You asked me what brought me to Bohol?I don’t think I have the ready answers to this. Instead, I will tell you how I spent the first nights in Baclayon.
It was an uneasy mix. Diverse at one point and contented on another. On a Sunday, when memories of home raced through mind, I was struck by the repeated peals of the bells of Baclayon Church. I buried my head between two pillows until the sounds dissipated. The altar boy- in-charge tasked to pull down the ropes of the bells must be so strong he wouldn’t stop nary a second. He did a good job. The sounds were constant. The parishioners have gone home to rest from the wrappings of the recent Masses and the reminders were heard all over Baclayon. This form of quietude is Bohol’s enviable trait alongside laidback principles steeped in pious activities. But when reality seethes in, mundane relations could be irrepressibly amusing. For one, I found the story of the motor banca an interesting one.
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