This island is definitely to die for. Ang ganda mo, Pilipinas.

Circa 2006/7 - when we only had Friendster; when getting home by 6 or 7pm is already considered so late; when we had to wear our white and green skirt to school every weekdays; when we still need to ask our parents if we can go out on a weekend for a school project or just so we can sneak out; when we only have little to no money left for lakwacha or eating out; when we used to have a slam book where almost everyone's favorite quotation is "Love is like a rosary, it's full of mystery."; when our social media is outside.

You used to be a familiar face carrying an unknown hurricane inside of you.
And me, I was probably a wallflower, surreptitiously looking at you from afar.
But as fate may have made it, we met, we talked and digress into a seemingly endless conversation.

We trace down the lines in our veins and discovered the many similarities we have.
We found the words and the metaphors that have long been missing.
We perhaps had a grasp of each other. We ignited a flame, and boy, it was epic.

For a moment, I didn't want it to end. I didn't want us to stop talking.
I was left wondering what it feels like to walk with you on a normal day.
I was left wondering what it would feel like being held in your arms.

There are so many letters that I have stopped writing long before I have sent it to you.
The unfinished poems, the awkward Hi and Hello along the hallway.
The ten-second word exchange, the unsent and ignored messages.
All the plans, the gaps and the in-betweens.

You see, I am not good at this. I am not good at second-guessing.
I almost always halt the fire before it have even heat up.
I am an exit sign with a light that never goes out.
And I realized, you are a glowing radiance, out and about.

And so, it will end. Our story will end before it had even started.
Before I have even told you how I like even the tiny details I know of you.
Before I completely fall without your plans of catching me through.

Maybe that's how my life is, and will always be —
a redundant case of "I like you. You like me. End of story."

And yet again, it was just another sad ending.

At 5, I dreamt of being a princess like most little girls wanted to be. I fantasised being in an enchanted castle, wearing a gorgeous pink dress, waiting for her prince charming. I wanted to be Cinderella, Aurora, Belle or any Disney Princess I watched from my old, bulky VHS tapes or my big fairy tale books my parents gifted me.

At 10, I fancied to be a beauty queen. - imagined myself standing in front of a thousand of crowd, saying my name and age out loud, introducing my hometown. Surpassing a nerve-wracking Q&A portion, winning or maybe losing but still wearing a sash and a crown then waving with my fingers tightly clasp together.

At 15, I wanted to be a Flight Attendant - thought of travelling the world, learning different languages, meeting people with diverse races, culture and color. I envied the grace and glamour of being an FA. Or perhaps - I just wanted to experience riding an airplane.

At 20, I thought I should have become a journalist, a TV broadcaster, or a feature writer, or an editor, or maybe a poet or to top it all, an author of my own book.

At 25, I no longer wanted to be a Disney Princess or a beauty queen or an FA. There are so many things I thought I wanted to be but still felt adrift in the world. Then as wise years added, I guess all I wanted is still to be the same person as I am who will achieve and finish off that bucket list she made for herself.

"Many people die at twenty five and aren't buried until they are seventy five."