Finding Home

"Ako po si Ronald, Surf Instructor 'nyo," he says. He holds out his hand.  He is slim in stature, around 5'3" tall. He has clean-cut hair and an easy, kind  smile. He is only 18  years old, a grade 12 student at the local high school. He lays the board on the sand and says, "Sir, Ma'am, 3 safety rules muna tayo, bago mag simula." (Let's know the three safety rules of surfing.) He proceeds to orient us with it in a clear, gentle but very firm voice. While he is laying out the rules, he looks at my husband. "Nakuha, Sir?" (Did you understand the rules?) He then turns to look at me.  "Ulitin ko Ma'am ha."(I'll repeat the rules.) He repeats the rules this time directing them  specifically to me. And then he looks at both of us and says, "Last time Sir and Ma'am ha. Para sigurado." (Just to make sure, I'll repeat it one last time.) Ronald reiterates the safety rules the third time. A good 15 minute

"The masculinity of the piano. The sensuality of the cello. The singular beauty of the flute. How these three created this one beautiful body of music that was not only soulful but created a kind of revolution in the heart..." It is a few days after the beautiful concert and still, the last remaining notes left by the virtuoso pianist, cellist and flutist linger in the spaces of my memory. What started out to be  simple invitation turned out to be something more. It became more of an experience that was meant to be felt by the entire body and mind in a time where music could simply be selected from an app and heard through a blue tooth speaker, where passion can be seemingly plastered on various social media sites with hashtags as long as what a carefully crafted caption could be. The word "witness" comes to mind. The word "presence", too. In a place only just beginning to rebirth the arts, these two are primordial as food and water. But take away thi