Amara in Liloan, Cebu, is a silent landscape that watches out to sea. Built more than a hundred years ago with the intent of guiding vessels and fishermen on their journey, the place got its name from a Spanish word that means mooring rope, one used to anchor ships at port. True to its name, the place bears a sense of comfort and domesticity to people (like home), a sense of rememberance almost close to melancholia. I hear that towers like this are home to many legends: ghosts of ancient lovers who have died, of men and women who, like Goa's Donna Paula, bloomed and wilted like roses in stormy sea, forgotten if not for stories passed around in whispers by local people.
From tertium quid. The third thing. That state of mind between joy and pain. Between life and death. Between belief and nonbelief. That refuge between lie and truth.