The wind whipped like there was no tomorrow through the narrow streets of Chavayan Village. I was in Batanes, the dream destination of most travelers in the country. There was almost no one around except the silent stone houses and a bunch of giggling kids rolling a plastic drum. Approaching them, I asked what they were doing. They replied in tongues foreign to my ears, controlling their laughter at the task at hand, that is to roll the drum with another kid riding inside.
While absolutely no trace of the Filipino language was uttered from their innocent mouths, I was still able to communicate through smiles and gestures with these Ivatan children.
A realization occurred to me then—had they spoken to me in Filipino, that magical moment I witnessed would have been totally different. It would have transformed it into something ordinary; reduced to a street scene perhaps at the crowded alleyways of Manila.
It would have lost its magic. It would have lost its charm.
