Who knew this day would come?
One of Raft3r’s writings has found its way to the top news website
in the Philippines! This is probably the closest thing I’ll ever get to being
published.
Full and unedited text is below.
Online article, on the other hand, appears here.
Enjoy!
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Confucius said it best: Choose a job you love, and you will
never have to work a day in your life. I adhere to his philosophy.
My job has taken me all over the Philippines, most states in
America and even to some remote parts of the Pacific like the Marshall Islands.
Yup, I’m one lucky bastard.
To say that I love my job would be an understatement. Getting
paid to travel is every adventure seeker’s fantasy. The travel bug in me
screams in delight every time a new assignment is given.
Recently I went to Siquijor with my American boss.
Ah, just the mere mention of its name can send shivers down the
spine of many. I’m not one of them though. Being a huge fan of horror movies
and all things scary, I immediately welcomed the opportunity to visit a place
known for black magic and the supernatural. Besides, getting lost in a
mystical island with a foreigner would make an excellent bedtime story for my
future grandchildren.
I heard so many cool things about Siquijor: pristine beaches,
the enchanted Balete tree, waterfalls. I was excited to see them all.
The most thrilling part, of course, is the so-called dark side
of Siquijor. After all, it wasn’t called “Island
of Fire” by the Spanish colonizers for nothing. I wanted an encounter with
the occult. I knew it was a business trip but I still wanted to satisfy my
craving for an adventure with the unknown. I was excited as hell.
To get there, we traveled by air (Manila to Dumaguete), sea
(Dumaguete to Siquijor), and land (Siquijor Pier to Coco Grove). Pretty cool,
huh? The private yacht was just an icing on the cake.
When we finally docked in Siquijor, we were immediately
captivated by its beauty. Just look at the majestic scenery that greeted us. It
took us almost a half a day of traveling but it was worth it.
Prior to the trip, my dad and a few acquaintances kept warning
me against accepting food and drinks from strangers while in Siquijor. I don’t
know if the warning was because of my insatiable appetite or the fact that
people still think that Siquijor is one big spooky place.
Beware of the mambabarang (local voodoo
doctor), so they say. I certainly did not heed their warning. In fact, I came
looking for the mambabarangs of Siquijor. I was on a prowl.
Our driver cum local tour guide was quick to say that voodoo is
no longer practiced in Siquijor. That bummed me out, big time. He went on to
say how the young Siquijonons are not interested in black magic and the
supernatural. Kids are now more fascinated with modern technology. I mean who
can blame them? Texting is awesome. Yes, I am being sarcastic.
Without the mambabarang, we settled for the next big
thing. Our tour guide took us to a healer with the American as the willing
victim. The healer was a young lady in her early twenties. She claimed her gift
of healing was inherited from her lolo
(grandfather). Healer asked which part of the American’s body needed some fine
tuning. “The back,” said the latter.
Armed with warm water, a bottle, a straw, and a mysterious black
stone, the healer began to work her magic on my boss. She started rubbing the
bottle with warm water against the American’s back. This went on for about
five minutes.
The American looked very uneasy. At that point, I was just glad
I wasn’t the volunteer. I had the entire ordeal videotaped. I kinda figured it
would be good to use for blackmail, at some point in time.
When it was all over, I asked my boss how the experience was.
The American said it felt more like
massage than a healing.
There goes your black magic.
There goes your black magic.
