Light dawned upon the horizon on November 4, 2001. Unlike the previous two-day holiday commemorating the memories of saints and souls, unlike the many ordinary days of school and so-called hard work, unlike my recent days of misery and self-pity, this one was different. I woke up smiling.

     Instead of trying to ignore the apparent daylight streaming down the curtains of a chaotic attic of garbage people call my room, instead of groaning and attempting to fall back into that blissful world of sleep, I stood up and actually looked forward to the day's events. Normally, this would sound odd. For starters, I try my best not to wake up in the first place, or at least try to prolong the vivid sensations of dreams racking through my bizarre head. My reality, the waking world, was getting boring really fast and attempts to change such a reality was getting harder as well. Sleep, with or without the dreams it provided, was always a good solution to get rid of that horrible notion of 'waking up'. So basically, for me to stretch, get up from bed without the usual countless minutes of hesitation would tantamount to something quite extraordinary in the day's itinerary. Odd behavior on my part? Absolutely. But I had good reason to do so. I mean, who wouldn't get up as early as possible when you knew that in a span of a few hours, you would start a trek that could quite possibly change your life forever? Forgive me for being over-dramatic and for stressing words that would make this essay look cheesy instead of believable… but the fact of the matter is, this ordinary morning, this seemingly common occurrence for the many Juan de la Cruz's out there, was going to be the start of something special. Something involving over a thousand kilometers of road, a god awful lot of coconut trees and three days of events that will, without reason of a bloody doubt, last my memories a lifetime. Today, at exactly 1:30 p.m., a companion and myself would begin a road trip using a decent 6-year old Toyota Corolla from boresville Tacloban to the chaotic streets of Manila. No driver, no maps, and absolutely no experience whatsoever. Just two college students armed with virtually nothing. Scary? Most definitely. The thought of actually being permitted to drive the car solo was and is still beyond me. The thought of starting this trip without a friggin' map or at least an experienced traveller was undeniably insane. The likelihood of getting lost was high, a flat tire in the middle of the night was very possible, and the cold fact that I've never done anything like this before made the situation all too hard to comprehend. This was, if phrased simply, utter lunacy! And for this reason, coupled with many other negative ones, I woke up smiling like a six-year old on Christmas day.

     I spent the morning packing my stuff since my friends didn't allow me much time to do it the night before. Apparently, they agreed upon themselves to hold me captive in an internet café until two in the morning. How this would help me for the day's trip was ofcourse, quite obvious. It wouldn't. Ah! Another friendly gesture of comradeship and wishful thinking on their part. Packing took about thirty minutes. I threw in my entire 'suitable for public viewing' wardrobe, which in truth, wasn't very much. I managed to laugh at myself afterwards when I saw the finished product: One large duffel bag (which included inside, clothing for two weeks and three pairs of shoes God knows I didn't have much use for). Lunch came early since everybody was excited. My brothers would finally be able to make the house look like a setting from Twister without my annoying interference. My sister was probably going to celebrate as soon as the car made its way out the gate. She thinks I'm crazy, you see. My mom, still trying to find an excuse to make me stay (by scaring me with all kinds of things movies can only dream about) was hindered by my dad, who in his great mastery of driving through any terrain, acted as if I was going to go shopping in the supermarket a few blocks away. Petunia, our female Dalmatian fueled with enough enthusiasm to make Chris Tucker look quiet, tried her best to get my attention as I loaded the baggage into the car. I really think she wanted to come. And I don't blame her. So much energy in so boring a place can make one, even a dog, go crazy. Trust me. I speak from experience and much expertise in that particular subject. So with all that behind and a few hasty goodbyes, I left the driveway of 1 Real St., Tacloban City and picked up my friend, Bom Palaginog, a good number of blocks away. When I got to his house, his grandmother clutched my arm as if I was her grandson's savior and redeemer. She told me to pray a lot in the car and take care of her good grandson. I had to bite my lip hard to stop from snickering right there. Praying? That I did once, ofcourse. Taking care? Uhmm, sure. I think. Bom's mom asked if the driver was coming, since she only saw me and Bom, and I nodded my head in assent, smiling and biting my lip at the same time. Obviously, she wouldn't have permitted her precious son to come along without a legal guardian of sorts. I assured her that I'd pick him up later. And I didn't lie. I picked up a driver 3 days later, after reaching our intended destination. But she didn't have to know that, now did she? Oh the joys of truth-telling. Bom and myself said our goodbyes to his family and proceeded to the car. So at 2:30 p.m. on a cloudy Sunday afternoon, our journey had finally begun. If you were anywhere near the car at the time when we locked the doors, fastened our seat-belts and started the engine, you would have heard the bewildered cries of two incredulous college students about to embark on this voyage of not-so-epic, yet surreal proportions. ETD: That moment. Estimated Time of Arrival? We didn't know… and for the most part, we didn't particularly care either.

     The closest region en route to Manila via Tacloban was Samar. So before I continue, I would like to state that I mean no offense to those who live there and what they do for a living. I write what I write based on my personal opinion after traveling from one point of the island to the other. That being said, I hope that people don't stone me when I now say that Samar sucks. The road, if you can call cheap asphalt and rotting concrete with more holes than a sponge a road, is supposively the region's national highway. I believe that engineers of such a lengthy construct were/are corrupt ten year old politicians who think that a cheap solution to a problem is the only solution. If that road was built years ago, then there is no apparent sign of maintenance. If it was built recently, I think the builders should hang themselves right away. There are holes all over the damn place! And if that isn't bad enough, these holes are strategically located in the midst of dead curves where it makes smooth driving when making a turn almost impossible. I think the main purpose of the engineers was to delay the drive from one location to another instead of making it easier. Truly, that place is a mess unparalled by any other road network I've driven on. If a DPWH branch exists in the area, they're probably spending it on something other than public works and highways. I mean, I know that people are corrupt, but do they have to be so bloody obvious about it?

     The drive from Tacloban to Catbalogan was relatively peaceful. Peaceful in the sense that signs of civilization en route to our destination was meek and short. I wondered what people ever did around here for entertainment. Bom suggested a few humorous answers which by their content will be classified by movie analysts as rated R. At least he was enjoying the ride. Ofcourse he would. He was sitting back, enjoying the 'view' of the countryside while I was driving around holes and niches along the road. To keep ourselves occupied during the most entertaining drive of our lives (hear the sarcasm?), we pumped the volume of the stereo and sang along to the songs I recorded a few days earlier. It took about three hours to reach Catbalogan and from there, another two hours to reach Calbayog. It was nightfall when we got there and were pretty much starving. So we ate at this diner called Carlo's something, then decided to call on a friend who lived in the city. His name was Yancy Ygbuhay, a former classmate in Pisay. Athlete, gamer, and all around nice guy who now studied there after traveling from one university to another. After talking for an hour or so, reminiscing on our previous lives as crazy loons in secondary school that was supposed to be the best of the best, me and Bom decided to ask him to tag along for awhile. We'd pay for his trip going back from Allen (where the ferryboat there would then take us to Luzon) , his food, and his lodging in exchange for a new face inside the car. Besides… we didn't know how to get to Allen. So after 9:00 p.m., he finally caved in and came along. He didn't ask his parent's permission since he knew they would never approve of an overnight cruise with two old friends who may decide to kill him or hold him ransom. So I guess the age old saying, "What they don't know, won't hurt them" applies in this scenario. We took Yancy with us and sped off to Allen. Fortunately enough, the road going there was better than that of getting to Calbayog. We talked about a lot of important things during the ride. I mean, if you classify booze, drugs and sex as important things. We laughed our asses off discussing many of their interesting subtopics and recent trends. Alas, Pisay taught us well. But hey! Talking about it doesn't necessarily imply that we engage in such vices, does it? Talk is, afterall, just talk right?

     A good hour and thirty minutes later, we got to Allen and checked in a local motel near the ferry port. After that, we pretty much did things young male teenagers normally do late at night when away from parental supervision and quite far from any means of recognition. We played a game of pool. Billiards. Several nine-ball games wherein I won as often as Kobe Bryant would miss an open slam-dunk. Which come to think of it, was never. An hour later, we retired to our cozy yet un-air-conditioned room with three beds and a TV set. It had all the basic channels too! CNN, Studio 23, mTV, HBO, Discovery Channel and who could ever leave out FashionTV? All in all, those channels kept us awake for the succeeding three hours that followed. I noticed that we paid close attention to the fabric of clothing used by the models in FTV. Yes, the fabric of clothing. Such beautiful… clothing. We slept at around 2:00 a.m.

     We were supposed to wake up at 5:00 a.m. and take the 6:00 a.m. ferry to Luzon. But due to laziness and retardation - something we mutually share as young men - we ended up waking at 9 a.m. Just in time to see the 6:00 a.m. ferry leave. Our so-called Filipino-time truly works wonders at times. Although it would have been nice if Yancy came along with us, I don't think his parents would have approved of him leaving the island without so much as a goodbye note. Besides, he was already in enough trouble for spending the night away from home… so that crossed out our thoughts of actually kidnapping the bastard. He left at around 10:30 a.m., leaving me and Bom to wait it out till the bloody ferry arrived. The sign on the bulletin board said that the boat would leave at 11:00 a.m.. So we hurried to the port and waited. And finally at 12:00 noon the damn thing finally arrived. Loading passengers and vehicles took another 2.5 hours. I think us Filipinos take a special course in high school called Tardiness 101. We seem to have mastered it to perfection, judging from the constant and predictable nature of events. The Filipino Time Theory, formulated by yours truly, states that the scheduled or assigned time for a particular task usually occurs an hour or two after scheduled time.

     The trip from Allen to Mat-nog, Sorsogon was totally uneventful. The barge had two main sections. Passengers on the top deck and vehicles on the lower deck. And since the top deck was as packed as a championship game for the NBA, we had to settle for seats inside the stupid car in the lower deck. Besides, the top deck smelled and looked like a hospital that had no intention of applying sanitization measures. The view downstairs wasn't exactly entertaining though. Seeing drivers piss on their own vehicles, watching the barge-gate sway back and forth, not to mention listening to the background music of the Backstreet boys from the ferry-speakers all seemed to contribute to our most enjoying session in the ferryboat for two bloody hours. I tried not to puke. Bom and I both agreed that the barge was truly a modern means of transport back when Manuel Quezon was still our president. Today, I think Japan uses similar ships as second-hand transport for the disposal of the vilest of their wastes. As to why our government allows it to be used for people, despite its frail and fit-for-dismantlement condition, is a mystery.

     You can imagine our satisfaction upon arriving in Mat-nog. That's the ferry district in Sorsogon, Luzon. It was 3:00 p.m. and we were aching for a late lunch. I figured we'd stop by somewhere along the road and find a McDonald's or something. Unfortunately though, to my obvious discontent, popular and foreign fast food chains were not very popular this far south. The best we could find were Big Mak and Franks outlets, which in truth was growing quite annoying. One can only eat so much of the same food and then start getting disgusted with it. So we treaded on to Sorsogon City, arriving at around 4:00 p.m. It's imperative to note that the highway from Mat-nog to the province's capital was the complete opposite, in terms of everything, to the "road" we experienced in Samar. In Sorsogon, driving was like flying on the ground. We had lunch, or rather a very early dinner, in Jollibee. And then decided to go sight-seeing along the many side streets of Sorsogon (read: we got lost). Evidently, the city was pretty much like Tacloban only bigger and cleaner. Oh and I think we spotted a mall or two along the way… such things are non-existent in Region 8, so it gave us just pause to actually see one along the road. The closest thing to a mall in Tacloban resembles a market building with two main stalls: a video game arcade room and a beauty salon. We purchased a map in one of the local stores along the road; you know… those plastic-covered one page maps that show the entire country? It proved to be as useful as a flashlight in broad daylight. But it did give me a better picture of the country. I mean, prior to making this trip I didn't know jack about our country's detailed geography. Who the hell cared where the Bicol Region was, anyway.

     t was dark when we finally found the way leading back to the national highway. We left Sorsogon at 6:00 p.m. and headed for Legaspi City, the capital of the neighboring province of Camarines Sur. In a sense, it was an interesting drive. Bom kept me awake by telling me all the wonderful things about his girlfriend. It didn't keep me awake because I was envious of his situation, but rather, it frustrated me to no end because it made me remember mine. Or what used to be mine but is no longer, anyway. From what I was hearing, it was like she was Venus and he some lowly mortal who, by the good graces of fortune, has been paired of with a divine being of her caliber. Ofcourse, he didn't say it in that particular fashion, but hey, you get the general idea. I had to explicitly tell him to switch topics before I started getting grumpy. And to my abrupt surprise, he did.

     We bought dinner in Legaspi and was about to head for Naga but due to time constraints, delayed the venture for the morning after instead. Besides, I wanted to take a good picture of Mt. Mayon. Who knows? Maybe it'd explode or something after I clicked on the camera… all the better for the photograph, right? It took us half an hour to find the inn that my parents had suggested. Carlo's Pensione was a small bed and breakfast inn that was cozier than our previous night's apartelle in Allen. Maybe it was because of the hot shower it had installed in its bathroom, or maybe it was due to the presence of an air-conditioner. I slept easier and woke up later than usual due to the coziness.

     Breakfast was served at around 10:00 a.m. We left, excited to see the 'Near-Perfect Cone' volcano but instead fell short of meeting that goal. It was raining that morning. Hence, all we could see of Mayon was the base of the mountain. The cone was covered by an endless sea of clouds. Stupid weather. So after making a quick deposit in UCPB, an errand Bom was supposed to do for his enrolment (I tried to stop him, I swear), we left the city an hour and a half later. We stayed, got lost, and ate lunch in Naga at around 2:00 p.m. Naga is a major city in Camarines Sur. Why? Because it's not the capital of the province but has a mall. Kind of hard to find such occurences back south. We left an hour later, cruising through the plains of the province. It wasn't till around 5:30 p.m. that it started getting dark. By then, we had reached the mountains of Camarines Norte. Things were about to get interesting.

     Let me tell you something about the mountains of Camarines Norte. It is a multitude of steep, zigzagging terrain with a small number of inhabitants occupying the large territory. Electronic light is a stranger here. Hell, I think some people still worship Bathala in that area. It is not a good place to visit without adequate light. But we didn't know that back then. So we entered the region, going up the hill, down the hill, around the hill, laughing our asses off. Then it started getting dark. It was 6:00 p.m. I decided to slow down, close all my lights and see our reaction to the dawning twilight. It didn't take more than a few nanoseconds before I switched my lights back on again. It was absolute darkness! I don't know if it was the night sky or the form of the mountains that made it so dark, but believe me when say that it was scary shit. Bom expressed the same thoughts by saying a few words of mild profanity. I didn't even know if I was following the right route anymore. Surely there'd be at least a lamp post or a sign saying that this was a highway, right? Nevertheless, we trekked forward, pumping the volume of the speakers to ease the remote silence this wilderness was providing with ease. It took two and a half hours of driving through the mountain till we finally reached a sign that said Quezon was nearby. This provided ample verification that we were on the right track. It wouldn't have been pleasant to cross that mountain range or hill range, whatever, backtracking to where we made a wrong turn in the middle of the night. Thirty minutes later we found a Jollibee branch, where we stopped to buy a soda and a large order of fries. I was so hungry, I bet if they fed me dog-meat right then I wouldn't have minded one-bit. But we planned to eat dinner in Lucena, so we settled for a small snack for the two-hour journey instead. I thought it was going to be a quiet ride, after going through the whole mountain scenario. Sadly, I was proved wrong after reading a small sign that read: Gumaca, Quezon.

     We entered this region a few minutes after getting our snack. The wind was harsh, making trees and bushes sway all over the place. There was little rain, but that was of little concern when the wind went ballistic. I found out later that a typhoon was raging somewhere nearby. Bom was sleeping, I think or about to fall asleep since he was being so quiet, and I was singing like some drunk in a videoke bar. We were the only vehicle in the road. A long strip of road, actually, where the trees on both sides coved in while swaying rhythmically to the wind. A small mist suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. I was driving pretty fast, about 100 km/hour, so I loosened the accelerator and slowed down. At first I thought it was just white smoke caused by some burning object but on second glance found that it was too translucent and too thin to be something of that sort. You could see the road ahead of you, but the mist made it blurry, if not hard to look at. It was a moving mist moving from the right side of the road to the left, but it didn't pass through the trees. It was as if the mist was just there to block the road. And this thought scared me a bit. I passed through the mist slowly, then upon passing it, I called out to my friend and passenger in relief. I remember saying, "Puta, Bom. Makaharadlok man adto." To translate, "Fuck Bom, that was scary." He didn't reply. So I stopped the car, looked towards his direction and found him staring blankly at something behind us. I thought that he was staring at the fog-mist-thing so I decided to take a look myself.

     And there she was.

     A pale, long-haired lady dressed in one of those old yellow-whitish gowns, stood staring at us a few meters away from the car. The mist was gone but in its stead stood a very pale, yet very pretty woman whose features resembled an actress lost in stage. The one thing that caught my attention was her eyes. They were "piercing", so to speak. I guess I could give a more accurate description of her if I had more time to study the view, but unfortunately I had not the time nor the friggin' desire to do so. I screamed like a mad-man, hit the pedal and zoomed like one of those racers in the movies. I remember the vulgar language I used while asking Bom if that thing was real or not. My voice was shaky, so I asked my question again. He still didn't reply. I was scared shitless, goose bumps going up in every pore of my body, and screaming like a bloody freak of nature. He was playing Silent Bob.

     Right then, I was speeding through the coastal road of Quezon. It was raining now, the winds were getting harsher and we could see the rough tide of waves smashing through the sea-wall. I knew that the road would be slippery but I didn't stop. I didn't want to stop, damnit. That thing back there wasn't human and I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of finding out what the hell it was. So the incumbent sight of many 10-feet high splashes on the road generated by the waves hitting the sea-wall did not make me stop. The splash, reaching so high an altitude and bearing so great a force, hit the road hard, dragging whatever it touched back into the sea. I slowed down to 60 km/hour and sped through the road, constantly swerving as titanic amounts of sea-water rained upon the car. It would force the car to skid towards the sea but then I'd force it back the opposite direction after the splash would hit. I was still yelling while Bom kept his mouth shut. This was like a dream going from bad to worse. I couldn't believe my eyes. I couldn't believe this was bloody happening. But it did. And it happened for a duration of five minutes. Then it became relatively normal. We were out of the coastal road, speeding through the harsh wind and moderate rainfall. Safe, sound and surprisingly still alive.

     It took us awhile to calm our nerves, give or take a good forty five minutes of me yelling like a loon. Bom was finally talking, but still showing signs of shock. We talked about the suddeness of the mist, the lady in white, the waves and their respective splashes, and wondered why in hell were we still alive. Thanking God, we found ourselves discussing every single detail and wondering if people would believe us when we told them of this little episode. This wasn't something I wanted to keep secret. This wasn't a suspense movie. This wasn't I Still Know What You Did Last Summer or Scream 3 where people kept their mouths shut instead of telling everybody what just happened. (Although it would have been nice to have Jennifer Love Hewitt and Neve Cambpell scream along with us.) This was real life. And quite honestly, if you still don't get the bloody picture, it scared the living shit out of us. My views on the supernatural will never be the same again.

     We made it to Lucena at around 10:00 p.m. And to follow our regular routine in every major city city we've visited, we got lost again. Lucena was a huge city with many one way streets. Manuevering without a guide was going to get us caught by the city traffic patrol. Good thing that there was no such body governing the streets this late at night. After awhile, we found that familiar sign of beauty that stood upon a tall pole marking its location and our apparent destination. McDonald's. It was finally within reach. We had reached safe zone. Refueling our bellies (not to mention our nerves), was going to be the issue at hand in the next half hour or so. Oh yeah. Oreo McFlurries rule.

     We could have reached Manila an hour or two after midnight. It would have been more convenient since the traffic would be presumably non-existent. It would have been logical. Gas, time and money would all be sufficiently reduced. But we weren't logical. We wanted to have fun. Thus, our destination of choice now lay on the thresholds of Los Banos, Laguna. We had a friend there who was going to help us find a place to stay for the night. Thank God for text messaging and cell phones. So after questioning confusing employees in four different gas stations in Lucena, while getting lost in the process, we finally found the highway headed to Los Banos. Bom was the navigator. I was the driver; a very sleepy driver, mind you. I've been driving for hours, you see, and the road at night isn't exactly a very exciting sight to keep me up and lively. So Bom started making me miserable again by talking about life with his girlfriend. I had to smack him in the head to shut him up after a few minutes of him yapping, but I guess his strategy worked. Frustration has the same effect as premium coffee, I suppose. Using that, we reached the main strip of Los Banos in a span of an hour and thirty minutes where we waited for our contact to meet us. A few minutes after midnight, she makes herself known.

     Cherry Ann Villablanca. Varsity basketball player of UP Los Banos. If it wasn't for her, me and Bom would probably have spent a couple of unnecessary hundreds renting a room that didn't look all that accomodating. She offered her house-mate's room for absolutely no price at all. Her housemates weren't around so naturally we accepted her invitation. We slept in her housemates beds without their knowledge and willful consent. But we all know that that wasn't important. What was important was that we spent the night in a decent room with cozy beddings for no charge whatsoever.

     Although we planned on meeting our other batch mates from Pisay that morning, we changed our plans due to three reasons. First off, we slept at around 5am, prompting us to wake up a few minutes before noon. Secondly, Cherry slept at her coach's house since her things were there, so that meant we didn't have a guide till she showed up. And lastly, UP Los Banos is a huge friggin' university. It'd be like looking for needles in a mountain-sized haystack. So instead of seeing people, we saw the sites of Los Banos. Took us all of 5 minutes to check out the city, so not much to see around there. And I thought Tacloban was small.

     After lunch, Cherry and her Coach became our official guides to the vastness that was UP Los Banos. They took us this chapel-like place made of stone in the middle of nowhere that looked relatively peaceful. It was sacred ground so that meant we had to leave quickly before me and Bom started burning. Then they took us to this auditorium situated atop Makiling. It overlooked the entire city. Bom said that if he could bring our friends here, a couple of cases of beer and some sumsuman, it'd be the perfect place to hang-out and just chill. I just had to agree. Throw in some girls, a nice cottage and I could bloody well live there. A couple of blocks away from the auditorium was the high school for the beyond talented students of the arts. It's supposed to be the Philippine Science High School for artistically inclined students. Same no pay, get paid policy with better payments and a hell of a view.

     We left for Manila a few hours and full stomachs later. Getting there took a modest hour and a half. When we got to Makati though, we had to check the map. The road scenario reminded me of one big anthill with about a million ants moving around at the speed of a turtle. Bom dictated, I drove. We went in circles for a few minutes until we finally found the route to get to where we were headed.

     Three days, two guys, one car. That's the story of my little road trip. Next time, girls will be a bloody necessity. Somebody's got to keep me entertained.