My future Journey

CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3: The Voice of the Sea

1.

Three weeks had passed since the feast in Quiapo, and Aera’s days had fallen into a new rhythm. Every morning, she’d wake up before the sun rose, eat breakfast with her family, then take the jeepney to Quiapo with Kael—who had declared himself “official garden helper and song leader”—to meet Liza at their new community garden spot.

The empty lot they were transforming had once been nothing but dirt and broken concrete, but now it was alive with green shoots and bright smiles. With help from Liza’s Lola, Aera’s parents, and dozens of volunteers from the neighborhood, they’d cleared away the rubble, built raised beds from recycled wood, and planted everything from tomatoes and eggplants to herbs and flowers. The children who came to help had painted colorful murals on the surrounding walls—depicting scenes of the sea, mountains, rice terraces, and people working together to grow food and build community.

“Look how tall the okra is getting!” Kael shouted one morning, pointing at a row of plants that had already grown taller than him. He was holding a small watering can he’d decorated with stickers of cats and superheroes, carefully pouring water at the base of each plant.

Liza laughed as she tied up a tomato vine to a stake made from bamboo. “That’s because you sing to them every day, Kael. You told me your songs make them grow faster.”

“It’s true!” he insisted. “I sing ‘The Seed Song’ and ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and sometimes I make up my own songs about how strong and happy they should be.”

Aera smiled as she checked the soil around a row of waling-waling orchids she’d planted in a shaded corner—cuttings that Liza’s Lola had given her, saying they’d been grown from plants her great-great-grandmother had brought from Davao decades ago. She’d been keeping a detailed journal of everything they’d planted, noting which seeds grew best in which spots, what the children liked to help with most, and all the stories they shared while working in the garden.

She pulled out the map her great-great-grandmother had left her and looked at the next clue: At the edge of the sea where the waves speak—choose your direction. Liza’s Lola had told them about a place in Batangas—about three hours south of Manila—where her own grandmother had gone with Aera’s great-great-grandmother many years ago. She’d described it as a small cove where the water was clear and calm, and where people said the waves whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen.

“We should go this weekend,” Aera said to Liza, folding the map and putting it back in her pocket. “My parents said they’d drive us if we wanted to go. We can take the seeds Liza’s Lola gave us and plant them where the waves can reach them.”

Liza’s eyes lit up. “My Lola said she’d come too! She knows all the stories about that place—she says the sea there helped her grandmother decide what kind of life she wanted to live.”

2.

The drive to Batangas was an adventure in itself. Aera’s father had borrowed his cousin’s van so they could all go together—Aera, Kael, Liza, Liza’s Lola Elena (who shared Aera’s mother’s name), and Aera’s parents. Kael and Liza spent most of the ride looking out the window, pointing at every coconut tree, carabao, and colorful jeepney they passed, while Liza’s Lola told stories about her own childhood trips to the sea.

“Your great-great-grandmother loved coming here,” she said, her voice soft with memory as they drove along the coastal road. “She’d say that the sea reminds us that everything is connected—rivers flow into it, clouds form from it, rain falls from it back to the land. She believed that when we’re confused or lost, the sea can help us find our way because it knows all the paths water can take.”

As they turned onto a narrow dirt road that led down to the coast, Aera pulled out her compass. The needle, which had been pointing steadily south all morning, now turned slightly to the left, guiding them toward a small bay hidden between two rocky cliffs. When they finally reached the beach, Aera felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was exactly as Liza’s Lola had described—a small cove with white sand that looked like powdered sugar, clear blue water that sparkled in the sunlight, and cliffs covered in green plants and colorful wildflowers. The sound of the waves was different here—not loud and crashing like at the beaches in Manila, but soft and rhythmic, like someone breathing or speaking in a low voice.

“This is the place,” Liza’s Lola said, smiling as she stepped out of the van. “My grandmother and your great-great-grandmother came here on a day just like this one, nearly seventy years ago. They sat right there”—she pointed to a large flat rock overlooking the water—“and talked about the future they wanted to build.”

Aera walked down to the water’s edge, her bare feet sinking into the warm sand. She pulled out the singing stone from her pocket and held it up to her ear. Instead of the soft humming she’d heard before, now she could hear the sound of the waves mixed with it—as if the stone was carrying the voice of the sea itself.

Kael had already run ahead, splashing in the shallow water and collecting shells. “Aera! Come look—this shell is shaped like a star!”

Aera walked over to see. The shell was small and white, with six perfect points—just like the symbol on her map, journal, and compass. She picked it up carefully and felt it warm in her hand, just like the singing stone had been when she found it.

“Lola Elena,” she called out. “Come look at this shell.”

The old woman came over and took the shell in her hands, her eyes shining with tears. “Your great-great-grandmother found a shell just like this one when she came here,” she said. “She kept it with her always, saying it was a reminder that the sea knows our true direction if we’re willing to listen.”

3.

After they’d unpacked their things and set up a small picnic on the beach, Liza’s Lola led them to the large flat rock overlooking the water. She sat down and patted the spot next to her for Aera and Liza.

“Your great-great-grandmother used to say that the waves speak in different ways depending on how you listen,” she said. “If you listen with your ears, you hear the sound of water moving. If you listen with your heart, you hear stories and wisdom. And if you listen with your whole self, you hear the direction you’re meant to take.”

She pulled out an old wooden box from her bag and opened it to reveal a collection of items—an old compass that looked just like Aera’s, a small bottle of seawater, a pressed sea flower, and a folded piece of paper. “This belonged to your great-great-grandmother,” she said to Aera. “She left it with my grandmother, saying that one day it would be passed to the next Aera when she came to this cove.”

Aera unfolded the paper with trembling hands. It was another map—this one showing not just land paths, but sea routes too, leading from the cove out into the Philippine Sea, then to other islands and other countries. Along the routes were notes written in her great-great-grandmother’s handwriting: Where the turtles lay their eggs—protect what is vulnerable, In the village where fishers sing at dawn—share what you have learned, On the island where the volcano sleeps—help rebuild what has been broken, Across the sea where different peoples meet—build bridges of understanding.

At the bottom of the map was a message: To my dear descendant—you have followed the signs and listened to the voices that guide you. Now it is time to choose your direction. The future is not a single path, but many paths that weave together like currents in the sea. Choose the one that calls to your heart, and remember that every path you take can help others find their way too.

Aera looked up from the map to see that the others had gathered around her—her parents, Kael, Liza, and Liza’s Lola—all waiting quietly as she read.

“What does it mean to choose my direction?” Aera asked.

“It means that you don’t have to follow every path on the map,” her mother said gently. “Your great-great-grandmother traveled all over, but she also knew when to stay in one place and build something strong there. You have been helping build the community garden in Quiapo—maybe that’s part of your path. Or maybe you’ll travel to help other communities. Or maybe you’ll do both, like she did.”

Aera thought about the garden in Quiapo, about the children who came there every day to learn and play, about Liza and their plans to start a storytelling circle and a seed-sharing program. She thought about the map’s other clues—the turtles, the fishing villages, the volcano island. She thought about all the things her great-great-grandmother had done—teaching, healing, planting, traveling.

“I don’t have to choose just one thing, do I?” she asked.

Liza’s Lola smiled. “Your great-great-grandmother never did. She was a doctor and a teacher and a gardener and a traveler. She said that the best way to build the future is to use all your gifts, wherever they are needed most. The sea doesn’t flow in just one direction—it moves with the tides, feeds the rivers, nourishes the land. You can be like the sea.”

4.

That afternoon, they walked along the beach to a spot where the waves gently lapped against the shore, just as Liza’s Lola had described. Aera took the seeds she’d been given—the ones with words like courage, kindness, community written on them—and carefully planted them in the sand where the water would reach them at high tide. Liza planted seeds from her own garden, Kael planted some mango seeds he’d saved from breakfast, and even Aera’s parents and Liza’s Lola planted seeds they’d brought from home.

As they worked, a group of fishermen walked by, returning from their morning trip. When they saw what the children were doing, they stopped to watch.

“What are you planting there, young ladies?” one of them asked—an older man with weathered skin and kind eyes.

“Seeds of hope,” Aera said simply. “My great-great-grandmother planted seeds here a long time ago, and now we’re doing the same.”

The fisherman’s eyes widened. “Your great-great-grandmother—was she Aera Lim? The doctor who used to come here to help the villagers?”

Aera nodded. “Yes. Did you know her?”

“I was just a boy when she came here,” he said. “There was a storm that had destroyed our boats and our gardens, and we had nothing. She came with medicine and food and seeds, and she stayed for months to help us rebuild. She taught us how to plant crops that could survive strong winds and how to build better boats. She also taught us songs—songs that helped us stay strong when things were hard.”

He looked out at the sea, then back at Aera. “She said that the sea gives us everything we need if we know how to take care of it. She helped us start a group to protect the sea turtles that lay their eggs on this beach, and we’ve been doing it ever since. Would you like to see where they come?”

Aera and Liza exchanged excited looks. “Yes, please!”

The fisherman led them to a section of the beach roped off with palm leaves. “We keep this area safe for the turtles,” he said. “Every year, they come here to lay their eggs, and we make sure no one disturbs them. When the babies hatch, we help them get to the sea safely. Your great-great-grandmother said that protecting the smallest and most vulnerable things is how we build a strong future.”

As he spoke, Aera noticed that the compass in her pocket was growing warm. She pulled it out and saw that the needle was pointing directly at the turtle nesting area. She thought about the map’s clue: Where the turtles lay their eggs—protect what is vulnerable.

“Can we help?” she asked. “With protecting the turtles, I mean. We could start a group in Manila to raise money for supplies, or to teach other kids about how important it is to take care of the sea.”

The fisherman’s face broke into a wide smile. “Your great-great-grandmother would be proud of you. She always said that the work we do here doesn’t stay here—it spreads like ripples in the water. If you can teach kids in the city to care about the sea, then maybe they’ll help us take care of it too.”

He pulled out a small carved wooden turtle and handed it to Aera. “This was made by my father, who learned to carve from your great-great-grandmother’s friend. It’s for you—reminder that even the smallest creature can travel great distances and make a big difference.”

5.

As the sun began to set over the sea, painting the sky in shades of orange, pink, and purple, they all sat on the large flat rock overlooking the cove. Kael had fallen asleep on his father’s lap, tired from playing in the sand and water all day. Liza was drawing pictures of the sunset and the sea turtles in her notebook, while Aera wrote in her journal, filling page after page with everything she’d seen and heard.

Today I learned that the sea doesn’t just speak with words, she wrote. It speaks with stories, with currents, with the creatures that live in it and around it. It teaches us that we are all connected—that what happens here affects what happens in Manila, in Cebu, in all the places my great-great-grandmother traveled. Liza and I are going to start a Sea Guardians club at our community garden—we’ll teach kids about protecting the ocean, raise money to help the fishermen here take care of the turtles, and maybe even organize trips for kids from the city to come see the sea and learn how to take care of it.

She looked up from her journal to see Liza’s Lola looking out at the water, humming softly. “What song are you humming?” Aera asked.

“It’s a song your great-great-grandmother taught us,” she said. “She used to sing it when she was working, or when she was trying to figure out what to do next. Would you like me to teach it to you?”

Aera and Liza nodded, and the old woman began to sing in a clear, strong voice that mixed with the sound of the waves:

“The sea flows wide, the sea flows deep,

It holds all stories, wakes from sleep.

Choose your path with heart and hand,

Build the future, land by land.

Share your seeds, sing your song,

Help the world grow strong, strong, strong.”

As they sang, Aera felt the singing stone warm in her pocket, the star-shaped shell in her hand grow smooth, and the compass in her bag pulse with gentle energy. She thought about all the people she’d met on her journey so far—the woman at the park, Liza and her Lola, the fisherman, the children in Quiapo, her own family. Each one had given her something—a stone, a song, a seed, a story, love and support.

When the song ended, her mother put her arm around her. “Are you ready to go home now, anak?”

Aera looked at the sea one more time, then at the map in her journal. “I’m ready to go back to the garden,” she said. “There’s so much work to do there, so many kids to teach, so many seeds to plant. But I also know that we’ll be back here—maybe with some of the kids from Quiapo, so they can see the sea and meet the fishermen and help protect the turtles. And maybe one day we’ll follow the other paths on the map too—to the village where fishers sing at dawn, to the island where the volcano sleeps, to all the places that need help building their future.”

Her father smiled. “That sounds like a perfect plan. Your great-great-grandmother didn’t finish her journey in one day, or one year. She spent her whole life building paths and helping others find theirs. That’s what a journey is—not a race to the end, but a life spent making things better step by step.”

As they packed up their things and walked back to the van, Aera looked over her shoulder at the cove. In the fading light, she could see the waves moving gently, as if they were waving goodbye—and promising to see her again soon.

She held the wooden turtle in one hand, the star shell in the other, and knew that her journey was just beginning. Every step she took would build on what came before, every seed she planted would grow into something new, every song she sang would help others find their voice.