A forgotten alarm and a quiet unease
Morning comes while I still carry the aftertaste of a sleepless night.
I should have set the alarm for 7:50, but somehow it's off by an hour—8:50.
When I woke up, breakfast was already over. A faint irritation lingered in my hungry body.
Yet, of all times, it's at moments like this that the journey begins.
For now, I decided to take a shower.
Yesterday's rain had muddied the water; I had no choice but to wash with a water bottle.
But today was different. Clear water came out. Just that was a small hope.
Shouldering my luggage, heading into town
After getting ready, I put on a backpack weighing over 15 kilograms.
I went to pick up my laundry and told the tricycle driver, "I'll come later, so please wait."
In El Nido, the sun was dazzling from the morning.
With the lesson from last time in mind, I made sure to arrive at the bus stop 30 minutes early.
The memory of being crammed into a middle seat and jostled for five hours still lingers in my body.
Eating a croissant in a hurry
At a nearby bakery, I buy a spinach croissant for breakfast.
Indeed, traveling by bus for five hours on an empty stomach would be far too risky.
It tasted pretty good. But it cost over 400 yen.
Compared to the atmosphere there, it felt strangely expensive. My sense of prices while traveling is always odd.
I finish the bread in five minutes and rush to the bus stop. But there are so many buses I can't tell which one is mine.
It felt as if I'd been thrown into chaos.
A colorful journey that starts with 'Hi!'
At that moment, a cheerful voice called out, "Hi! Are you gonna go to PPC?"
A British couple, Andrienne and Lewis.
She had a sunny smile and even offered me a fan.
Within minutes of meeting, we shook hands, called each other by name, and felt like old friends.
That gesture of softly passing me the fan when she saw my sweaty face.
It was a moment when the heart was conveyed more than words.
Inside the van — a cramped story.
Finally the van arrived, and we boarded.
They had originally planned to come as four, but two friends got food poisoning, so they were traveling as just the two of them.
But the van filled up in no time.
Beside me sat two little girls, neatly sharing a single seat.
They looked at my face repeatedly, and I smiled back.
Being gazed at by those pure eyes somehow loosened my heart.
The van started off, then stopped again after about 10 kilometers.
People kept boarding one after another until it was completely over capacity.
But that's the Philippines too.
That culture of accepting someone even if it means getting cramped—it's an odd mix of inconvenience and kindness.
Steamed buns, ice cream, and a curiosity piqued.
After three hours of driving, we finally stopped for a break near Roxas.
Similar vans were lined up, and for a moment I couldn't tell which one was mine.
I went to the restroom, checked the time, and had a little 30-minute free time.
There I found a steamed bun filled with chicken. 50 pesos (about 125 yen).
A bit expensive. But curiosity won, so I picked it up.
The taste wasn't bad. Simple and warm.
I was tempted by ice cream too, but fear of food poisoning won and I gave it up.
A small courage called Instagram
So I mustered my courage and asked them for their Instagram.
We exchanged them. There was no rejection.
If anything, they happily said "Nice!" and complimented my shoes.
In that moment, something inside me shifted a little.
I could be accepted. That's what I came to believe.
A documentary that reflects myself
Inside the van, the scenery streaming past the window.
In that scenery, I was thinking about how to present my YouTube channel.
Not a surface-level record, but I want it to be a documentary that reflects my inner self.
A work that, through the filter of travel, allows me to reexamine myself.
Arrival, and on the hostel's rooftop
I arrived in Puerto Princesa at dusk.
When I checked in at Mojo Hostel, a European owner greeted me.
His slightly stern face startled me for a moment, but it was just an expression.
At night, I ordered a plated meal and a mango shake at the rooftop bar.
French, German, and British people were chatting happily.
Amid that, strangely, I didn't feel "lonely."
A small 'Hi!' — the change in that voice
And that night, in my room, I said "Hi!."
Not a small voice. Properly, in my own voice.
Even though it was just that, I felt strangely proud.
Little by little, I'm breaking out of my shell. Certainly, in this journey.
