Each summer of my life has always been memorable. But not all summers have been happy. It was a summer when I lost a young love. It was summer when I lost both my grandfathers. But it was also a summer when I got married and it was a summer when our dear nephew was born. This summer, the summer of 2018, was made more memorable because of my trip to New York but frankly, summer to me has always been about doing new things, reading new authors, and making memories with my family.

Each summer, I always spend in the island of Siquijor. Yes, I was born and raised an island girl, a probinsyana, although a quite sheltered probinsyana. I am not a beach girl. I’m not one who hoards swimsuits, wears flowers and sand in her sand, and has sunkissed bronze skin. I am not the outdoorsy, camping or hiking kind of girl. I am not the sporty kind of girl who can swing the racket so mighty hard. Oh how I wish I was this girl. But I was a girl of summer. I did have my share of fun — dancing until the cocks start crowing, swimming in our favorite water holes, giggling and drinking soda, chasing boys. Summer is always one for my books.

And this summer was no different. While I loved the fact that I was in New York, I more loved the fact that before and after New York I got to spend time with my family. This summer is made more memorable because I fell in love with a new author (Haruki Murakami), I did physical activities (hiking, caving, yoga), and spent some lazy days bonding with friends and family. Summers may bring me to distant cities, but my best summers will always remain the island, the beach, home-cooked meals or shared drinks with friends and families, falling in love with a new author, and rolling around in bed, with a book or with my husband or both.