Warm Waters, Golden Years

How lucky we are to be living our senior years in the age of ubiquitous camera phones. What once required rolls of film and a trip to the photo lab is now a tap away. We can freeze laughter, capture sunsets, and celebrate wrinkles earned through decades of living. These selfies and snapshots become everyday relics, ready to be cherished by future generations. No more fading memories tucked away in drawers—our smiles, our joy, and even our silliness are preserved in pixels. Each photo is a gentle echo saying, “I was here. I lived. I loved.”

We carry the light in our pockets now— tiny suns that catch laughter in motion, where wrinkles shimmer like heritage threads and every smile is a stanza of survival.Gone are the days of faded portraits, when memory was stitched by guesswork. Today, we document in pixels and pride, our golden hours held in the palm of a hand.

Let the young scroll through our stories, frame by frame, filter by feeling— proof that we danced, wandered, and bloomed with joy and clever rebellion.

Relaxing Indulgence

One of senior citizens' life's pleasure is getting mani-pedi, and in such a lovely and lush green setting is simply pure bliss, don't you agree?

While Norma and I watched our toes get the polish that they deserved, the rest of the girls were enjoying a very relaxing massage there in a completely silent room. Sorry girls, I couldn't get in! So, no photos! No photos! No selfies! No selfies!

Where the Sea Meets the Spoon

Syempre, di kumplete ang fun kung wala food! So, we headed to Bacolod's famous seafood place.

We arrived hungry—not just for food, but for moments that taste like home. The famous Diotay's Fish Port reminds me of popular dampa in Manila. Diotay's, tucked between city buzz and salt-air breeze, welcomed us with its lively chaos. (Poetic, haha!) Here, you don’t just order—you choose. Bangros with silver scales still glistening, black tiger shrimp curled like commas in a sentence we couldn’t wait to finish!

Sanday Nenette pointed, nodded, imagined the sizzle and steam, (while the rest of us couldn't help but nag selfie dire kag didto)and the cooks translated our hopes into garlic butter, grilled perfection, and broths that whispered of island kitchens. Then came the laswa—vegetables swimming in a bowl of clear comfort. It was like fiesta! Like a memory you never knew you missed.

And, of course, the fruit juices! They arrived-like tropical punctuation. We clinked glasses, not for a toast, but in shared awe of the food that fed not only our bodies but our stories.

A Table of Our Own

We stumbled upon Westown Bacolod City's bar almost by accident—tucked in a quiet corner, its sign half-hidden by ferns and hanging lights. By some kind stroke of fate, it was almost ours alone that evening. There were a handful guests, but no clatter of competing conversations. Almost just us, and a space that felt borrowed from a dream.

The bar wrapped us in its own comfy chairs, band music in the background. We lounged like regulars who’d been coming for years, and asking for assistance like the place belonged to us.

Even the staff seemed to enjoy our takeover. We talked more slowly, lingered more freely, letting the quiet stretch and fold around our laughter. Then, we took over, singing Dancing Queen accompanied by a live band. For me that's a dream come true. I remember a friend who paid (it happened in former Westin Plaza) just to experience the thrill of singing with a live band.

Outside, the world kept moving. Inside, we had carved a small pause in time—a bar turned sanctuary, and a memory that now feels like a postcard pressed between journal pages.

It seems now, the band was just so happy to play for us! haha! We all turned that bar into a private concert hall. 🎶✨ That kind of spontaneous joy—when the band is playing just for you, with smiles as wide as your own—is what transforms a simple afternoon into something unforgettable.

“Live Music, Just for Us, With Us”

As if it wasn't enough, way past midnight, the band decided to play—for us, and only us and with us, for cannot help but sing along. Their instruments and our crooked throats echoed in the empty space like an ode to serendipity. With every beat, every riff, they leaned into our laughter, amplifying the mood until it felt like the world outside had paused to listen.

We didn’t plan a private concert… but the band didn’t seem to mind.

Twilight Between Islands

We returned to Iloilo with quiet hearts, riding the ferry as the sun slipped low behind the horizon. By the time we reached Dumangas Port, the city lights were still out of sight—and so was our hunger. But instead of heading straight home, we made one last detour.

JobiBoss waited like a secret tucked between sea and mangroves, its bamboo walkways humming with the hush of twilight. Built entirely of nipa and bamboo, the restaurant seemed to float gently on the water, a delicate bridge between Guimaras and Iloilo.

We should’ve joined the fish-catching fun—cast a line (as some vloggers suggest). I am sure that had we, we would have laughed at the slippery escapes. Jobiboss staff, perhaps seeing what a bunch of seniors we were, didn't make such a suggestion. Anyway, weariness had wrapped around us like the dusk. So we settled into the rhythm of stillness. The dinner was simple and good, the kind that asks nothing and gives everything: grilled catch, smoky vegetables, and rice that always finds a way to comfort tired travelers.

And then, as if nature conspired with nostalgia, the sunset arrived—amber light spilling generously across the mangroves, the sea turning from silver to rose, and our laughter softening beneath skies laced with goodbye. The cameras clicked, but what they captured couldn’t quite hold the feeling.

That final meal wasn’t just a break before the road home. It was a quiet celebration of having wandered, tasted, rested—and now, returned. In that fading light, we saw not just the end of a journey, but a brief and beautiful pause. A reminder that sometimes, the spaces between destinations offer the most honest kind of grace.