I am thinking of going on a vacation for an entire weekend, soon. And I do not mean just bumming around in one of the Luzon beaches. I am actually considering getting the hell out of this country for a while to, uhurm, contemplate on my life and burn some of that money I expect from this splehhhndid writing gig. Been spending nearly half of my work shift surfing travel sites that offer the lowest rates with the best perks, when I suddenly realized…. I have an expired passport. It has not been used since I was 12 years old. To resurrect it, I would need to produce an NSO-certified birth certificate, which, horror of horrors, I again do not have. Why, you ask? Because when I was born, the civil registry number was not being used yet, so in modern interpretation, either I was illegally transported to this place from some unknown land or I was a lost child of a fairy goddess and I sprang to earth out of nowhere when my human parents cut the Balete tree in their backyard. In short, I could not travel. Not beyond the Philippines.

So where do I go then? Palawan seems a good choice, as 1) not everyone has gone there, unlike Boracay, 2) it has safari tours and trips to the crocodile park, and 3) most of the resorts are on isolated, relatively virgin ground. That means, I can wear a two-piece bikini without people dying of laughter and I can roll around in the sand and not care if I look like a wind-blown barrel. Hmmmmm (scratches double chin), maybe I should go. I need a break. A good long one. Who knows? I just might give birth to an idea worthy of a short story, so I could stop whining about not writing enough. Gah! Enough of this. Back to work. (cue in: thunderclap)