When the sun began to descend, my friend said it was time. He blindfolded me and led me up a flight of stairs to the roof deck. I was panting hard and could still feel the bright sun when we got to the top, although everything was easily tempered by the vigorous breeze up there. My friend pulled me over to a particular spot. He said it was the perfect location.
He then removed my blindfold, and told me to slowly open my eyes. There before me was a magnificent sight-the blazing sun dipping into the silvery blue ocean. It was like some holy ceremony, as if to formally close my teenage time. "My gift on your birthday," Rahjit said. "It's all yours." With great rejoicing I accepted the gift. I owned it. And it became mine forever.
It's amazing how some things grow more precious with time. Today, decades after that magical moment, I've come to treasure my friend's gift much more. Everytime I have a chance to witness a sunset, I would stop. Then, in silence, I'd call forth the past. Once again, I would be on that roof deck with my friend. Always, we have good times together over the years.
Rahjit died in 1999, in a plane crash while filming a television commercial in France. His wife Eloise sent me still prints of the shot that cost her husband's life. It was of a sunset.
Last week I was in Malapascua, a tiny island off northern Cebu, on a writing assignment for a tourism magazine. In the first few days, the fierce heat of the summer sun compelled me to retire early to my room at a beachfront resort. I would sleep from mid-afternoon until midnight. Then I'd begin writing my articles until daybreak. In the morning, when the sunlight was still mild, I would go around for more story ideas. At the end of my weeklong schedule, the magazine office announced that I could enjoy one more day free. Boating to the several neighboring islets seemed an exciting idea. So I contracted a local boat owner to bring me around. It was really a big experience; so much fun but scary, as well.
We went from one islet to another on a motorized banca that simply looked like a short stick floating amid the wide blue sea. At times, the small sea craft slipped into a deep furrow between building-tall waves. Each time, I'd stop breathing. Nothing makes me crave for God in quite the same way.
By past four o'clock that afternoon, we were still several miles from the shore. The boatman said thirty minutes or so more to go. But as the waves grew taller, he said it might take an hour. I was getting very nervous, especially when he told me gusty winds were soon to blow. Then, suddenly, a magnificent sunset showed. It soothed my fear; I soon felt utter peace and tranquility. I thought of Rahjit. Maybe it was he. It occurred to me that that special gift I received on my birthday long ago was not just one particular sunset, but all the sunsets thereafter. Maybe, it was not even given to me, in the first place. Perhaps my friend only helped me claim what was always, rightfully, mine.
In fact, every sunset is ours. All of this is ours-the whole of life: the sunrises, the sunsets and all the time in between.
It is when we realize our full, albeit temporary, ownership of our life that we begin to value it more. We begin to hold it more dearly, to the point that we become openly willing to lose it. But to own something we must first acquire it. To lose something we must first have it.