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write not as an expert in marine conservation (because I am not) but as
a person who was once a child not too long ago. I want to share with you
my feelings where the issue of conserving our marine environment is concerned.
I grew up in the city, but I consider my self a taga-baybayon (coastal
dweller) at heart. My siblings and I have very fond memories of life by
the sea as we spent most of our childhood summers in Baclayon. This is
a coastal town in Bohol, where my mother grew up. It is also the mainland
town right across Pamilacan Island, now controversial for its whale shark-hunting
practices. My great, great grandparents had a big old house right beside
the sea, with only the huge and ancient mangroves, pagatpatan, standing
between them and the vast blue yonder.
Every day of many summers (except the days of the Holy week, when outings
at sea were forbidden), we would go to the shore with cousins and watch
those little colorful agokoy (crabs) as they scampered on the sand. The
song "Si Filemon" was very real to us then because we knew what
tambasakan (mudskippers) were and constantly saw them skipping about in
the mud.
We went out to shore at low tide to go panginhas (gleaning) with the local
folk; enjoyed slurping the soup and eggs of sinugbang swaki (grilled sea
urchin); cried and sighed with relief when, after stepping on tuyom (that
type of sea urchin which is black and has very long spines), someone would
pee on the spine imbedded on a foot and the spine would melt in front
of our eyes. Fish were abundant then, as were shells, corals and many
other fascinating sea creatures.
Truly, summers by the shore of Baclayon were magical when I was a young
child.
Now I am a mother. One of the very first words my son uttered, besides
"mama" and "papa", was "dadat" (sea). My
son loves the sea, and all the creatures that go with it, so we try to
bring him to the dagat (sea) as often as we can.
Unfortunately, the sea is not as abundant as it was when I was younger
(although, as I now recall, the old folks also said the same thing when
I was a child). The most common creature we now see when we go panginhas
on the shores of Dumanjug, my husband's hometown, are umang (hermit crabs).
And one has to go far, far from the shore to find anything at all. The
stones have been turned and exposed too often and most times one will
only find sea spiders underneath.
Dolphin and whale sightings, once common during those summer days as we
crossed the sea from Cebu to Bohol, are now rare. The most abundant display
of live fishes my son has seen is that at the pet shop in the mall, the
most recent starfishes are the ones on display in souvenir shops, now
dry and without life, and the only big fishes he will see, unless we take
the whale sighting tours in Bais, are those on posters or in the shows
of the Discovery and National Geographic channels.
All these point to the alarming fact that we humans have depleted and
now threaten to irreversibly destroy our marine resources. That we, who
are responsible for this negligence, have the obligation to make amends.
And so we have become a little more vigilant about the environment. We
are now conscious of the 3R's: reduce, reuse and recycle. We have "I
Love the Ocean" movements. And, along the coast of Baclayon and many
other areas, both children and adults have planted mangroves which have
now grown taller and more lush than at any time in recent memory. My mother
has even found the strength to call Bantay Dagat (citizens' sea patrol)
to help drive away the people cutting the mangroves behind our house.
And these efforts, although not enough, have gained fruit. Last summer,
my mother called to say, "Namalik na ang mga isda!" (The fish
are back!). They had woke up one morning to find the mangroves behind
our house abounding in fish fry. Now we see more crabs and hear more bird
sounds, and the blue kingfishers have come back!
Only recently, I watched a show featuring the efforts of the Pollilio
folk in Quezon Province to protect their sea. They, too, say, "Bumalik
na ang mga isda." (The fish are back.)
We have begun conserving the environment to ultimately protect ourselves.
In the course of pursuing this selfish motive of self-preservation, we
have become more humble. We now acknowledge that we are but a part of
this great balance of life on earth and that nature will not always be
there to serve us. Nature, in fact, has denied us its bounty when we became
too selfish and greedy. We know, however, that Nature can be generous
for as long as we find the courage to care.
I believe we must conserve the environment not only to save ourselves
but also to give meaning to our existence. By the mere act of caring,
we make life more meaningful, not only because we assure the survival
of the next generations, but also because we get to feed our souls.
Feeding the soul is having good childhood memories of panginhas by the
shore; snorkeling in the waters of Apo Island where clown fish peck at
your mask and schools of fish surround you; or wading in the shallow waters
of Olango Island to watch flocks of birds feeding in the vast sandflat.
Feeding the soul is caring enough to want to let your children and their
children experience for themselves equally happy days by the sea.
Feeding the soul is hearing stories of old times when the sea was both
generous and selfish. It is retelling the stories that keep animals long
made extinct alive in our minds. The folk tales about duyong (sea cows)
in Lao-ang, Samar are not mere myths but stories of dugong that once lived
in the sea of Samar. The dugong has remained real to us, if only as part
of Waray mythology.
Feeding the soul is remembering your tears falling as you listened behind
tall walls to a dolphin crying out as it is transported on a tricycle
to market. It is keeping alive your intense desire to save it, throwing
aside your feeling of helplessness, and remaining true to your vow to
make that positive difference when you finally can.
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