An Other’s Story

Apr 22, 2015

I remember the day I left Davao with the heaviest heart.
I packed my bags hastily, wanting to leave before midnight, dropped by Alleycat and said goodbye to a few friends, rode the bus for fourteen hours and woke up to a new city.

I found myself slowly walking in the streets of Surigao City, reading signs I never quite understood. Ate cheeseburgers and drank large Cokes at McDonald’s, while waiting for the ferry to Siargao Island.

I thought to myself, hoping for only the best, that I ought to start anew. Start as a stranger again, like a new piece of paper—too smooth, too empty—and be ready for whatever there is to come.

My heaviest heart started to lighten its weight when I realized I was only a couple of hours away from a new life, a new beginning. Reformat and refresh, I thought. I was ready to be somebody else. I was too tired to be my old self, so I decided to begin again.

Weeks passed I thought I was never changing. I still check the old love’s Facebook page, reread the messages, and tried to figure out what else was missing, why I could never complete the puzzle and finish the maze to finally get out of a shallow misery.

Come the last day of my second week, I rented a motorbike and drove 130 kilometers. I found bodies of water, a waterfall, a great view of the Pacific Ocean, and a glimpse of the sea. I also found a very big rock formation, standing so still while big and rude waves were crashing into it. I climbed and reached the top, making sure to see the entirety of it — the crashing of the waves and the stillness of the rock formation. Fifteen, twenty minutes have passed I was still there. I was crying little tears, taking heavy breathes that must have meant something. I left after a few more minutes.

I drove back to the house where I stayed. Pack my bags again and left in the morning.

A meaningless story, yes. Perhaps to you. But to me, it was everything I needed. I could not describe it in words, not once have I tried. I realized, upon reaching the touristy spot of Siargao Island, that the only thing I needed to see was a metaphor of what I had become. I was the waves I saw, perhaps a becoming of a tsunami, crashing into a solid, strong rock formation — a pointless yet strong and bold move.


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