The nautical miles click by and Marinduque disappears.

The Philippines move into memories, that funky place where facts get forgotten, emotions get heightened, truth gets obscured, and we turn experiences into what we want them to be instead of what they really were.

Montenegro lines will get us safely across this pond and when we dock it is still a four hour bus ride to Manilla, a throbbing, bustling metropolis that even locals want to avoid.

Tomorrow, early, I take a plane to Japan, then Minneapolis,then finally to Denver. Time zones will be barreled through like a NFL lineman going after a quarterback,

There is a saying that ” Wherever you go, There you are. ”

There is another equally powerful old saying that, ” Travel changes you. ”

The water is still and opaque.There are islands we pass that wave at us and seabirds glide above us, their extended wings riding the drafts. A sailor takes a last puff on his cigarette and flips it overboard with his forefinger. In the sitting area a kung fu movie is kicking and those that can sleep, do. I hug Alma and say my goodbyes. 

Travelling by boat is not fast but I have learned not to be in a hurry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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