Sunshine in Shadow
By Melissa Aguto as published in Bandillo Batanes

(Sunshine in Shadow is an award winning essay of Melissa Aguto at Saint Mary's High School. Melissa is the daughter of Ramon and Lerma Aguto of Kitchener, Ontario. This essay was originally published in the Ivatan Gazette, Canada, June 30, 1999)

The only time that bittersweet tears ever came to my eyes was on a blistering hot 1994 summer day, the day my family and I took a plane to Manila, the capital city of the Philippines.

A 16-hour flight was not exactly the way I wanted to spend the beginning of my vacation, but my older brother and I found ways to kill the time. Taking candid shots with our camcorder quickly became a favorite, even if every five minutes we heard, "Put that camera away!"

The dryness of the cabin had my throat feeling like a dessert and my thirst was raging. But I was sure that if I heard, "Would you like a beverage, Miss?" from one more attendant, I would scream.

Halfway through the flight, Gary, my partner in camcorder crime, also fell asleep. I tried to nap; however, those gauss-like pillows did nothing for me except be an excellent conductor of static electricity. While valiantly trying to calm my unruly hair, I wondered just what would keep me amused during my visit to the Philippines. We would be staying on Batan Island, an Island smaller than Kitchener located as far as I can be from the mainland.

My pre-adolescent attitude helped in keeping the smug half-smile on my face, as my family members woke up to the sight of a camera lens staring at them, like a hunter watching its prey. Fortunately for them, we were already descending. It wasn't the first time my Canadian-born blood had ever visited the country of my roots, but it would be the first time I would be seeing it through the stubborn eyes of 11-year old defiance.

Upon arrival in the sticky, humid toaster oven they call Manila, we immediately boarded a timid propeller plane that would take us to the island. I doubt that this tin can with wings could carry the 50 passengers all the way to the island. Reluctantly, I followed my family up the narrow, metal staircase.

The low ceiling and small seats made our last flight feel like First Class. However, all criticizing thoughts left my mind as the plane ascended gracefully into the sky like a baby eagle taking its first majestic flight.

The view from my window was unforgettable. While misty clouds gave way to bright sunshine and clear, blue-green ocean. To my increasing wonderment, I spotted few white marine animals that sliced through the dark-blue abyss like shooting stars through a clear night sky. When we passed over a cratered island, sprinkled randomly with dark -green vegetation, my father told me that it was the ghost of a former eruption and I tingled in wide-eyed amazement.

My eyes did not leave the window the entire time and the voice of the captain gave me quite a start. "We will be landing at Basco Airport momentarily. Thank you for flying Philippine Airlines." Suddenly, I could not wait to set foot on the tropical paradise, untouched by first-world technology. The plane shook as we descended through milky-white clouds and emerged to the brilliant sunshine that beamed down upon tiny Batan Island. We had arrived.

The aircraft slowly rolled to stop, close to the small, brick building that served as the Basco Airport Terminal. A chained-linked fence that bordered the property separated us from our waiting friends and relatives.

With sweat already beginning to appear on my forehead, I glanced up and saw a sight I will remember for all time - my grandparents standing on the other side of the fence. They saw us and the weariness in their eyes departed, only to be replaced by a radiant joy that shone like the sun never will. I looked into the eyes of my grandmother, a healthy 90 year old and not a word was spoken as she put a trembling hand through one of the holes of the fence. I looked down at the hand that has worked for a decade to bring up eight children, one of them, my mother. I clasped my hand around hers and slowly bent my forehead down to touch the back of her hand - a custom in the Philippines, as a sign of respect to one's elders.

I straightened up and again looked into eyes that had seen more that I ever will, I felt hot tears spring into my eyes as a smile found its way across the sagging skin and deep grooves of my grandmother's face. I then realized that it could very well be the last time that I would ever see her again. At the same time I was fighting back these tears of sorrow, I felt the corners of my mouth tugging upwards. I might have been able to struggle those tears back, but my grandmother's beaming at me was just too much. I gave in to the urge and returned a smile that was much like her own.