Puerto Galera Trip

It was like I'd left behind something in Puerto Galera besides the ten pounds I gained in a span of three days and two nights stay in that island --- the strenuous but thrilling banana boat my friends and I had; the numerous yosi I puffed; the several shots of margarita and comfort zone I drowned myself with; the breath-taking beach and sand; the mouthwatering guys hehehe este foods and desserts pala; the various people I met; the guys I chatted with; the henna tattoo on my arm; and the heart-pounding nerve-wracking ferry trip back home.

Some invisible part of my brain forgotten on a shelf somewhere, some key ingredient to navigating the world abandoned in that cozy hotel room, in that 3-storey lodge.

I didn't even know how to look for what was gone, how to recognize it if I found it. How to ask for help.

But I didn't want to be better than anyone...

I just wanted to be me.

And, yes, I wanted to show up, to be noticed. But inside some of me still wanted desperately to disappear. Of course that's what had gotten me to Puerto Galera in the first place: trying to disappear.

Then each morning I woke up to the blinding Galera sunlight and thought I was a little boy in my bed at home again, that my father would come and wake me at any minute. And then, slowly, I blinked awake to the ceiling tiles and the scuffed wood floor, the chrome-rimmed bed and the hum of the room, and realized that I'd grown up.

But it was just one more thing. One more way the days would form and even at the bottom of everything I was, I just didn't care that much right then.

It was all about one more day and just for now and every other cliché in the world. It was all about waking and eating and running and sleeping. And it was about getting through to the next day... all of it even, nobody would hurt me.

I’m still alive, though I still wasn't sure I wanted to be.