At 5:45 in the morning, Ping woke me up. Last night he said “breakfast at 6,” so I don’t know why he was 15 minutes early. But everyone was already up and getting ready, so I hurried to wash my face, tamed my bed hair with water, and went outside. Breakfast was spring rolls and rice, plus cola and a fried egg. Maybe everyone was still sleepy, because they ate in silence, which I found a little funny (laughs).
After finishing that, we grabbed our bags and headed straight to the pier. It was finally time to say goodbye to Isla Notre Gigante. When we arrived at the pier, the tour guide from yesterday was already waiting in front of the boat. It was only 6:15, and he was already there… I really wondered when they sleep.
We loaded the luggage and set off. There was no island-hopping planned today; we were supposed to return to the mainland in about an hour and 20 minutes. But just after the boat started, an unexpected problem happened: the propeller apparently got tangled in another boat’s rope. The guides quickly stripped off their clothes and jumped into the sea to untangle the rope.
Watching that, I thought there’s no way you’d see this kind of response in Japan. Japan moves by the book; they seemed to act on pure instinct. It felt like a scene from an adventure.
Then the rope came off and we thought we were back on our way—only to have another problem. This time the engine stopped in the middle of the sea. I don’t know why. The guides dived in and inspected it several times, but they said it needed repairs, so in the end we had to call another boat.
The moment the boat stopped, the engine noise disappeared and was replaced by the sound of the waves and Ping and the others laughing. An unexpected trouble. But nobody panicked. They made jokes, and Ping was once again standing on that little plank, striking a pose. AJ looked a bit worried, but I started to enjoy it. The engine had stopped, true, but being able to sit on the sea and laugh—experiences like that are rare.
About 15 minutes later a rescue boat arrived and towed our boat with a rope. Along the way we met another boat heading to the mainland and transferred to it. Going from boat to boat over the water was thrilling. The tension of crossing a wobbly plank and the way everyone laughed their way across together—moments like that are probably what make trips the most memorable.
We finally reached the mainland!—or so I thought, but then we had a flat tire again. The tire they had fixed yesterday apparently wasn’t holding up after all.
But a Filipino nearby immediately helped, took out the spare tire from the car, and changed it for us. That culture of helping one another really feels so Filipino.
After that, we were going to pay a visit to Rachelle’s relative, so we waited in the car. But lack of sleep, the heat, and the smell of Bem’s e-cigarette made me feel sick. I opened the window, got out, and took a deep breath. Bem came down and apologized, but she wasn’t at fault—my nose is just overly sensitive. So I told her, “Next time you vape, please open the window.” I felt a little proud that I was able to say it properly.
From there we headed to a dam—deep in the mountains, a quiet place full of nature. It wasn’t a spectacular view, but it was calm and soothing.
Here, I started preparing to give out the gifts I’d brought. On the back of the cards I wrote a message for each person with a ballpoint pen. I didn’t even know how to spell Bem’s friend’s name, but her smile was so striking that I wrote about that.
Apparently Bem had fallen while we were doing that. Everyone laughed, so about ten minutes later I asked, “Are you okay?” (laughs). Ping told me, “Filipinos don’t help; they laugh. That’s a sign of friendship,” which stuck with me. Turning it into laughter instead of rushing to help—that kind of distance felt nice.
Later, while we were driving, it was time to say goodbye to Bem. I handed her a letter and some Japanese snacks and expressed my thanks. It had only been two days, but they were really full, intense days. Meeting, laughing, connecting, parting—I'm grateful for all of it.
Lunch was at 7-Eleven. Rachelle was delighted with a huge ice cream she bought. We went to Rachelle’s friend Yany’s house and were served a warm meal there: stir-fried kangkong (water spinach) with bagoong, coconut laui, and canned sardines. That was the taste of a Filipino home.
Ping poured ice into a bottle of cola, and sitting around the round table while we ate felt so comfortable.
Leaving Ping’s cousin’s house, we finally headed for the pier. The sky was overcast and thunder rumbled from time to time. Even so, we were laughing like usual. When we arrived at the pier, there was an unexpected twist: we drove the car onto the boat. This is something you’d never see in Japan, and my heart wavered again at the experience.
I was surprised when Ping told me, “We’re taking the car onto the boat,” as I had expected to get out. Then we waited about 20 minutes to board. Amid the booming thunder, I quietly listened to the sound of the waves.
Once aboard, it seems eating cup noodles is standard on the boat. Looking around, several people held steaming cups of noodles with satisfied looks. I bought a 60-peso seafood cup noodle from the shop. It made my hands hot from the heat, but being wrapped in that steam while I ate was irresistible. I went out to the deck, slurped my cup noodles alone with thunder and wind as the backdrop, and watched the sea. It was a little scary, but my heart felt oddly calm. I’ll never forget that feeling.
In less than 30 minutes the boat started moving, and we arrived at Guimaras Island.
The first place we went to was Rachelle’s aunt’s house. But the roads were pitch dark; the island really had very few streetlights, and we got lost. We checked the location by phone many times, and in the end the aunt came on a motorcycle to pick us up and we arrived safely. It felt a bit like an adventure, which was kind of fun.
When we entered the house, the aunt and her friend greeted us. It made me feel again just how strong family ties are in the Philippines. They welcomed me, a stranger, like a relative—their warmth ran deep. It was a kind of warmth I hadn’t often experienced in Japan.
Amid the Tagalog conversation I could occasionally hear English words. In between, the name “Kota” floated into my ears and I realized they were talking about me. I didn’t understand the words, but from the tone and the laughter I could fully grasp the atmosphere in the room.
From there we headed to our lodging. In the back seat of the car, the three of us—the aunt, her friend, and I—were squished together. Ela and Rachelle sat in the front. That felt so Filipino. No one complained it was cramped or uncomfortable; rather, they seemed to enjoy it, and I really liked that. It gave me a comforting sense, like my heart softened.
The lodging we finally arrived at was simple but clean, and above all filled with a warm atmosphere. There were two rooms, and they let me use one by myself. The reason was that the other room didn’t have an air conditioner. But Rachelle laughed and said, “You’re a guest, so you can use this room.”
Those words warmed my chest. Being accepted so naturally and cared for like that—it's something deeper and more tender than just saying “they’re kind people.”
The aunt’s friend jokingly said, “I could sleep in this room too, you know?” and I couldn’t help but laugh. Even little jokes like that were laced with kindness, which I found delightful.
After a while, we all headed to the Mango Festival venue. In the car, the aunt’s friend told a story about working in Hong Kong: “The boss was the worst, so I quit after a month and came back right away,” she said with a laugh. That attitude felt so typically Filipino. Living life seriously, but somehow with a light-heartedness—that impression stayed with me.
Then we arrived at the venue: a huge statue of Tanduay, lively stalls, and live music blasting at full volume.
There were hardly any tourists; everyone around us was local Filipinos. I felt like a solitary dot among them, but strangely it didn’t feel out of place.
We shared rice, chicken, and seafood dishes together. I remember Ping, Ela, and Rachelle naturally passing plates around and laughing together.
Rachelle took photos of me with mangoes and in front of the venue, and I took photos of Ping and the others. Sharing time through the camera felt somehow very special.
Finally, we bought a bottle of Tanduay rum and headed home. We couldn’t finish the big bottle—about 70% was left—but the aunt’s friend said, “I’ll take the bottle if you don’t want it,” so I handed it all to her. These are people for whom sharing comes naturally, far more than receiving. That image stayed burned into my heart until the end.
