More Portraits: Sabtang

Chavayan boys and me. I look like a pedophile here. And they look like a young gay couple. Hehehe. Ooops, sorry. Hmmm, this looks like a shot from war-torn Vietnam in the 60s.

Crying for mama. "Mama, the fat lady is taking my picture..." Savidug, Sabtang, Batanes.

Little boy staring at me from the driver’s seat of the jeepney on the way to Ivana. He's probably thinking, "What's this fat lady doing in here?" I was the only passenger then.=)

Boy making faces. Barangay Chavayan, Sabtang, Batanes.

Very nice smile. But they could sure use a dentist here. Savidug, Batanes.

She’s devouring her corn, while trying to make the pogi sign. Good girl. Chavayan, Sabtang, Batanes.

Puppy love? Buti pa sila. Sana ako rin meron. =( (eeew!)

Another rare geriatric shot. He was worried he had no teeth, but was gracious enough to flash me a nice, genuine smile. Savidug, Sabtang, Batanes.

Girl with the pink bonnet. Also in Savidug, Sabtang, Batanes.

After looking at these portraits, I realize one very important fact. In this life we are all travelers. As we move along, we meet people. By some strange design of fate, we get entangled in a variety of situations: in our schools, in our jobs, in our travels, in the streets, in the malls, in the LRT, even in ways as fascinating as blogs or as absurd as Friendster. In one way or another, we connect with them and they connect with us. And then after that brief interaction we just pass each other by, often without even realizing it, without even saying "Bye, it was nice meeting you."

I wonder who decides who meets who. I wonder who gets to decide whether we get to meet these people again in our future journeys. No matter how we try to keep the connection going, we just have to move on without them.

So many people, names and faces already forgotten, so many interesting individuals out there to meet, and know, and invariably lose in the future. Sometimes thinking about all these makes me tired, and sad, disappointed in the vanity of it all.

But then I remember those ones I meet again and again, those who share more than a nod, or a smile, or a shallow conversation. Those who will surely be welcoming me when I come home, the same people who will patiently listen to my adventures even if I rant about them again and again, the ones who have their own journeys but who consider it worth their while to walk with me or to find me again. Then the peace returns.

People will always come and go and all they leave behind are their portraits in our memories.

But what would matter the most, are the ones we get to keep.