My family never really traveled. With one parent working, we just couldn’t afford it. Growing up, the farthest I got to was Puerto Galera (back when I was four years old and it was still pretty) and Baguio (around high school). I think my mom wanted to go to other places in the country, but she wasn’t a big planner. My dad’s well, I don’t want to explain. My brother travels around the country with his friends, but see, it’s because of his friends.

I’m pretty proud of the fact that the first time I traveled was because of a short scholarship stint in Singapore — I never really asked for more than what my mom initially gave me and from then I slowly started going to places: Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia (just Bintan). A year later: Thailand again, and I would want to go back again and again and again. Two years later: Cebu, Hong Kong, then Taiwan in a few days. Vietnam is lined up for next year, but I want to plan more trips with my friends. I want to keep doing this for the next few years. Not worry about the future too much and just travel, travel, travel. It’s great when you’re young and you can travel with people you love and you don’t have to worry about so many things. Since I didn’t grow up going anywhere the feelings are still new and I feel excited over the smallest details (just the bare idea of leaving!). 

It brings me away from home and from problems and leaving on a plane and landing on a different country, breathing foreign air and seeing exotic sights —

the world is better away from home. 

Sometimes I imagine myself with a job that’ll take me away for a few years (hopefully to Europe) and I’ll be leaving alone again and I’ll be independent the way I want to be — no family responsibilities, me in a new place with strangers and new people. Newness that never fails to fascinate me. 

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