Isla Pulo: A False Paradise (Photo Essay)

It was two years ago.

The makeshift bridges we used to cross a two-kilometer path.

A two-kilometer path that was a transit from a busy life to a life of lesser worries.

Lesser worries mean only to survive. Each Day. In a life.

A transit that changed my life.

Then it was two years ago. Now, they were all gone.

Now that only memories have remained, there were no makeshift bridges, or a transit to another life, the choices has narrowed down. In fact, there were no choices at all.

*DENCIO, A Captain at thirteen. Studying is not an option for him.

Dencio, a 13-year old guy was the captain of the banca we rented. He has to captain their boat since his father was sick, and his mother doesn’t know how to manoeuvre the water transit. He has no other option: He is the eldest among the five siblings. Without him working, seven stomachs would be empty, and worse, seven bodies will feel the pain of having no nourishment.

The journey to the Isla Pulo lasted for roughly eight minutes. As the rays of the sun illuminates and as the breeze of the humid air carries the salty and unfriendly odor combined, I have seen the daily lives of the people inhabiting to this solitary island. It was never an easy life for them.

TRANSPORTING LIVES. Isla Pulo has no source of clean water. They have to transport from the island to Barangay Tangos in Navotas just to get clean and cheap water which they use for cooking, drinking, bathing, and other necessities.

Isla Pulo has different livelihoods to offer, but charcoal making is at the top of the line. While my team and I were doing our photowalk, I noticed a single charcoal-making submachine. Normally, the charcoal-making submachines were clustered into one place, but to my surprise this man chose to separate his self to others.

*MANG JUN, a charcoal-maker at 53. His life was focused on turning woods into pure carbon and sell it at cheapest possible price, just to survive the competition of charcoal-selling in the area.

He was Mang Jun. A charcoal maker since he was 15, he knows the twists and turns of life in the island. I asked him why he chose to stay away from the main charcoal-making area, he said, “Masyado na sila madami doon, [matanda na ako], hindi na kaya makipaglaban.” (There are a lot of people there; I’m too old to compete.) For him, it was a life chosen, but never for Leonora and Lovely.

MANG FRED AND TITO, Mang Jun's greatest competitor. While Mang Jun works alone for living, Mang Fred doubles his manpower by conniving with his uncle. For him, conniving means doubling the production, therefore the income.

LEONORA, a plastic collector at twelve . Our trash is her treasure. Her life depends on our consumption of plastic materials. We are her life.

*LOVELY, a delivery girl at nine. With her boat made of Styrofoams, Lovely heads
to the junk shop on the other side of the island.

What we throw in non-biodegradable trash bins turn out to be Leonora and Lovely’s ‘gold’ for living. Every day, they collect plastics from various places in Navotas. Each plastic will be cleaned and will be piled in a sack. Leonora does the cleaning while Lovely is in charge with selling it to the junk shop. For every kilo of plastic they get, they earn PhP12, enough for the both of them to buy their favourite viand: junk foods and patis.

REST HOUSE. For them, a bamboo structure is a rest house and a pet house in one.

While strolling around and looking for a public comfort room, I saw two people under a bamboo structure. I asked the old lady what they are doing there, and she happily replied, “Pahinga lang. Rest house namin ito.” (We’re just resting. This is our rest house.)

LOST IN THE COMFORT ZONE. Who would even get inside these cubicles? 

The comfort room did not bring my cousin comfort at all. Upon seeing the new face of the once-functional CR, we were dismayed. I personally feel so bad to the Isla Pulo’s inhabitants. This was supposed to be their public comfort room. This was supposed to be well taken care. Truly, the people are the breaker of the paradise. 

Before leaving the place, I requested my team to come with me in visiting the only place I remembered in the area, the daycare center. Sadly, the place was closed that time and nobody is guarding the place. I asked one of the inhabitants if the school is still functional, and to my joy, it is. Just that, like the common problems of other schools from the far-flung areas, they also lack books, chairs, and learning materials.

HAKUNA MATATA. These children don't mind the environment where they belong to. For them, the Isla is a big playgound.

When we passed by the store to buy soft drinks (My team complained already because of the scorching heat), my ten-year old cousin saw an alley with children playing with their old toys and the sand. They actually didn't mind me when I took pictures of them. When I asked them what do they want, they immediately answered, "Laruan po na maganda." (We want beautiful toys.)

It was two years ago. 

There were no makeshift bridges.

Or a transit to different world.

There were no choices.

But there's still hope.

Living means defying the crests. It means being afloat in troughs.

It means surviving.

SYMBOLISM. Life might be difficult, but its withstanding the pressures of the waves that matter. Life is all about believing.
With the people of Isla Pulo, hope will never cease and life goes on, however difficult it is.

*The personal identity of these person wish to be hidden for confidentiality (As the respondents wish so). 
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Much thanks to the team who helped me in making this possible. You are young but you are good enough to help me. 


*Those who helped me are: Neriza (13 years old), Renz (10 years old), Jhansen (12 years old) and my little sister Bernadette (9 years old)