Musings from the Open Sea

Our team was tasked to film in the open sea in Mindanao for five days. The boat didn’t have beds, didn’t have comfort room, and I had to work uncomfortably with seven men.

I’m writing about this because I’m not sure If I learned something, but I think I did. 

I am sure many women field producers like me have been where I have been and experienced even worse things. Being the boss-julalay (slave) of testosterone-filled men can bring about the most stressful, heart-wrenching, funny, unforgettable, and meaningful experiences. 

On the first day, my problem was how to pee and to top that I had a period. I did my usual tasks of supervising and making sure I had all the shots I need. But by afternoon I cannot hold it anymore. The fishermen emptied the boat storage and suggested I pee there. So wrapped in malong (a moslem cloth) and equipped with an improvised arinola (chamber pot), I learned in that instant, that women can pee standing up.

On the second day, the waves were killing me and standing up was a pain. We were getting seasick.The waves forced us to lie down the whole day. It wasn’t nice as one would expect. The horizon was blank, there was no cell phone signal, I slept with two men in a deck that can fit only one and our legs cannot stretch. We were forced to look at the clouds and amuse ourselves with the care bears, elephants, and dragons forming.. We didn’t talk about it at the time; you can’t expect men to point to the sky and say “Hey, there’s a carebear!”  But we all saw them and they gave a bit of relief.

On the third day, the waves got bigger and I was having drowning thoughts. 

We had to amuse ourselves by telling stories to one another. It has been a long time since I last listened. It was not very nice either, because the whole time, large waves would make your back hurt, and the stories make you forget them a little while. We weren’t friends; we were strangers who work together. But in the boat we relied on each other, and talked comfortably like brothers and sisters. I learned that we shared the same religion; that Vince lived in Commonwealth while Christian lives in Pateros. I was thankful to God I slept with two perfect gentlemen. We are not friends still up to now I think, but we are not strangers to each other anymore.

I also revived my love of music in a way; because after your lips grow tired of talking, you turn to music to amuse you. I sang a lot in that ocean, both worship and secular songs. But I loved the worship songs especially. It was dramatic in a way; to sing to God “When the oceans rise and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm…,” while you actually see the ocean rising. I felt like I was in the movie Titanic. We were the only boat in the ocean, but the worship songs assure us that we are not alone. We are being watched over.

On the fourth day, my problem was how to poop. But I don’t want to discuss that.

And then there was Martin. Before pulling out for the shoot, I asked him why he never had time for me, and he said “I want to change the world is that too much a goal? I miss you, but not seeing you does not ruin my life.” It felt like being dumped.

I haven’t seen him for three weeks and before I left I was insanely mourning over his lack of time. I cannot sleep for weeks and even tried to take medication. It was a case of heartbreak insomnia. At the start of my shoot in Mindanao, I was already awake for 48 hours. My menstruation came earlier than usual because of the stress.  

I realized, while staring at the marathon of big waves, that I was self-destructing and being stupid. That there is more to life. I am letting my life revolve, circulate and spin in hero worship of human love. And while singing the line from a worship song, “Jesus, You are my King… Jesus, You are my King…,” it dawned on me, that I have let a human being become my king, where only God can be. And instantly I loved Martin for being the guy who wants to change the world and whose life cannot focus on me but only on others. And how much I need to make it up to God.

On the fifth day, the issue was not taking a bath for five days and it was damn itchy. I was dead tired when we reached land. We had to swim to the shore because the waves were too big for the boat to dock properly. “It was hard enough swaying endlessly for five days, and now I had to f*cking swim?,” that was my line of thought. And so I jumped, nearly drowned, the rope attached to the boat scratched my belly and I had to shout in pain. Because of shouting, I accidentally drank sea water. So effing great. The big waves came, I was dragged… and it was… surprisingly nice. The kids swimming at the shore laughed and I had to laugh too. It was like the waves saying sorry for giving me five days of hell and I forgave them. I let the waves drag me once more.