It was nearing midnight of a Friday and as I sat at Victory Liner's Cubao terminal, a man being chased by a cop ran beside the post near from where I was sitting. He embraced the post like his life depended on it, to avoid being cuffed by the policeman. With all the reports of summary execution by cops, he might have a reason to hug for dear life. The cop's reasoning was, the tattooed bum was suspected of an attempted bag snatching. My friend, the hipster mum Gaye arrived to witness the end of the low key stand-off, and as the cop dragged the uncooperative suspected thief to the police headquarters, I kind of wish him a day in court and a smooth journey into the usual process of our justice system.

Five-six or even seven hundred years ago, when sea explorers approached a strange island, meeting a bloody resistance was a foregone conclusion. Drum rolls of war beats would accompany the sounds of shrieking bayonet and spear-armed warriors running across the shore to meet the men aboard the incoming ship. The brutal battle that often ensued transformed the crystal clear blue waters into a sea of red. To the victors, a hell-raising cheer filled the air. To the vanquished, their decapitated bodies and pieces of flesh were reduced to an offering of feast for the lucky sea creatures. Fortunately, for myself, Dazzle, Josiah, and voluptuous Pam, we were aboard a little passenger boat in the present day, and the only drum roll we heard upon arriving at Cobrador Island was the one that accompanied a festive welcoming party composed of dancing kids in "Ati-Atihan" costumes.

The room the kids call their own "library" is a 40-square-meter empty space. The walls are untidy and dark, the windows are almost broken to shards. The lone table lies almost deserted by time, unused and nevermore. The only reminder that the room is the school's library is the two small bookcases, almost rotten to the core and on the verge of collapse.

Dusty and dog-eared copy books—about a couple of dozen—are placed almost glued together on the two shelves. It won't take a rocket scientist to know that these books are of no use anymore. The library itself, in its sad current state, is incapable of becoming a room of knowledge for the kids of Rizal Elementary School in Gubat, Sorsogon.

I was sitting there at the judges' table with a pencil and a bunch of papers in front of me. What am I doing here? I asked myself. I've never scored anyone wearing a bikini before. In my eyes, anyone who sports a bikini automatically gets a perfect 10 from me. I was worried the hometown crowd might not like our "scoring" and might shower us with a resounding "boos" like what the three blind judges of the recent Pacquiao - Bradley bout got. Whatever doubts I had quickly vanished when contestant number 1 walked on the platform. I decided to give them all perfect ten scores. Things reached fever pitch when Contestant 2 came out and I melted briefly when she made eye contact with me.

Like an experience equaling a porn star reporting for duty at the tail-end of a three-day shoot, we took another boat ride early morning on our fourth day in El Nido, still dazed and hungover from the drinking game with Inah and the three crazy Dutch guys the previous night.