Makati: Rain or Shine At The Junction Hostel

I live by myself in Manila and I really do not need to be sheltered in another home. But sometimes, I just feel the need to visit friends or relatives, eat, and sleep in their homes around Manila. For a change. 

Staying in a hostel in Manila would be the last option. Because I can always go home or knock at my friends’ or relatives’ homes. But when I travel, I go to a hostel. When I went to Beijing, China; in Cameron Highlands, Malaysia; in Melaka, Malaysia; in Banwa, Puerto Princesa; in Camotes Island, Cebu; in Siquijor; and many others. I love staying in hostels.

When I entered Junction Hostel in Makati, I was thrilled. The wide common area, which is also the dining area, looks comfortable and friendly. 

Vigan, Ilocos Sur: Part 2 ~ Where Angels Emerge in Heritage Town

I roamed around the city. I hopped in a salon, had caramel coffee at Marsha’s, and let the hours pass by at Calle Crisologo, again, watching people,  with Purple Heart parked beside me. Still overwhelmed by the people I have met, Vida & Tita Ima. 

I tried to contact a fellow blogger, Edmar of Edmaration.com, for an empanada dinner. We motorbiked around, and met his breezy friends. Then we went dancing in the club. I shook the hands of the Governor, and the Vice Governor, and had some cocktail drinks with new acquaintances.

Vigan, Ilocos Sur: Part 1 ~ Where Angels Emerge in Heritage Town

I claim that I always go to Vigan. I do not really go as much. I pass by all the time. Or stay hours. Not really stay stay, if you know what I mean. I pass through Vigan all the time because I love its romantic, lovely mood.

I carried my bike Purple Heart in the bus. Whatever is going upnorth. And bam! Vigan!

I slept in a deluxe bus and woke up past sunrise just in time for this picturesque view. Then I realized, since I biked from home to the main road in Manila to get a cab for me and Purple Heart, and I only carried the lightest backpack ever since I started to travel, I forgot all of them, my camera.

I did not worry, though. I am not after photos in this trip, anyway. But am thrilled to see this, even if it was the millionth moment, captured it, while I am in a speeding bus.

My Way Back Into Love

It was a complicated year. And I resist recalling. It essentially started grand. I remembered being in one of my favourite islands, Batanes. Then all that followed, month after month, were something worth forgetting. Really. My heart was crushed and broken. In between those tough times, I tried to scribble my feelings into notes. I realized that there is just so much f*cking sh*t of humans who chose to desecrate their lives and beauty ~ of misery, hatred, and disgust, that they even crave for each one to suffer the same way. Bam! 

Each day I had to persuade myself that the best is yet to come. I knew that it will.

Batanes: The Difference

My third visit in the island of Batanes provided me with impromptu selfies. It is a realization of perspectives.

I will post photos of my first, second and third visits. I mesmerize until now of the difference in the photos. And the reason behind the way it was shot is a puzzle to me that wants to be validated by my own mind. 

I deny overthinking. But I leave it to my friends. Because until now, I am speechless why my photos are the same but different, if you know what I mean.

I was gallivanting & giving in Batanes in December 2013 to January 2014, April 2014, and October 2014. I just cannot find other photos. 

Here goes:

Scene 1

January 11, 2014

October 14, 2014

Batanes: The Sweet Moving On

I usually liked taking photos of myself facing the camera, courtesy of my tripod.

Lately, I noticed, the photos, old and new, seemed different and I appreciated it more.

The walking forward emerged to me as a symbol of moving on to something. And I feel free-er thinking about it, attracting the vibes.

Whatever it is, I hope to know soon.

The Child Who Travels In Me

I started to read the ebook and I read all from the first page. This is the part that struck me this morning and I like this most, "the child from whom this grown up grew."


To Leon Werth

I ask the indulgence of the children who may read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious reason: he is the best friend I have in the world. I have another reason: this grown-up understands everything, even books about children. I have a third reason: he lives in France where he is hungry and cold. He needs cheering up. If all these reasons are not enough, I will dedicate the book to the child from whom this grown-up grew. All grown-ups were once children--although few of them remember it. And so I correct my dedication:

TO LEON WERTH
WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY

-The Little Prince



Let me tell you why I can relate to these words.


Last weekend I went to Baler, Aurora Province with my bodyboard, which is a hand me down from my brother and my nephew. Yes I had to get it to keep my young nephew safe away from the strong waves of Claveria.


A month earlier, I was in Claveria, Cagayan Valley, in that beautiful beach of Sentinela; I was playing with the waves. And I felt happy and did not want to leave the beach. And I was praying for a time to do it again.