“Thank you, Uncle. I hope your words come true,” Allison beamed.

Nearby, Thalia embraced her older sister, Selena. The two had been best friends since childhood.

“Ate (Big Sister), I’ve missed you. You, Bill, and Topher need to come back to the Philippines more often,” Thalia said, hugging her tightly.

“You know how hectic life is in the U.S.,” Selena explained.

Their youngest sister, Ellie, soon joined them. “It’s great to have the three of us together again.”

“A moment ago, I noticed your hat was a bit over the top, Thalia. Maybe you should tone it down a little. Subtlety can go a long way. But of course, it’s just a suggestion,” Ellie said, offering some advice.

Thalia didn’t take it well. “Your suggestion,” she muttered coldly.

Don’t push it, Ellie. This isn’t the time or place, Ansel thought as he watched the tension build between the two sisters.

“Thalia, come on. Topher is waiting to catch up with his godmother,” Selena said, gently leading her sister away from the brewing conflict.

“Hold me back, Selena. I’m about to pull that brat’s hair out,” Thalia fumed.

“We’re the older sisters, Thalia. We’re supposed to be the ones who understand her and show patience,” Selena said.

“She treated me like one of her patients when she was a shrink,” Thalia retorted.

“A career counselor,” Selena corrected her.

In the background, Al and Emily, the elderly couple, sat on a couch, quietly observing the scene.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Emily said, tears forming in her eyes.

“We used to be one big family under the same roof. But as our children grew up, they left one by one, living separate lives in different places. It’s heartwarming to see them, their spouses, and our grandchildren together like this, even if just for a while,” she continued, her voice quivering.

“Don’t cry, mahal (my love),” Al comforted her. “Life is short, and we’re getting old. Let’s cherish these happy memories. We can still make more, even with the little time we have left. And when we cross to the afterlife, we’ll carry these memories with us.”

Ronald, their son, returned with water from the drinking fountain. “I just left for a minute, and you’re already getting sentimental! The day won’t end without Ellie and Thalia getting into a fight, and Ate playing mediator between them. The kids will have a blast together—this only happens once a year, after all. We’ll see them like this again in a decade or so.”

Later, Greg skewered marinated pork, threading bamboo sticks through the slices. To his left was a pile of yet-to-be-skewered pork, and to his right, the first batch was ready. He fired up the grill and began cooking Filipino-style pork BBQ.

“How are the kids doing?” Greg asked his wife, Martha, who was fanning the smoke away.

“Benjamin, Mary, and Sophie are on the shore building sandcastles, and James and Michael are swimming in the sea,” Martha answered.

“Good to know they’re all doing fine,” Greg replied, as he checked the pork on the grill. After four minutes, he saw that one side of the pork slice was thoroughly cooked. Before flipping it, he made sure to baste the meat. Then, he waited for the other side to cook.

“Do we have any plans after lunch?” Greg asked.

“Ellie wants to take Itay (Father) and Inay (Mother) to the art booth. She thinks face painting would be fun for them. Ronald’s going with them too,” Martha shared.

“That’s Ellie for you. She probably already has their whole day planned out,” Greg chuckled, knowing his youngest sister well.

“And the others?” Greg asked, curious about what the rest of the family was up to.

“I heard the Sevillas are visiting the mango orchard nearby this afternoon,” Martha said.

“Mangoes? Is Thalia craving something? Maybe Eric’s expecting a daughter,” Greg joked.

“Greg, you’re nuts! Stop kidding around,” Martha scolded playfully, trying to hold back her laughter.

On the shore, Benjamin filled a bucket with sand and mixed it with water to create a slurry. After draining the water, he packed the sand down with his foot, filling the form to the top. Carefully, he lifted the bucket, revealing a solid sand structure. He then began stacking smaller forms on top of the larger base.

“Foundation is important. That’s where we start building,” Benjamin explained as he tamped the sand with his feet to flatten the area for the next layer.

“Mary, make sure to place the towers close together so they don’t crumble,” Benjamin instructed his sister.

Meanwhile, Sophie used a plastic spackle tool to cut out windows and doors, while Mary added intricate details with a melon baller. Sophie finished off the castle’s roof using a funnel.

“This is the kingdom of a princess,” Mary began to narrate. “The king arranged a meeting between his daughter, the princess, and the prince she was betrothed to. At first, she was hesitant because she didn’t know him, but when they met, she fell in love at first sight. He wasn’t just handsome; he was kind too.”

Sophie was completely engrossed in Mary’s fairytale, while Benjamin found the story a bit unrealistic. The princess should have dated the prince a few more times before falling in love, he thought, but kept quiet to avoid upsetting his sisters.

“Fun fact: Did you know that the sand on Laiya Beach comes from the weathering of crushed shells?” Benjamin added, trying to pique their interest.

Mary and Sophie, however, were far too enchanted by their sandcastle to care, their imaginations still lost in the magical world of princes and princesses.

Out at sea, Michael was swimming vigorously in freestyle, while James calmly floated on the waves, enjoying the peace. In the distance, fishing boats dotted the horizon. Michael swam to the boundary line that marked the safe swimming area and was tempted to cross into the open sea, but something else caught his eye: a jet ski.

“Hey, how about we rent a jet ski, Sleeping Beauty?” Michael called to James, interrupting his brother’s relaxation.

“I don’t know how to operate a jet ski—or any vehicle, for that matter,” James replied.

“And you call yourself a man?” Michael teased. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s not happening—you’re still a kid,” James retorted.

“Bummer. You’re no fun,” Michael huffed, clearly annoyed.

“How about the banana boat? It’s still fun,” James suggested, trying to appease his brother.

“Great idea! Let’s go—they’re boarding right now!” Michael shouted, racing off as James followed, relieved that his brother’s mood had improved.

When they reached the ferryman, Michael approached him confidently.

“Where are your parents, boy?” the ferryman asked.

“Even though I’m smaller than you, I can still kick your butt, you know,” Michael shot back defiantly.

“There’s no need for that, Michael,” James stepped in, addressing the ferryman. “I’m his older brother, and I’m fourteen. I’ll accompany him on the banana boat. Is that okay?”

“Fine,” the ferryman agreed reluctantly.

The banana boat, an inflatable vessel shaped like a banana, was towed behind the ferry. There were seven riders in total: five adults at the front, with James in the middle, and Michael, insisting on sitting at the back. The boat’s central yellow tube was flanked by two stabilizing tubes for riders to rest their feet on.

“Bonkers! Do we really have to wear these annoying life jackets?” Michael grumbled as they prepared to board.

“They’re for our safety. Hold onto me—you might fall off,” James reasoned.

“No way! I’m having the time of my life!” Michael shouted, raising his fists as the ferry towed them through the waves, water splashing in the background.

From a distance, the ferry and banana boat looked like toys speeding across the vast, open sea.

In the afternoon, Ellie sat at the art booth with her face adorned in bold red, orange, and yellow flames. She held up a model mask decorated with face paint in shades of blue, navy, and white waves, turning her attention toward her mother, Emily.

“Look, Inay, my face is blazing with flames! And notice the tiny suns. Face paint can work wonders!” Ellie said, trying to convince her skeptical mother.

“I don’t know about this. You might turn me into a witch,” Emily replied, hesitant but amused.

After a few minutes of persuasion, Emily reluctantly agreed to let Ellie paint her face. Carefully, Ellie followed the design from the model mask, her excitement growing with each brushstroke. The more she painted, the prouder she became.

“Take a look in the mirror, Inay. I told you—these white, blue, and navy waves with seafoam suit you perfectly. You’re now Mother Earth—no, Mother Sea!” Ellie exclaimed, showing off her mother’s new look.

Nearby, Grandpa Al sat at a table getting a henna tattoo. The artist was working on an abstract design on his bicep while his son-in-law, Ansel, watched from across the table.

“You should get one after me,” Al suggested to Ansel.

“No thanks, Itay. I’m good,” Ansel replied politely.

“This isn’t permanent, right?” Al asked the henna artist, a note of concern in his voice.

“No, sir. The design is only temporary. No worries,” the artist reassured him.

“Good! My wife, Emily, would have a fit if I came home looking like an old gangster,” Al said with a sigh of relief.

“Some people don’t consider henna as a tattoo because it’s not permanent. They call it body art, which makes a distinction,” the artist explained.

“What’s the meaning behind this design?” Ansel asked, curious.

“It’s an abstract representation of different flowers,” the artist replied.

“Who would’ve thought floral designs could make you look so badass, Tatay?” Ansel teased his father-in-law, sharing a laugh.

Ronald, not too interested in the art, waited outside the booth when a vendor approached him.

“Would you like to buy a balisong (butterfly knife)?” the vendor asked, showing the folding pocket knife with its two handles rotating around the tang, concealing the blade when closed.

“I used to own one, but it broke. This is a good time to buy a new one,” Ronald said, making the purchase, much to the vendor’s delight.

Later in the afternoon, at a sprawling mango orchard, Eric was busy plucking mangoes from the trees. He filled two fruit baskets until they were brimming with the ripe fruit. Taking a seat on a wooden bench, Eric peeled a mango with his hands and immediately began eating it.

“Gross, Dad! You didn’t even wash the mangoes before eating them!” Allison exclaimed, horrified by her father’s lack of hygiene.

“Mmm, so tasty, Allison. You don’t know what you’re missing,” Eric teased, thoroughly enjoying his snack.

“And you didn’t even wash your hands!” Allison added, disgusted.

Thalia, noticing the mango peels discarded on the ground, frowned. “Look at this mess, Enrico. You’ve just left everything on the ground.”

“There are workers to clean it up. They’re paid for that,” Eric replied nonchalantly.

“Seriously? You’ve got no shame, have you?” Thalia shot back, clearly unimpressed.

After a few moments, Morissette walked over and borrowed Thalia for a private chat, leaving Eric and Allison alone. As they walked a short distance away, Morissette confided in her employer.

“You know, Ma’am Thalia, I think I’ve found the one,” Morissette said, her voice dreamy and romantic.

“Spill it, girl. Who’s the lucky guy?” Thalia asked, curious.

“Carlisle, the Kennedys’ butler. He’s so handsome and dashing!” Morissette gushed.

“What? You’re crazy! You’re such a hopeless romantic!” Thalia said, laughing and playfully pinching her maid.

“Madam, no one can stop true love, especially when it’s written in the stars,” Morissette said confidently, convinced she’d found her destiny.

Later, at a mango stand, visitors were buying local mango specialties. Eric, carrying his two baskets of mangoes, called out to a tricycle driver, “Kuya!”

Thalia settled into the tricycle’s inner passenger compartment, with Allison sitting on her lap. Eric sat beside his wife and daughter, next to the open side of the compartment, while Morissette held an eco-bag full of local mango specialties that Eric had purchased. She sat behind the tricycle driver on the motorbike.

The affluent Sevilla family, usually accustomed to more luxurious transportation, decided to ride the tricycle for novelty, embracing the local experience as part of their summer vacation.

“Vroom, vroom, vroom,” the tricycle’s engine sputtered to life, releasing a puff of smoke as it sped down the road.

By dusk, on the shore, the entire family—Grandpa Al with his henna tattoo still visible, Grandma Emily with her sea-themed face paint, Uncle Ronald, the Pangilinans, the Sevillas, Morissette, the Kennedys with their butler Carlisle, and the Argente couple—gathered around a low, rectangular dining table. Spread before them were tropical and local delicacies, as the gentle evening breeze brushed over the beach.

A woman approached the Pangilinan family, followed by four men, all of them dressed in tribal-themed costumes. The sand beneath their feet and the space around them became their makeshift stage. On either side, the four men began to beat their drums, setting the rhythm for the performance.

The brown-skinned, muscular men spun poi in circles, creating fiery discs that swirled around their bodies. Their fierce expressions were reminiscent of tribal warriors. The woman, tan-skinned and graceful, wielded large metal fans with burning wicks along the edges. Two of the men handled fire staffs, while the other two juggled blazing clubs. The woman, with the elegance of a salamander, breathed fire into the night sky.

As the fire dance came to an end, the performers extinguished their flames by smothering the props in the sand. The clan erupted into applause, captivated by the mesmerizing display of skill and artistry.