There's no way we would've missed out witnessing the daily handling of the torch from darkness to daylight. The idea was to stand somewhere atop a temple and greet the sunrise with awakened eyes. However, in rare instances where reality overtakes the expectations of imagination, what I saw was more gratifying and romantic – even without reciting a line from a Nicholas Sparks novel. Even If I nibble the breakfast of the most obnoxious man in the world that morning, I'd still categorize the major part of what I experienced that day as something I should keep in my memory vault. 

I missed the discussion about the Ottoman Empire (over a case of beer) the previous night. Thank goodness as even I consider myself a bit of a nerd, I can only go as far as the boxer rebellion. My friend Gaye who initiated that out-of-nowhere topic, was staying at Pink Manila Hostel for a couple of nights when I invited myself to join her hang out by the pool. The sky was overcast and the road was drenched in puddles of rain when I arrived at the Vito Cruz area. Around early in the afternoon I came about this seven-floor building with the Pink Manila Hostel sign. I entered the gate and was met by stare downs from metal pumping 3-sets-12-rep-160-pounder-bench-press junkies. I momentarily feared about walking into a trap. 

Somewhere along the line of our conversation, the topic came upon a fork and swerved left straight into true crimes territory. A dozen serial killer names and mind blowing murder descriptions later, we decided to name our group as the Gore and Anti-Hipster Club. The founding members are; Lot, Reese, Karl and myself. You probably have an idea what we'll do if we come across a bunch of hipsters. Anyway, I’ve known these people for quite some time. We all got connected through our madness-filled blogs at the now defunct Multiply site. Kindred souls when it comes to literature, the beatnik culture and the prose that goes along the lines of Kerouac’s ‘mad people’. And what better way than to reconnect with them after a number of years, at a place called “Cool Beans Library Cafe” , which is located at Maginhawa Street in Quezon City.

Quietly situated in the hills of Antipolo is a relaxation haven called Luljetta's Hanging Gardens and Spa. As seen from the Zen lounge, the bright lights of Ortigas and Makati seems like another world away. The endless myriad of human activity on that far-away world was a stark contrast to the tranquility I was experiencing as I sat on a wooden bench. Soon, I let go of my worries and allowed the vibe of the place to bring forth a silent occupancy of my senses. In a wave of free-flowing karmic urge, the same thing was happening inside a packed MOA arena, as our Smart Gilas boys, freeing itself with fear - have finally ended a spate of unfortunate beatings against the South Koreans, with a FIBA-World clinching victory.

A few more hours under the guidance of Moe Hitler, the irrepressible tour proprietor we hired in Yangon, and he would have succeeded in mind controlling us to join a cult. Ron - in particular bore the brunt of the emotional torture under the, well - in fairness to Moe, was an unintentional attempt at a dictatorship ruling of our group. When Moe orders you to "Take a picture of that temple" you ask him "how many shots?" "panorama or portrait?". During our whole day of going around Yangon, cute baby Luna wasn't Gaye Emami's daughter. She was, during that day the own flesh and blood of Moe Hitler. But hey, you take the crazy with the good and we cannot deny Moe was such a character himself, an Asian version of the late Dennis Farina. We were all dog-tired upon arriving at Yangon from the long travel and lack of sleep, somehow he made our Yangon trip a more memorable one than expected. 

(updated June 2020 with travel guide)

It didn't take much effort getting there. Us having to endure a six-hour bus ride is nothing compared to the bare living conditions on the island. As seen from my outsider's point of view, the scarcity of everything I couldn't live without, flashes right in front of my eyes. It was an initial impression that proved to be inaccurate — a mere hour into our stay there. We were greeted by a middle-aged woman whom everyone simply calls as "Kapitana", while to some, who have strict odes about current politics prefer to call her "Ex-kapitana". It doesn't matter whether she won or lost in the last barangay elections, what stuck out to us then was her hospitality and eagerness to cut the rope of unfamiliarity between her and the two visitors who came to Alibijaban island. 

During our recent weekend stay at the Circle Hostel in La Union, we were not only duped into getting ourselves drunk by agreeing to play a seemingly harmless, but super fun drinking game called "random games, random games" (you don't say it aloud with a poker face, you chant it out like the other half of the Bushwackers). We were also hogtied, dragged into a van and was forcibly fed with weight-watching battering and diet killing, sumptuous and delicious meals. Its safe to say that it was a case of kidnapping nobody wants to file any charges.

The days of traveling and staying in exclusive resorts like suburban home owners not giving a hoot about  their neighbors, are long gone and for good riddance. The concept of 'hostels' providing not only as a cheaper alternative for accommodations, but also as a medium to interact with and befriend fellow travelers is becoming a social bridge that connects travelers. Slowly, the word uneasiness and strangeness among guests of any hostels are replaced with shared conversations, laughter and for some, a glass filled with a mixture of alcoholic drinks there is: rum, vodka, beer and what-haves.

After witnessing a thousand sunsets in my life, I've gotten used to it. Even the one which set directly across our office window, I often have taken it for granted. It warrants only a momentary pause "oh look at that fiery round sun", then I'm back at my computer desk. Not soon after, any remaining flicker of daylight is replaced by striking strobe lights from bumper to bumper cars and nearby buildings. The neon sign of "In God We Trust" attached to the roof of a condominium, creates a dragging longing for daylight. Still, I rest at the thought of the sun rising and setting again the next day. I'm definitely sure of that. I tend to overlook that the sun's clockwork cycle is what makes it possible for life to exist on this planet. Upon closer inspection, it is the most beautiful natural phenomenon which happens everyday. That moment between day and night, the short minutes which dusk spans, if I'm prodded with a choice. I would say is my favorite time of the day.

The sky was raging and in the process of a quick transition from intense blue to fiery red. At the edge of the sea, the sun was sliding down like curtain dropping after a circus show. Our boatman told us to hurry so we'd catch a glimpse of the last remaining cross of one of the many buried gravestones. Most of which were already covered by coral reef, the bones of the buried has since been transferred to another cemetery inland. Well, the site of what is now known as the "Sunken Cemetery" used to be above the sea. Until a series of eruptions from Mt. Vulcan Daan in the 1870's eroded the parts of Bonbon in Catarman town thereby swallowing the cemetery and tucking it underwater.