So Close to Alibijaban Island

On Hermano Puli Day, I sat alone on someone else's bangka in San Andres, Quezon, and looked out at an island I have loved for almost two decades. This time, I could not cross.

Sitting on a Small Bangka

It was nine o'clock in the morning of November 4, 2026, and I was sitting on the edge of a motor bangka on the shore of San Andres, Quezon. The tide was low and the wet sand under my feet was rippled like a washboard. Far across the water, I could see the low green line I had been missing for so many years: Alibijaban Island.

The bangka was not mine. It belonged to someone in the village, resting on the sand with its long red outriggers stretched out like arms. I sat on it anyway, alone, looking out to sea and imagining that I was about to push off. I knew I could not go that day, because I had to head home that morning. In my mind, I was already on the other side, walking on white sand and wading into clear water.

Not far from me, a few people waded near the fish corrals and children played in the shallows. The sky was heavy with grey clouds, but the sea was quiet. On any other day, it would have been the perfect day to cross.

A Holiday for Hermano Puli

November 4 is Hermano Puli Day, a special non-working day in our province of Quezon, declared by Malacañang each year. It marks the day we lost Apolinario de la Cruz, better known as Hermano Puli, a son of Lucban who founded the Cofradía de San José. As a young man, he wanted to become a priest, but the Spanish friars turned him away because he was an indio, a native of the islands. So he built a brotherhood of his own.

The Spanish authorities saw his growing following as a threat. On November 1, 1841, Spanish soldiers attacked him and his followers. He escaped, but he was caught a few days later and executed in Tayabas on November 4, 1841. Today we remember him as a hero who stood up for the dignity and faith of ordinary Filipinos.

For many of us in Quezon, the holiday is a day of rest, a day with family, or a day to visit a place we love. For me, it was a chance to see again, even from afar, a place full of good memories. A free morning, a calm sea, and an island just across the water. If only I had one more day.

No Time to Cross

But the clock was not on my side. The island trip was never part of my plan this time. I had come for the farm. Every morning I went out to the farm, and every evening I came back to sleep at my father-in-law's house, just a short walk from where that bangka rested on the sand. By the time I sat on it on my last morning, it was nine o'clock, and I had to leave for home by eleven. Two hours is not enough for Alibijaban. A trip there is not something you rush. You need time for the boat ride, time to walk the beach, time to eat, and time to come back. And the next morning, I had to be back at the office.

So I stayed on the sand. I watched the small waves roll in and the faraway boats rock gently at anchor. I admit it was a little sad. The island was right there, close enough to see, but not close enough for that day.

Still, I was not really disappointed. Sometimes just being near a place you love reminds you why you love it. Sitting there, my mind drifted back to the many times I had already made that crossing.

Memories of Alibijaban

Almost two decades ago, I went to Alibijaban many times, and every trip felt like discovering it again. The sand is white and fine. The water is so clear that you can see the bottom as the bangka nears the shore. Along the beach stood beautiful cottages where you could rest in the shade, listen to the sea, and simply do nothing for a while.

What I loved most were the mangroves. Alibijaban has many kinds of mangrove trees. Some are tall, with tangled roots rising out of the water. Others are small and bushy along the edge of the shore. Walking near them felt like being in a quiet green forest standing in the sea. They are not only beautiful; they also protect the island and give shelter to fish, crabs and shells. Since 2025, a national law has protected the island and its waters as the Alibijaban Protected Landscape and Seascape.

And of course, there was the seafood. The island always seemed to have plenty, fresh from the water and cooked simply, best eaten with rice and good company by the beach. Even now, I can almost taste it, with the sea breeze on my face and sand between my toes.

Four Days in San Andres

My four free days came together almost by chance. Undas gave me the first two: All Saints' Day on Sunday, November 1, and All Souls' Day on Monday, November 2, a special non-working day this year. On Tuesday, November 3, I was on wellness leave. Some employees were asked to attend the flower offering for Hermano Puli, but because I was on leave, I was not one of them. Then came the holiday itself on Wednesday, November 4. My Undas break simply kept going.

I stayed in San Andres, Quezon, for four days, and the sea could not have been kinder. The waves were very calm, exactly the kind of sea you hope for when you plan to ride a small bangka across open water. The sea is not always this kind, so a stretch of calm days feels like a gift.

Those four days reminded me how much I enjoy the slow pace of the coast. Mornings start early. Fishermen come and go, and the shore changes with every tide. When the water pulls back, the sand shows its ripples and the bamboo poles of the fish corrals stand out in long lines. When the water returns, the bangkas float again and everything seems ready for a trip.

It is the kind of place where you stop checking the time, until you remember that you have work waiting for you back home.

Next Time, I Will Plan Early

This trip taught me a simple lesson: the island deserves a day of its own. Next time, I will plan ahead. I will arrange a bangka the day before, leave in the morning while the sea is calm, and give myself a whole day on Alibijaban. I want to walk among the mangroves again, swim in that clear water, rest in a cottage, and eat seafood until I cannot eat any more.

Until then, I will keep this photo as a promise to myself. A man sitting on someone else's bangka, looking out at the sea, waiting for the right day.

The island has waited almost twenty years for me to come back. It can wait a little longer.

If you are ever in Quezon, put Alibijaban on your list. Check the weather, choose a calm day, leave early, and go. And if you see a man staring out at the sea from a bangka in San Andres, that might just be me, still planning my return.

Is there a place you can see from afar but have not visited in years? I'd love to hear about it. Email me.

Sources

Proclamation No. 1051, s. 2025: November 4 special non-working day in Quezon

Inquirer, "Nov. 4 a special day in Quezon province to remember hero 'Hermano Puli'" (2022)

Republic Act No. 12226 (2025): Alibijaban Protected Landscape and Seascape Act