It was about 7pm. Cebu’s gentle neighbor’s night life was alive. We strolled through the infamous boulevard and gawked at smoke pipes and couples; carriage rides and strange retails, then talked over beer and pistachio ice cream. He told me about his childhood, I contemplated over my own lack of it. My memories are too hidden, I have no stories to share. I fought the urge to weep.
On a more positive note, it was a good feeling to find myself in another city, away from the familiar buzz of my security. I like the uncertainty that the place has to offer, a hand that could hold mine, and the possibility of adventure.