I shuddered as I floated on the water. Though there was little to indicate that Pasil marine sanctuary used to be a cemetery save for a couple of submerged tombstones completely overgrown by coral, it finally hit me — I was actually swimming in a graveyard.

A volcanic outburst in the 1870s destroyed Camiguin Island’s seaside settlement of Bonbon and the town’s cemetery had fallen to the sea. The idea that dead people lay under the sand and volcanic rock was alarming; it didn’t matter that the coral was vibrant and pulsating with iridescent fish.

My wild imagination had taken over and I envisioned floundering arms protruding from beneath the sand to reach out for my leg and grab it. And I’d have to kick frantically to break free lest I drown and join the scores of the dead buried there.

But none of my horrid thoughts materialized. Eventually, satiated with the sight of dazzling underwater riches, I shook off the unease and settled into the soothing pace of my snorkeling.

I headed into the direction of the horizon, my curiosity bent toward the original cross brought down by a typhoon further out. Swimming out to the cross was not a direct proposition; I twisted and turned around the labyrinth, soared over varieties of tropical fish, and navigated trenches. The tide had ebbed and, with the water level so low, it took effort and great care to avoid contact with anything in the dense maritime gardens.