My Weekend Escape

I took my latest Boracay trip to think things over. A lot has happened in the last few weeks and I felt that I already needed a break. I needed to escape from all my realities. 

When my agent called to reconfirm my holy week travel plans last Thursday afternoon, I impulsively asked to be confirmed for an earlier departure date. I did not have a confirmed reservation at any hotel. I haven't even bought sunblock yet. No new board shorts. No new outfits. No one was scheduled to pick me up. I was going to travel alone and it scared the shit out of me. Oh and for the record, this is the most expensive broken-heart treatment I have ever availed of.

A lot of my friends were worried for me. I was worried for myself. This is really not the first time I would be traveling alone. But this is the definitely the first time I intended to do so, for myself. And believe me, it was not easy. 

I was a stranger in another place. It was actually refreshing but, most of the time, it was quite depressing. It was not easy being alone and feeling alone. It was difficult to eat by myself. Everywhere I went, there were either groups of people having a great time or couples whispering sweet nothings in each other's ear. I, on the other hand, amused myself with my phone. I tweeted a lot. I browsed often. I had to maintain contact else I might go nuts.

Yes, there were several times when I would have the chance to speak with total strangers. These were mostly during the times that I partied. I realized that when people are drunk, everybody becomes their friends. I was friendly with everyone and they were friendly with me. They probably felt sad for the guy who was dancing alone by the bar without a care in the world. It was just not acceptable. But I had to forget and I had to enjoy myself so I partied like crazy. 

People were transitory. They would stay for a couple of hours max and they would go back to their friends and party. They had their lives to live and I was not part of it. I guess this is the most depressing part of this trip; that I was not part of anybody's life on the island. I was  just a good lay (oh yes, I am) and that was it. No amount of sex would be able to heal this broken heart. But I am not complaining. 

I was drunk most of the day. Happy hours were really fantastic. I bar-hopped at night and struggled to get back to the hotel each morning. I had this morbid thought in my head: that what if I died on the island, nobody would know who I was. I was a stranger and I would remain anonymous until they check my room and find my things there. But who would they call? Who would be my person? I refused to wade in the water. I do not know how to swim. What if I drown? 

I had opportunities to think about my current situation. Each time, I would find myself wondering what went wrong and how I could make it better next time. I resorted to self-pity but that did not work. At one point, I felt that I was ready to eat my feelings again but even that did not work either. I refuse to be that person anymore.  I tried to be mad but I am not really a hateful person. So I just danced.

I left the island this morning feeling like a little better but not having fully recovered. I am still hurting but I have a better understanding of my situation. I know where I stand now and where I am headed. I know that the most difficult part of all this is taking the first step to recovery. I have done that and I know now that it should only get better from today. I have posted my Farewell Bora Boys blogs (at least some of them) and I end my Bora season here (or until I once again decide to go back before I leave, this time with friends). 

I am excited with the possibility of being jaded once more. Come to think of it, I like to be jaded again. It does not hurt when one is jaded. I like jaded. Jaded works.

Blogger's Note: Apart from eating alone, I had no one to take my pictures. I forgot my tripod. Damn.