A few hours before we boarded our plane back to Clark in Pampanga, we took a final walk along the streets of Kota Kinabalu and came across the remnant of an old building covered with eye-popping graffiti. To say that it was Andy Warhol-esque is a bit of an understatement. I had always been fascinated by street art, especially graffiti which, if executed with fine taste, always presented a welcome appeasement to the eyes.

I was not much of a food adventurer, I must admit. You would find me most of the time ordering the usual dishes at the office cafeteria, the tortang talong at the nearby Jollijeep, and on rare occasions delighting in KFC, McDonald's, and Jollibee. During my travels, though, I tried to become more driven to sample cuisines that were popular in the places I visited. Sometimes I did get to try, but more than a few times, due to budget constraints, I let the opportunity pass me by. Not so during my recent trip to Kota Kinabalu. I figured the chances of coming back would be more expensive, considering travel taxes and the lack of airfare promos alike. I was already there, so I might as well try to let my taste buds say hello to the dishes that were widely served around the city.

In Norse Mythology, there is a God named Heimdall, who sits at the edge of heaven and guards Asgard, which was among the "Nine Worlds" in Norse cosmology. The Cagsawa Ruins, with its bell tower sticking out from the ground where it once mightily stood—unbreakable, strong, and invisible—is at the edge of an invisible boundary of a world inhabited by the majestic Mayon Volcano.

A somber atmosphere reigned over the town of Daraga when we went to visit the Church of Nuestra Señora de la Porteria. Like a set of eyes returning from a funeral, the skies hovering above were subdued, haunting, and sad. The jabbing wind blowing against my face reminded me of the aftermath of Typhoon Mina, which battered the province a few days before we arrived. Some of the dark clouds Mina brought remained and, like a jealous lover, cast a shadow over the landscape of Mayon Volcano, completely sheltering it from our sight.

I've always been profoundly fascinated by watching a fish wag its tail and gracefully weave through the water in an almost perfectly synchronized movement. I find it remarkably similar to how humans move gracefully in a sprint motion, actively exerting body muscles to generate a fluid action—except it looks so much better when a fish does it naturally in the water.

If there were any lingering doubts about whether the sun would appear when we boarded the bus from Legazpi to Sorsogon, they were quickly dispelled as the blue waters of the sea sparkled brilliantly beneath clear, open skies. As we approached Subic Beach on Calintaan Island, the boat ride was smooth sailing over calm, glassy waters.

I deliberately kept my expectations in check by telling myself, "This is just another beach in my own beautiful country." I assumed it was simply another coastal stretch among thousands. But much like the swarm of humanity around us, every shore holds a distinct personality that sets it apart. Visiting a new place provides that timeless sense of anticipation—of discovering what remains hidden just beyond the horizon.

The sky was a picture of indecision when we boarded the bus from Legazpi to Sorsogon. It looked as if it was totally unsure of dumping rain or simply sheltering the Earth from the blistering sun—which was keenly intent on making an appearance that day. The weather was shaping out fine, and the blessed absence of rain made it far more ideal for travel, but there were still a few stubborn patches of dark clouds hovering heavily above us.

It was the exact same heavy sky curtain that made our earlier attempt to see the famous Mayon Volcano up close a completely futile one. As the bus revved up its diesel engine and gathered speed on the open highway, the wind aggressively brushing against my face increased its sheer tenacity. Trying to safely avoid a direct hit, I looked quietly out the window and was enthusiastically greeted by a majestic, sweeping countryside.

The stone fish was staring out of his aquarium like a delirious sea creature high on helium when he spotted two travel bloggers—one a Chinese-looking dude and the other a semi-Chinese-looking dude with a flair of Spanish blood—walking inside the Old Village Seafood Restaurant in Kota Kinabalu. It was a strange window into the local dining scene, where the evening catch seemed to have developed a whimsical, satirical perspective on their own culinary fates.

Years before the boy who goes by the name Siddharta would become known as Gautama, the Buddhist religion founder, he was always in search for his life's meaning. It was a life-long quest that would ultimately help shape a big part of our world. I was always fascinated with the Buddhist religion, it strikes me as centering on one's peace of mind and its relation to every living things around. When I found myself on a bus going to the Ngong Ping highlands to visit the Tian Tan or otherwise known as the "Giant Buddha", I recognized that 'peace of mind' has always been the slippery toad caught between my hands; right here this moment and gone the next.

Surrounded by a man-made lagoon, the City Mosque at Likas Bay in Kota Kinabalu pulled off a floating apparition when seen from a distance. As I trudged closer from where we had gotten off the bus, I could hear chants of worship spread out into the open air. In a place like that, with the bay fronting the opposite side and the mosque facing it against the lagoon, the chanting bemused the ears of even the most undaunted passersby. At that moment, I felt solemnity as I quickly cut the distance between myself and that architecturally gifted place of worship of our Muslim brothers. After gorging on street foods in Kota Kinabalu, I was finally experiencing the place in a new light and perspective.

I seldom spend money for food when traveling, but I'd been wanting to rid of that habit of holding back in trying out local cuisines of places I go to, since its also a part of the over-all travel experience. That is why, one of the things I was looking forward on my trip to Hong Kong last month was to satisfy my tongue's desire to commit mass gluttony.

Since I had taken my traveling desire a few notches higher over the past couple of years, I had learned to adjust myself when it came to choosing a place to stay. Gone were the days when I looked for comfort first; rather, I asked for the price first, and whatever convenience a place of accommodation presented was only considered a bonus. I had stayed in hostels where bed bugs and giant rats became your friends at the end of the night. Walls made of thin plywood meant you could hear headboards banging in the next room, caused by two lovers indulging in you-know-what. Mostly, those were the five-hundred-peso-and-below types of hostel rooms. Heading to Kota Kinabalu, a few friends who had been there had already told me that it was a different case there, because there were a lot of cheap hostels that were well taken care of and offered the kind of comfort a traveler needs when he or she is on the road.

Tai O is a small fishing village in an island of the same name located on the western part of Lantau—the biggest island in Hong Kong. After my trip to the Tian Tan Buddha and the Po Lin Monastery in the Ngong Ping plateau, I boarded a bus to Tai O. I reckoned I could do simple life observance in a setting contrasting the hustling and blistering high wire activity that in Hong Kong.