forstenhausler and their maid Irma Sarmiento in 2004; they bore multiple stab wounds when found in their beds at the villa owned by Forstenhausler on the island.
By Anna Marie A. Karaos
On the tiny island of Boracay there is a treasure arguably more valuable than its famed white beaches—the way of life of the island’s earliest settlers, the Ati. But that is a well-kept secret. If resort developers have their way, the once dutiful stewards of the island’s forests will be wiped off the map of Boracay and forgotten forever.
By Neal H. Cruz
(Continued from Monday) The two short stories that won in the Varsitarian literary contests were later published by This Week, the Sunday magazine of The Manila Chronicle. The Varsitarian prize money, plus the money paid to me by the magazines, paid for my tuition, books, and other expenses. The next year, I took [...]
By Ma. Ceres P. Doyo
Around this time last year, I spoke with Delsa Supitran Justo, Ati leader from Boracay. Her people, she told me, were being barred from occupying their ancestral land in the so-called island paradise (not anymore, if you ask me) that was their ancestors’ home since the dawn of time. I wrote a piece titled “Boracay Ati barred from ancestral domain.” She said in the language I could understand: “Panginmatyan namon ini kay amon ini.” (We will lay down our lives for this land because it is ours.)
The first time I went to Boracay was in 1985. Though it was very nice then because there were few people, I don’t suffer from false nostalgia because, I must admit, it’s good to have running water and electricity on the island.
My trip to Boracay was a gift from my visiting nieces who coaxed me to join them island-hopping—not my idea of fun—on a motorized boat for hire on the beach. The waves were unpredictable, sometimes calm, but sometimes high and angry. Our only life-saving gears were the safety vests which served as jackets against splashing waves.