Hi Hivemates! I’m Seth, and I'm back again to tell you story of a place where river meets the sea.
To be honest, I felt a little nervous about sharing something here. But this story? It’s something I carry deeply in my heart. I hope it touches yours too.
It all began with a simple message in our old group chat.
A few of my classmates from Grade 12 dropped a line: “What if we reunite? It’s been almost two years.”
Life had gotten busy. Some of us went off to different colleges, while others started working. But we all missed something — that feeling of being together again. No deadlines, no pressure, just easy laughter and shared stories beneath the sun.
And so, the plan took shape: a quiet reunion at Sabang Mini Island.
We weren’t looking for anything fancy. What we really wanted was peace — a place far from the noise. Somewhere the waves whispered instead of crashing. A spot that could hold our voices, our laughter, and maybe even the silence we’d been needing.
Sabang seemed like the perfect place.
They say there’s something magical there — where the freshwater river gently meets the sea. I didn’t quite get it at first, but the moment we arrived, it started to make sense.
The walk wasn’t easy. We followed narrow paths, crossed muddy stretches, and passed the remains of old homes. Typhoon Odette had left its mark. Some houses stood half-crumbled, yet still proud. Trees bent under the weight of the past, but their roots held firm, like they were refusing to let go.
And then we saw it.
Sabang, quiet and stunning. The wind met us first, carrying the scent of salt, fish, and earth that had known both peace and chaos. The sea was unbelievably blue — like a mirror reflecting every soft mood of the sky. It shimmered with a stillness that felt alive, like it knew everything and chose to forgive.
But what truly took my breath away was Mini Island.
That little patch of land hadn’t always been there. It formed after the storm — a sandbar left behind by the chaos. Locals say it’s a symbol of what they lost, and also what they managed to keep.
They shared their stories with us. Stories of the night Odette hit — waves crashing higher than the rooftops, rivers flooding over the land, people running into the dark with only the essentials. Some never came back. But even after all that, the heart of Sabang stayed.
And slowly, people started returning.
We saw fishermen patching their boats. Kids waded knee-deep in the water, laughing. Families gathered under the trees again. And in the middle of it all, standing proudly, was a treehouse made from salvaged wood and memories.
We climbed it.
From the top, the view was everything. You could see the gentle curve of the river blending into the sea. The wind swept across our faces, clean and warm. Fish splashed below like they were playing in the light. For a moment, time didn’t matter. It was just us, the sky, and the water.
We spent hours there — eating simple meals, swapping old stories, remembering who we were before life got complicated. Sabang didn’t need to shout to be heard. It spoke in quiet ways.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the sky turned gold. The sea looked like it had caught fire. I sat back, breathing in the moment — the joy of being with old friends, the pain and pride of the locals, and the way the island somehow embraced it all.
Sabang isn’t just a place you visit.
It’s a reminder. Of healing, of memory, of beginning again.
And I’m thankful I got to see it — not just with my eyes, but with my heart.
Thank you so much for reading, Hive fam.
I hope someday you find a place like Sabang too — where the river meets the sea, and somewhere in between, you find yourself again. 💙
The first photo is edited by Canva.
All of the pictures are taken of me.