The Sea Is Ours Read Free Page A

is even scarier when you realize that the only thing keeping you from falling is the sound of your instrument.
    My hands started to shake.
    The craft listed suddenly to one side, almost throwing us off balance. I fought the urge to look back to see if Papa was alright.
    â€œCareful! Be confident of your skills. Do not hesitate,” he commanded me firmly.
    I took a deep breath and played on, as calmly as I could, one note at a time.
    The craft righted itself and floated steadily higher.
    Through it all, I kept my gaze fixed forward. I had always been afraid of heights.
    â€œNo, no! You have to look down, Aria! Fight your fear. You need to know your craft’s altitude so you can make adjustments.”
    He was right, of course. But I felt dizzy looking down at the floor.
    â€œDon’t worry, that’s right. That’s good. Now move forward.”
    I adjusted my stance and bowing as I had been taught.
    I took a deep breath and steadied my hands. Thankfully, the skiff obeyed my notes.
    At last, my father placed his hand gently on my shoulder, signaling me to descend.
    The skiff touched the ground with a soft thud.
    Papa helped me out of the harness.
    â€œTo fly,” he said, “You must learn to surrender yourself to the music.”
    He touched a finger to my forehead.
    â€œTrust the music. As long as you hear it in your head, you’ll be fine.”
    ~*~
    It should come as no surprise that, despite their colonial trappings, the numerous lay aviation movements—of which the Cofradia was the most notable and widespread—were firmly rooted in the native spirituality of the peasants to whom the awe-inspiring butanding were but a commonplace miracle since before Hispanic times.
    Fundamental to this spirituality was the concept of sacrifice, a virtue that the friars themselves fostered and propagated in ostensible emulation of Christ.
    â€”Reynaldo Ileto, “Pasyon and Revolution,” 1979
    ~*~
    I was sixteen when I finally earned my wings.
    â€œThere is nothing more I can teach you,” Papa said. “All that is left is for you to undergo your biñag, the rite of passage that we all must undertake before initiation into the Cofradia.
    â€œBut you need to be ready.”
    He sat down beside me and held my hand.
    â€œThere is a reason, you see, why so few are accepted into our ranks. Understand that, if I guide you on this path, you may not like what you discover. And there is no turning back, for both of us. Are you prepared for that?”
    I did not hesitate. I nodded my assent.
    â€œVery well, then. Tomorrow we travel to Mount Taal.”
    ~*~
    Little is known about the Philippine “sky whales” (Clarias volantis) or butanding, as they are called in the common tongue, other than that they are unique among the fauna of the world as they are the only animal yet discovered to have successfully made the developmental leap from an aquatic to an almost purely airborne lifecycle.
    We also know that the creatures owe this singular existence to their heavy consumption of gravidium, which they scrape off the mountainside as a rodent would nibble on tree bark.
    It is no wonder then that the butanding’s habitat is severely limited almost exclusively to the island of Luzon, where the only known stores of naturally-occurring gravidium were a closely guarded secret of the Spanish government.
    â€”John Foreman, FRGS, “The Philippine Islands,” 1905
    ~*~
    I had never been so far away from home before.
    It was a pleasure watching the green countryside pass below us as the coach made its way through the rural arrabales of Cavite.
    The conductor was very pleasant, a thin man with a well-groomed moustache, dressed in a formal barong.
    â€œI wish I could take you farther, but you know that the civil government is very strict here,” he said as we alighted.
    â€œDon’t worry, capatid, I know,” Papa said, offering a tip to the