I found a quiet corner in Cebu, tucked away from the big malls and busy terminals. An outdoor café with mismatched chairs and a view of the street — just enough distance from the noise to hear my thoughts.
I ordered an iced coffee I didn’t finish and sat watching golden hour melt into the city like warm honey. My rust-colored dress matched the sky, and I liked that. It felt like the universe had styled the moment just for me.
People passed by in groups, some laughing, some rushing to their own destinations. But I wasn’t in a hurry. For once, I let the moment stretch. No one asked me where I was going. No one reminded me of what I was leaving behind.
Cebu isn’t my home, but it held me gently tonight. Like a pause between sentences — not the end, not the beginning, just… stillness.
I thought about the ferry ride earlier, about the ache that hadn’t quite gone away. I thought about Sagay, about the road to Bacolod, about the face of the old woman I sat next to on the bus. I thought about the life I’m heading toward — the strange mix of fear and hope that fills every hour lately.
Tomorrow, I fly to Manila, then across oceans. But tonight, I’m here. I’m enough. I’m healing, even in the in-between.
Thank you, Cebu.
