by: Katrina Sevilla

Six—the number of years since I last set foot on this island. Thirteen—the number of hours I spent on the road to get here. Two—the number of hours of sleep in my bed I was able to rake in before dragging my ass out of the house to hop on a bus.

These were the thoughts in my head before the magic of Siargao’s sunrise forced me to open my eyes, seemingly nudging me off of the short-lived REM I was beginning to fall into. Ten minutes into staring at the orange skies, the ferry comes to a halt, and everyone gets ready to alight. There are no tourists on this trip, save for two women dragging carry-on suitcases while taking one too many selfies.

I need to get on a vehicle and head for General Luna where the life of the island lies, but not before I have my morning coffee. Now where can I have my first dose of caffeine in peace?

My thoughts return to the ladies with the suitcases—how does one experience the ‘island life’ that the name Siargao has become synonymous with and start with a suitcase? I realize it’s not worth pondering on, so I shrug it off lest I intend to have a frustrated next few days.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Cloud 9,” I almost choke at my response. In a few moments, I will, figuratively and literally, be on Cloud 9. I had fallen in and out of love with Siargao, and I’m not sure what to expect this time. I distract my thoughts and stare at the green scenery surrounding the narrow concrete as I scan the deep-seated memory bank lodged in my brain, wondering how accessible it will be today. It’s close to empty. Well, self, I guess we’ll need to explore again.

Enveloping General Luna is a stretch of palm trees. I gaze into this majestic view and get lost in my thoughts. The next thing I know, the locals I’d been used to seeing disappear, and I find myself staring at a Caucasian couple on a motorbike and a group of blondes in a tuktuk waving at us. I don’t need to force a smile. I wave back at them with genuine enthusiasm. I get a feeling they’d been here long.

Something about Siargao makes you feel like a tourist, and something about it makes you feel like your soul had lived here in the past. Setting foot on this enchanting island relieves you of your earthly stresses, and for a moment, you envision spending the rest of your days here. It’s Siargao’s curse, I think to myself.

As soon as I reach Cloud 9, I forget I’m in the Philippines. Someone once told me I’d feel like the tourist here—foreigners are like the locals. It’s a weird sight, but it also amazes me. How on earth did this happen? How are they so in love with Siargao? How are there so many people from all over the world walking around barefoot, sharing a laugh with dark-skinned Siargaonons like they grew up under the same roof as kids? It’s amazing to say the least.

It’s 4 o’clock. I’m supposed to be surfing, but I need another caffeine fix. Ah, what the hell. I might find coffee near the boardwalk. I change into my surfing clothes and just leave everything behind, save for some cash.

The boardwalk is riddled with tourists, travelers, and locals with different skin colors—white, black, and brown. Damn. What I’d give to be called a ‘local’ here. I shrug off the wishful thinking—I’ve been getting a lot of them since I got here—and search for answers to my unending questions: Why are all these people here? Heck, why am I here?

I wander towards the water and, in my peripheral vision, catch tourists taking snaps in infamous structures, and I see more of them as I pass the boardwalk. Deep inside, I’m fighting the urge to ask them what brought them here. I have a few days to observe, I tell myself.

Despite exploring Siargao for the third time, it doesn’t feel at all like I’m going to get tired of it. It’s still as captivating as it was before. Only, you notice the influx of tourists.

New shops emerge left and right, all within an arm’s reach of the main road you struggle to get through during peak hours. Food is good, and the coastal vibe is vibin’. This is the island life. Had I been born with generational wealth, I’d relocate here in a heartbeat.

But why?

In my quest to find the heart of Siargao, I realize I’d only been here for hours. Siargao has a way of forming an immediate bond with your being, creating a sense of instant belongingness. I come to the conclusion that this is where the magic lies. As soon as you surrender to the island, you immediately feel at home, making any feeling of restlessness just dissipate and making you immune to the stressors you left behind. After all, they’ve been left behind for a reason.

For some, coming to the island is a breath of fresh air. One may feel one’s systems had been rebooted and one’s soul renewed. Some embark on a journey to find their unclear inner desires, hesitant to let worldly things influence where their joy should truly lie. Even the most stoic of them find solace and appreciation as the island entraps their souls.

What makes them stay? I realize it’s not mere hype that draws people to this place.

The heart of Siargao lies not in its sandy beaches, amazing surf breaks, Instagrammable backdrops of greenery, jaw-dropping mini islands, or world-class diving spots. Its heart, as one would expect, lies in its inhabitants.

You see, foreign and local tourists and travelers find themselves drawn to Siargao on account of wanting to experience the island life. Those who want to live it have better luck. This vibe does not happen instantaneously. In fact, some tourists might find that they did not experience this at all. It only happens when one succumbs to Siargao’s arguably captivating aura.

Siargao has welcomed every soul that has wished to be a part of it, whether temporarily, semi-permanently, or for good, without judgment or hesitation. After quick tête-à-têtes with newer established inhabitants of Siargao hailing from different parts of the world, I have only ever realized what made them choose this paradise.

The locals of Siargao who remain unbothered by new faces settling in and some even setting up shop on their land—unwary of different colored skins now embraced as ‘locals’ as well—are unabashed by their land becoming increasingly occupied by business-minded and island-loving people alike. These locals, who share genuine smiles to these new inhabitants while nodding their heads, shaking their hands or offering them high-fives, have refused to change their lives to accommodate their new neighbors and friends.

Instead, they have chosen to be accepting of anyone who wishes to relocate to their island, offering to help in any and in all possible ways during transitions. Their homes are open to those who have yet to find a place to stay. Their tables are available to those who have empty stomachs. Their knowledge is available to those who need to find a means to make a living. Their island is yours. Just keep it safe. Yet, they go on with their lives as if nothing happened.

Locals have not turned Siargao into a tourism-driven destination hellbent on profiting from the hundreds of tourists who arrive in the island on a daily basis. The locals of Siargao make us realize you can never be too warm—you can never be too kind. They love seeing tourists revel in their beautiful reserves. They love seeing travelers experience their culture. They love seeing people just fall in love with Siargao and either come back regularly or just choose to stay, for a long time or for a lifetime.

They are the heart of Siargao.

As I pack my bags and head for the port of the ferry that’ll take me back home, the sadness I had anticipated wasn’t there. I was far from sad that I was leaving. I was glad to have been there, and I was already mentally checking the calendar for good days to come back. It’s always been this way. I just know I’ll be back.

I’ll definitely be back.