It started as a typical party with the DJ playing hits from the ’80s like Abba until Beyonce’s “Cuff It” hits and rocks the dance floor.
There I was. Singing and dancing at the corner of a high-rise bar in the middle of Urbiztondo; the entire scene oblivious to the quiet and chaos of La Union. It was my first time. And if I didn’t receive the message “Tara Elyu!” from my friend a week ago, I wouldn’t have thought of coming. Truth be told, I was on the verge of bailing out a day before just so I could spend the weekend catching up on the pile of tasks I needed to do. Maybe, I could squeeze in some work in the middle of the trip. But that was a lie to free me from the guilt of choosing a short vacation over my job.
I was convinced that “Next time!” wasn’t the ideal response. With barely a few hours of sleep, there I was with my two friends on the expressway to an unfamiliar location. It was rather spontaneous. No solid plans. We just needed to be there. It was only the day before that we clearly settled our way to La Union—a five-hour drive that turned into eight after a series of detours and stopovers: chikahan in North Luzon Expressway, “authentic” sisig revelry in Pampanga, and an unplanned pilgrimage to Manaoag to pray our worries away.
We arrived at sunset. Just in time for the nightlife.
We shared a table with strangers: two geologists working in the region, a local who is now a corporate slave in Ortigas and his friends—a cloud engineer and another who owns a beach in Boracay, and a girl who recently ended a two-year relationship. Then there was us, my two girlfriends who both work in advertising, and me: a burnout twentysomething, fresh from college, and now a development worker.
A couple of beers later, I couldn’t remember any of their names despite the handshake, subtle flirting, and the usual banter of “Where do you live” and “What do you do now.” But one string tied us all together—the jadedness in our eyes because of a plethora of reasons. Mostly because of work. Migrating to another country. Healing from trauma. Escaping realities.
Elyu party hits differently. It’s not the college rave you go to after an exam or the Friday chill hits in Poblacion or BGC. It’s definitely something more. Sure, the beach is meant for surfers and not for the fainthearted ones. But the community you immerse yourself in leaves you ruminating at night, urging you to write an essay about it.
What is it with surf towns like Urbiztondo that makes it so easy to come back?
Maybe because it was the destination of dismembered dreams. Tourists go back and forth to reignite the sparkle in their eyes. Then there are the fresh graduates running away from the horrors of the hustle culture. Those whose passions were extinguished from having to pay the bills. The alleyways are where conversations of having to reclaim oneself reside. The blind spots formed after the sunset are the ideal rendezvous of drunken conversations on life crises.
And if things remain the same, I’ll find myself and the others going back again.
Because Elyu is never a dreamcatcher. It’s never meant for dreamers. It’s a place you go to when the tidal waves of adulting leave you drowning. It’s where the maps lead for someone seeking a creative impulse. The long drive is an introspection of the things that went wrong and the choices you did right. Whether you stand still on the beach embracing the salty breeze of the ocean or you aimlessly dance in the middle of flickering lights and pulsating music, you don’t ponder what life could be for you. Rather, you bask in the moment and eulogize the death of your aspirations in life.
Elyu is for the wanderers—those lost, reconfiguring what life offers.
I didn’t go there to find myself. That was never the plan. It wasn’t to take a break either. If I did, then I would have not brought work with me. I would have preferred staying in bed that weekend to catch up on my sleep debt. But I was on a long drive; meeting new people as if I haven’t had enough strangers to deal with in the development sector; staying until two in the morning partying with people I just met.
I guess that’s the thing about Elyu. Life as we know it transforms into something whimsical. A place that for a brief moment washes away your longing. It traps you in a box of temporary bliss only to free you up from the world of despair. It’s a wonderland for the aimless souls—mingling in a night of freedom, a sojourn for the lost beings.
Elyu. It’s fleeting; often spontaneous.
And that fleeting temporary ephemeral feeling is what I constantly deal with. I think of time based on the number of beer bottles on the table, the hit music vibrating on the speakers, or the calmness of the sea waves that caress my feet. It’s meant to be short-lived.
When the DJ blasts its last song, I’m taken aback by the reality I need to confront: the life beyond Urbiztondo.
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Farley Bermeo Jr., 24, graduated summa cum laude from the University of the Philippines Los Baños in 2022. He now works for an international development organization.