Traveling makes me feel like the ultimate player. The beauty of a place attracts me and I come drink it voraciously, consume it unapologetically, but after a few days, I’m gone. I pack my bags and leave.
I visit because I hear the experience is worth having, then I bolt, without a concrete promise of return. If I am dealing with a person I’m sure stunning issues of ‘worth keeping’ will be raised, as well as hell on the side.
But I guess the saving grace with traveling is this: I keep everything, even and especially when I leave.
The experience of a new place changes me forever, rearranges my insides, and sometimes my outsides, too. Meeting the locals opens my eyes, widens my perspective. Indulging in the culture deepens my understanding of humanity and diversity. Eating the food – well that just makes me happy. I can say something poignant and dramatic, but happy as fuck will do.
I need to go home now, Cebu. You are awesome as awesome can get. Four times and you remain fun and surprising. I know there is a shitload I have yet to unravel about you, so until we meet again. You rock.