Into My Wild

Into the Wild: A Personal Symbolism of My Pursuit of the Joy of Life


On the day that my travel companion of the past three months left Bangkok to return                                                                                                                                                                                 home to the U.S., an action that officially marks the end of this chapter of my life, I was left behind feeling ethereal and somewhat alone. For almost half a year, I have spent the majority of my waking hours in the company of one of my best friends.  We’ve been living as roommates, working at the same job and lastly, three months of traveling through Southeast Asia. It has been, with no doubt in mind, an adventure that belongs on the highest shelf of the bookcase of my life. The imminent change had been a shadow of bittersweet shades covering me with contradicting emotions. I was eager for this journey to end knowing that it instantaneously kick-starts a new one, both for him and myself. Though there was a hollow sadness in my heart at the thought that he would no longer be there to share new moments with. After arriving back at my friend’s home, where the two of us had stayed the past 3 weeks, I was driven by a quiet curiosity to take a peek in his room. I saw the empty room in my mind before I even opened the door. But for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine that he’d be inside, lying on the bed with a book in his hand.

But there was no one there, only a few random objects strewn about. There was a souvenir shirt one size too small, a packet of multi-vitamins, empty bottles of water, and scraps of paper.  It was a familiar feeling that overcame me as I stood in the room observing the stillness and vacancy of it all, a feeling of completion. The kind of emotion that is felt at the glance of an empty room at the end of moving day, when all the boxes are taped up and the last painting taken down.

It was over. The journey has ended, and I am on my own.

I saw it on the dresser amidst several other insignificant objects. It’s surprising presence slightly unsettling as I wondered how he could have left it behind. I had just returned it to him this morning, keeping it in my possession days after I had finished reading it, if not to flip through my favourite passages then to simply have it close at hand almost willing it to inspire me. His copy of Into the Wild sat eagerly underneath a torn page of his notebook that screamed “Joya!” Inside of which, told me that “There’s always more to read… so read on! ! & Take Care. “

I almost laughed out loud because there was nothing more perfect that he could have left behind for me, and I almost laughed because I had not expected it when I should have.

It would be factitious for me to claim that the book had changed me somehow, because it had not. To say that the adventures of Chris McCandless and his reckless but undeniably admirable will of being stirred awake the adventurous spirit that lied within me, would be untrue. At this point, my adventurous and insatiable soul has been roaring loudly for years. What Into the Wild has done for me, is simply remind me that I am not alone in how I feel. I discovered, though I should have already known, that there are many others who seek out and sometimes find the illumination of a life lived on the fringe. In my case, it is easy to forget that I am not as crazy as others have helpfully informed me. I know of only one other person who sometimes feels the way I do, and even he does not reflect the zeal that I possess.  I often live a life that teeters between that of a life within a society and one that lies outside of it, a life that gives me the feeling of an outsider in either scenario. However, the comfort of belonging to a society is that there are many others that do as well, so that when I am a citizen I hardly ever need convincing that everything is right with the world. On the other hand, vagabonds are fundamentally loners that in seeking a kind of Vagabond Anonymous for a sense of community lay a paradox, therefore I have no one to tell me that what I feel is not as extraordinary as it seems. But because I am still in between both worlds, and have not yet dared to choose one side, I usually feel wrong for wanting what’s out there. Try as they might, friends and family always fail at understanding my desire. I expect that they believe I am simply going through a phase and it would not be too long before I file for my 401-k and put a down payment on a quaint little house with white shutters and white fences on Pearl Street.

Irrespective of what the future holds, of which path I will have end up taking, I am not mistaken that what I want and what I wish my future to be is to wander for as long as I can help it. The fate of Chris McCandless has created an immense ideal that of an eternal wanderer. Had he not passed away in the middle of his exodus, he might have just returned from it with volumes of story to tell but only to go on to re-join the world he left behind. He would then not be so different from the very author that wrote his story and immortalized him forever as a supertramp. Jon Krakauer, a writer whose own life is full of achievements and unimaginable feats but would never be the legend that Chris had become because he is absolutely and will always be part of the world. The very essence of Chris McCandless is in his success of never being able to become anything other than the wanderer he had wanted to be.

Nothing more would make me feel satisfied than looking back at the end of it all and seeing a life lived moving through the world, living through the world. It would be a delight if I succeed in spending my years scattered about between Buenos Aires, Caracas, San Sebastian, Nice, Paris, Munich, Marrakesh, Tuscany, Borneo, Bangkok, Sydney, Dakar, perhaps even Tokyo. Most of those closest to me believe that I will soon tire, that I couldn’t possibly want to do this for so long. That they insist I give them an answer to the question of where in the world would I settle. When I am ready, when money is not a factor, when I desire a partner, and children, when my adventurous spirit is ready to rest, where in the world do I stop. Always in my mind, I wonder, why do I have to stop? But I answer, out loud, an arbitrary city that I love and could see myself possibly considering to make my home, but even thinking of it feels forced. Thinking of settling down and stopping feels more of an obligation to appease others and something I don’t think I have the tiniest aspiration for. Sure, I could live and settle in New York maybe, or Medellin. I can get a job, continue on my career, and get promotions and yearly bonuses. I’m enough of a positive person that anywhere I go; either path I choose would keep me happy. I can live a nice life, with a nice man, in a nice city, raise pleasant children, and go on fun vacations and I would do it all with a genuine smile in my heart because life is always about The Road Not Taken. Though that is not the life I would chase after with all that I have. I see that life simply as an acceptable possibility, but only after I have already tired of running down the road less travelled.

Chris McCandless lived his dream, and he never left it. He remains to me an ultimate success. Though I do not want an early end, nor am I grateful that he perished, I am grateful that he lived his dream. He proved to himself and to the world that “the joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.” He taught us that we ought to live or die trying. He, like many of my heroes, allows me to believe that I am not foolish for pursuing my dreams, however different they may be. At the final leg of this journey, I end it with Chris McCandless in my company. The book is aged, and the signs of being well-read are obvious. It was bought for 75 cents, the price pencilled in on the top right corner of its first page, right above a photograph of Chris McCandless leaning against the infamous Fairbanks City Bus 142. Someone who now resides in Denmark had bought it a long time ago, and it was handed down to my friend and travel companion who brought the book with him as we travelled through Southeast Asia. It was a book that I borrowed and read up with thunderous desire on a bus from Bangkok en route to Chiang Mai. It is a book, with stories, and characters that will now accompany me in my own journey in the absence of my friend, who is finally on his way home. Through a thoughtful gift, I am not alone after all.


One Year

Evidently, I arrived on this peculiar little island exactly a year ago. It’s an anniversary that almost passed by unnoticed until it came to my mind and dared me not to forget. It was as if I had a silent alarm to remind me. The year that has passed has certainly been full and I would never be able to capture the gratitude I have for my moments and experiences that I have had in such a short period of time. I feel that I am a million times richer in friends. I have an infinite number of nights and days I wished went on forever. I feel that I have learned the most important lesson I knew once before but sometimes forgotten, and that is: Strive to be Happy.

Day after day, I only need to look out the window to be reminded that we live in a wonderful world. The day is almost always picture perfect. The mountains always stand gloriously, the ocean glimmers with light like a sea of treasure. But more than anything that has happened and more than anything I am eternally grateful for the people that I now call my friends. The people that surround me; whether they themselves emit a positive glow, or only slowly discovering the light within them have significantly changed my life. Whether it was by choice or chance that we found each other, these people, these misfits; with their baggage, their troubles, their joys, their successes, their tears and most importantly their laughter. I owe to them, perhaps, the best year of my life.

Soon I met people and rapidly they became my friends. Almost instantly bonds were formed and whether that is an attribute to the industry we belonged to or not, it’s undeniable that the friendships were noticeably unlike any other. They welcomed me with open arms; I was invited to their happy hours, their birthday celebrations, their camping trips, their hikes, and Volleyball Mondays. It didn’t happen overnight but within a few months they gained my trust, and I’d like to think I’ve earned theirs.

Sometimes, I wonder whether our friendships are shallow. Held only by our common desire to “party” and “play,” but as I look back on just this one year. The moments I’ve shared with them have been above and beyond just that. Some I may have gone to another world with on that one trip to Maui, others have come running to my aid when I needed them and I’d like to think I’ve been there for them as well; whether it was my couch to crash on or company when it was needed, or a simple hug when things are just super shitty. And while I might have lost a friend here and there,or have grown distant from friends that were once close. And while there have been screaming matches, curses and insults thrown, silent treatments given and forgotten… there’s still a constant underlying truth that their impact on my life is no less significant. Though, I think the true testament to our bonds of friendship is that I know they will answer if I call. Unless they didn’t pay their phone, that is.

One full year. From my first Yokes experience to the most recent Waimanalo Beach Day and to all the times we saved the night and bravely fought the break of dawn. To the short, long and reeeaaallly long hikes I’ve been on. To the boat rides and the celebrations at Queens or Fort de Russy. To all the scars I proudly wear. To all the bottles of liquor and beer consumed. To every single bar I’ve numerously closed down with the best people I have ever met. It has been a magnificent, amazing and wonderful year. To every single person who I call friend and vice-versa. Thank you, for sharing your happiness with me. THANK YOU, you sons of bitches! You know who you are!

Ka’au Crater: Shit Got Real

It was mentioned to me offhandedly by someone, sometime ago that Ben and Jerry went on hikes every Monday. I’ve only been on the island for a little over two months and I was more than eager to get explore the mountains that consistently served as the postcard picture background of my neighborhood in Waikiki. I sought them out and before long I was on the list. Late Sunday night, I received a text message from Jerry.

Sun. Aug 10 22:42

Jerry: Still down for the epic hike tomorrow morning?

Me: What time?

Jerry: Leave 9am.

Me: Sweet.

I went about my night and had settled in to watch a few episodes of HIMYM before dozing off.

Mon. Aug. 11, 00:22

Jerry: Change to 10:30 pick up. 

Me: O.k.

The next morning…

Mon. Aug. 11, 10:02

Jerry: 11 pick up

Mon. Aug. 11, 11:30

Jerry: I’m on my way. 

Finally, a little after 1 PM we were headed to Ka’au Crater. It seems like everyone was on Hawaiian Time that day. It was intended to be a 5-6 hour hike, so I came prepared with a liter of water, Gatorade and some Spam Musubi. We followed directions from reviewers on Yelp, and without any delay we found one of the trail heads, right behind a row of mailboxes on a quiet residential street on Palolo Valley.

Immediately the hike was promising. This was no “Manoa Falls Trail.” We had to scurry down some steep slopes, tread our way back and forth through shallow streams, and walk cautiously along narrow edges. The ground was slippery at times, but generally, the trail caused no concern. Every now and then we had to pull ourselves up some ropes that hikers before us had left behind. How nice of them. We set our rules for the day.

Rule No. 1: Don’t fall.

Rule No. 2: Don’t die.

Good enough for me.

We ran into three teenagers, we asked them how far to the first waterfall. 15 minutes they said. They lied. We ran into a family of 4 with a dog. And… we ran into a co-worker who was on his way back from a hike with his friend and sister. Small island indeed. But they were one of only a handful of people we saw on the trail. We would meet no one else after that.

In due time, we hear the first waterfall. And then we see it.

kaau (3)Like a gem in the middle of a haystack the waterfall was a joy to find, it was an accomplishment; we had reached a destination. Waterfall Number One, check! We took the obligatory photographs and posted some online. Keeping in mind the plaque we had read of a person who had fallen off some years ago in her pursuit of the perfect photograph.

We kept on of course, as there were more sights to see. We followed the pink ribbons, tied to trees every now and then that served as our markers. We reached the second waterfall, taking our time to dip in our weary feet, hydrate and enjoy the cooling mist before taking off again. Here and there the trail was the stream itself and we followed the smooth rocks and boulders as it took us to the last waterfall of the hike.

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We stared at the waterfall. The advise was to climb the waterfall using the ropes along the side.

Are they fuckin’ kidding?

No. No, they were not.

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It was easier than it looks and it didn’t take long to get used to this new level of hiking. Gradually, we made our way up to the top of the waterfall of about 30 feet. The climb was spectacular, reaching the top was rewarding. All around us was the bountiful wonder of nature. The rhythmic flow of the water and the constant rush and its fall was soothing. It was us and nature. Pacha Mama in the flesh. We were alone with nature. There was nothing but the trees, and the water, and the sky, and the earth, and the birds. We felt one with the earth and it was magnificent. kaau (8)

Until we received text messages that informed us Robin Williams had been found dead in an apparent homicide. Apparently, we had cellphone signal again. On we went, this time our conversation shifting to our favorite Robin Williams movies and how funny he was. Crazy but amazing. Though I felt I couldn’t really judge as I was presently climbing up a waterfall against all logic. But the climb must go on. We climbed one water fall after another.

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And another, and another, and another. For the love of god, when will this end.

But of course it does, as most things do. We reached the ridge and behold the crater before us.

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What a beautiful sight. Even more, it was gratifying having climbed straight up seven waterfalls. I stood, gazing at the solemn green grass below me and I wondered of the creatures that called it home. It was pristine. Untouched. Virgin. It was beyond words. I was content and pleased.

Jerry calls up to me, “Ok, boo, let’s head on up to the top.”

Say what?!?

Jerry tells me we were to go to the top.


Ben excitedly states that we should eat our lunch at the summit.

What? But…. We’re here. We’re looking at the crater. It’s gorgeous, why do we need to go up even higher? Why? But…

Sighing, I grudgingly followed along.

Up here, the hike was gradually steeper. When we reached a vantage point, about halfway to the summit, we reaped our rewards. We sat down enjoyed some delicious water and sandwiches. From up here, we could see the crater on one side and the valley below. In the distance, was Waikiki, Diamond Head and the Pacific Ocean stretching out to the horizon.

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Again, off we went. The day was getting late and soon the sun would set. I gazed out at this magnificent crater and asked what I thought was an obvious question.

Me: Are we seriously trying to make it around the crater by nightfall?

Jerry: Of course, boo, it’ll be so awesome.

Me: But… this is huge, we have two hours til sundown, two and half hours before it’s dark.

Jerry: Oh, we’ll be fine, we’ll reach the other side before then.

Ben: We have flashlights and it should be easier after the summit.

Jerry: Yeah, we’ll reach the other side in 45 mins.

Do they not see what I see?kaau (17)

I argue. I tell them that realistically, we will be hardly be a third of the way around the crater when the sunsets. They insist that we would. I stare at this crater in absolute bewilderment at how they thought we could climb to the top of the summit, go down, go up and down about two more times before reaching a semi-leveled trail in 45 minutes.

We reached a compromise, reach the top and decide if we want to go on, or turn back.

So, be it.

We climbed this.

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And we climbed that.

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It was tough, I’ve never climbed up ropes before that many times, I was very surprised I even managed. I was exhausted and energy seemed like something I couldn’t even remember anymore. But as we kept on and on, it was exhilarating. One hand over the other, one foot over the next. Push, pull, slip and slide. And up, and up, and up we went.

We reached the top and behold, another reward. kaau (18)

What a grand world we live in.

But the three of us were all staring to the west, at the sun, dipping hurriedly behind the the mountain and behind the clouds.

Yeah, shit just got real.

We tried to climb down the other side while there was still light of day, but that grew too dangerous and with an unfamiliar trial and the darkness, literally creeping up to us, we opted to turn around and climb down the only way we knew how. Down those fuckin ropes. Again.

Rule No. 1: Don’t fall

Rule No. 2: Don’t die

Not even 20 feet down, night had come. The fog had rolled in. We couldn’t see shit. Which to me was a great thing. I had no idea how far my fall would be if I did slip and fall. Each of us had one source of light, I used a small handheld flashlight. Jerry had a headlamp and Bed was using his phone. Yes, this was a pleasant evening. Shimmering down a tall mountain one-handed, in the dark.

I checked my bottle of water. I had one swig left. I took it.

Let me rephrase: Yes, this was a pleasant evening. Shimmering down a tall mountain, one-handed, in the dark, with no water.

An hour later, we reached the bottom of the summit. The fog cleared up, the moon was bright. In the distance, we could see Waikiki again. This time, its specks of bright orange glows equally gave us hope and despair. It was so close and yet so far. We pushed away thoughts of exhaustion and thirst. We focused on the $10 steaks and half-off drinks at Lulu’s if only we made it before the kitchen close. We had to. We deserve those steaks, goddamnit. I could practically, taste my pina colada.

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We managed to wander our way back to the top of the waterfall, grateful none of us slipped or fell to our deaths. Grateful that no one had injured anything. The only thing we had to complain was that we were hungry, thirsty and we smelled. Our spirits were lifted. Our energy was back. We found the trail marker and on we went. Life was good again. This trail was muddy, but who cared. We were beyond messed up by this point. We exchanged stories; what drugs have you done? What drugs do you want to do? Where was the most exciting place you had sex? Where did you lose your virginity? What is your favorite Disney movie? Blah, blah, blah. Yammer, yammer, yammer.

Suddenly, Jerry stopped. Ben stopped. I go, “what’s going on?”

Jerry: The trail ended.

Ben: What do you mean?

Me: What do you mean, it ended?

Jerry: There’s no more trail. I don’t see it.

Ben: What do you mean? I don’t understand.

Me: I don’t understand. What do you mean?

Panic had set in. It was close to midnight, we had been hiking on this particular trail for over an hour. We felt we were getting close. We could feel the end. I could almost see the white Corolla waiting for us at the parking lot with three beautiful bottles of water sitting so peacefully inside. But there was nothing around us but trees. We look around. We go up and down the trees, maybe the trail is hidden. We find nothing. It was decided we turn back. Maybe we missed a turn. Maybe we were meant to make a right and not a left. Maybe we’re on the wrong trail. Maybe this, maybe that. My flashlight runs out of battery. My phone is at 13%, Jerry’s is at 11%, Ben’s at 20%.

We called our friends, some want us to call 911. I don’t know what 911 could have done. I wanted to reach a park ranger. They were always useful. I find a phone number online. It was for the Big Island. We were on Oahu, a different island. Oahu does not have park rangers, except for the U.S.S. Arizona. He tells us to call 911. What. The. Fuck. Jerry wants to call 911 and have a chopper pick us up. Ben did not want a chopper to pick us up. I would have wanted to be picked up but I did not want to pay whatever that would cost. Ben wants to look for the trail. Jerry wants to lie down and sleep. I just wanted water. I didn’t care about staying up here all night, but could someone please just give me some water.

Maybe a small, metal container with water will come down on a small parachute like in The Hunger Games, I hoped. No such thing happened. Jerry’s roommate called 911. 911 recommended we stay put, get some sleep and try again in the morning. We decided this. We decided that. In the end, we decide to stop.

We trekked back, found a small, flat meadow at the edge of the crater, laid down and watched the stars. We had agreed to wait for sunlight. The time was 1 in the morning. Sunlight was in 4 hours.

I call my work.

Me: Hello, ummm… I went on a hike today, and umm… I’m still here on the mountain, umm.. it’s a little past midnight and ummm… and I can’t find my way back, so I won’t be able to come in to work tomorrow morning. Thank you.

It was a gorgeous night. The moon was superbly bright. The breeze cool and light but not cold. The clouds moved swiftly in and out and around. The stars shown, but not too brightly. The moon was overpowering the night. We spotted at least 7 shooting stars. They were amazing.

Soon enough the sun came up, and never had I ever been as grateful for sunlight as that beautiful morning. It gave us more energy, our thirst set aside and off we went again. We decided to try the same trail we were on last night. Just in case, we missed a turn.

Ben reached the dead end first.

Ben: You’re going to laugh when you guys see this.

We gather around and look. Last night, in the dark we saw nothing but trees. In the daylight, it was crystal clear. The trail continued on, all we had to do was crawl under a fallen tree. How. Fuckin. Hilarious.

It took us another 2.5 hours before we finally reached the top of that cliff and back on to that road right beyond the mailboxes. I was the first one out. I climbed that cliff like a lizard. I was fast. Nothing was going to stop me from reaching the end. I was going to make it. Fuck it all. I was going to reach the end. I pulled myself up that last rope. Walked out of the bushes and on to the street and I screamed!

Life is glorious.


Danger: Falling Rocks

Nature is inescapable. Often this realization strikes when we find ourselves at its mercy; when a tornado hits, when a polar vortex seeps into our bones, when an earthquake claims its victims. Living here, in Oahu, however, that phrase translates exclusively to mean that every single day, is a day to be astounded by nature.

Surrounded by nothing but the powerful Pacific Ocean, the islands have much more to boast than I could ever know. Even a simple, quick walk into the woods, leads to jaw-dropping wonder.

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I followed the trail towards Manoa Falls today. It is an easy hike. Besides the sometimes slippery slopes, it was a walk in the park. The scenery along the way however, is fantastic.

No matter which direction you turn to, in Oahu, you simply cannot escape. Which makes living here, a bit of an oddity. Usually, we head to the trails, to the beach or to the mountains for a retreat. We indulge our desire to be lost with Pacha Mama. But when you live in the midst of it, there is no escape. It is simply there. It is a constant. Consistent, unchanging, and always.

All you need to do is look up.


And look down.


And all around…

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As it is with life, after a long journey the time comes to reap the rewards.


And as true as it is in life, so it is on a journey, beware.


Peace and Quiet: Meeting Ayahuasca

We arrived at a small commune. A happy boxer roamed around, approaching the new gathered visitors but never getting too close. Various paths seemed to lead to small, simple homes. There was no lack of shrubbery nor flowers. And the trees stood tall, over us, the faint blue of the darkening sky just right above. A small, narrow stairway wove its way down a hill and we came upon our shelter for the night: a large, spacious yoga studio in the shape of a pentagon. Large windows and glass sliding doors enclosed the room and outside I could see the green of the thick valley, with scattered homes here and there. On one wall were mirrors, an image of Ganesh on a woven fabric hung on one corner, and Vishnu sat on the other.

I sat on my yoga mat, changed into comfortable clothes, observing the others I had come with. Many seem prepared, the ones who had mentioned of having done this before. They came with mattresses, thick cushions, pillows, blankets. I look at my yoga mat, throw pillow and a thin blanket and realized how ill-prepared I was for my first Ayahuasca retreat.

The invitation to come took place a month before, a friend told me “we’re going to the mountains, take this drug and trip.” I took that at face value. He recommended that I watch a video on Youtube, but I was always game for anything so it hadn’t mattered. I watched the video about an Ayahuasca experience but I must admit true to my nature, I only watched a few minutes of it, simply to get an idea. I like to dive into things with only a glance before I leap.

In retrospect, that might not have been the best route to go considering that this experience turned out to be above and beyond trippin’ balls in the mountains. Earlier in the day when we met with our guide, the shaman, in the parking lot he asked us what our intentions were for participating in this ceremony. I was unluckily enough to have been chosen to go first and I mumbled something to the like of “wanting to receive some guidance.” So, did most of the newbies. The ones with more experience were more specific; wanting to “come to terms with my mother’s death,” as an example.

As we were about to begin, the shaman gave a bit of an explanation of what we were to expect. He tells us that we will take 4 shots throughout the night, he says “There might be a time when you feel you want to purge but it’s possible nothing comes out. But just in case, the are 5 plastic buckets for that purpose on the floor in front.” And certain rules, “Do not engage with your neighbors, you don’t know what they are going through.” He talks about the Ayahuasca, how it is more than just medicine, that it is a divine being that if allowed to can help us; with our lives, our purpose, our meaning. He reminds us that this is not just your normal “trip” and we’re not here to kick it and have a good time. “We’re here to work,” he says.

What? We’re not having a good time?! Work? Another queasy moment passes as I regret not being more prepared.

I take everything with a grain of salt. I try my best to be respectful and listen with an open mind. Though I couldn’t help but think about how I might be very much in the wrong place. As a skeptic, an atheist and someone far from what I’d consider “spiritual.” I don’t pray, I don’t meditate, I despise organized religion, and I have no patience for the hypocrisy of those who claim to be religious.

Even still, the environment alone, the vibe and energy felt undeniably serene and positive. Our shaman tells us some stories of others, how many of them have used it to help themselves; whether it is dealing with grief, depression, an addiction, an illness, or bad habits. We’re asked to repeat our intentions and share them with the group and as I listened to the rest and waited for my turn I thought to myself that this might be a good time to find some resolution to some hate, anger, and guilt I carry around. There were several who asked “for the journey to be mild,” and to be “brought back at a reasonable time.”

“Brought back?” What does that mean? Where are we going? “Reasonable time?” Is there a possibility we won’t be coming back on time? Is it possible to not come back at all? I wondered, amused and curious at the same time. Only afterwards would I know the full meaning of this request.

When my turn came, I said to the group, “Well, now that I have a better understanding of what this experience might be like, I think this is a good opportunity for me to try and work on forgiving my mother, my father, myself and others.” I thought that would be a good start. Considering I didn’t know how exactly this would all work.

So, we begin. All the lights are turned off, and we only have the shine of the moon and the stars and a single lit candle in front of the shaman. My eyes adjusted soon enough. I watch him prepare the medicine, they come in large clear mason jars and he pours some in a shot glass and takes a drink. Then one by one, we came up to take the shot. We sit in silence, though sometimes there was coughing, sneezing, and heavy breathing could be heard, otherwise, we sat in silence.

I sat wondering and observing. Mostly I began to wonder whether this was a waste of money. Though we were told to try to sit up as that would allow the medicine to work better, I grew tired and uncomfortable and so I laid down. I might have been falling asleep as memories of my past came circling around. Though they were not memories I would have thought would come. Memories from the time that I lived in Spain floated in and out of my mind, memories of my time with my ex and our dog, memories from college. I vaguely had control of my thoughts so I pushed those away and my mind drifts. I find myself in different scenarios, different places. I seem to have gone to the mountainside, Boston, and finally a beach at night. The sky was dark, the stars were twinkling, the coconut trees were somehow clear in the darkness. Figures floated in front of the image of the coconut trees, the trees themselves seemed to become illuminated. The water looked strange, the water was of different colors, it looked as though someone had spilled different colored inks and there were colors everywhere. I could hear the ocean. I could hear music, and I began to feel as though I was floating. The air was cold, and I felt as thought I was everywhere and then I realized that the drug was working.

I opened my eyes and I was right. I was tripping.

The ceiling was moving and opening to the sky and I could see the sky from inside the room, the other people were shadows, there was music playing, beautiful music playing, most everyone were still just sitting or laying down. I could hear someone laughing. No one was moving around too much. I look out the window the stars were gorgeous. Everything was fuckin’ weird. It felt short and it felt like forever. It stayed that way for some time, I sat mesmerized and time froze. I watched figures, random images float around and nothing was making sense and yet I understood everything.

We take the second shot, and this was what I think was the strongest. And when I felt the worst. Everything was so dark and scary, and then I felt sick, I felt like throwing up, and I was purging, laying down and throwing up but I wasn’t throwing up anything. It was all just air but it felt like so many things were coming out of me. I felt better when it felt as though my stomach had emptied. Then it became freaky, I kept feeling bad, feeling lost, feeling like I wanted someone to stop it and I wanted to get out of there. I kept muttering “Save Me” I don’t know if anyone heard me, or even if I was saying it out loud, but I kept saying that over and over. I even wrote it in my journal, in the dark so seeing the words in the morning looked like it was written by someone who was possessed. And I just felt alone and bad. The music goes from loud to soft and the Shaman plays music that’s calmer to bring us out of our “trip” and we sober up after each round.

We took the third shot and that’s when I really tripped balls. I went outside to go to the bathroom. They put out little tea lights to guide the way to the bathroom because it’s dark. I didn’t have a flashlight and that walk to the bathroom which was probably just 50 feet felt like a mile. The walk, this very short walk during the day and when without being inebriated takes less than a minute, but that night it was an adventure. Every step was taken cautiously and occasionally I’d stare out into the dark woods, only a small tea light as my illumination. I was about to go back inside the room and get comfortable again when I decided to watch the stars. I went to the balcony, it overlooks the woods and I stare at the stars for so long. It was amazing and beautiful and just wow. I think, even if we weren’t tripping it would have been just as gorgeous. I stared at it for so long, and that’s when I felt a bit of peace and I really loved the stars. I had a strong urge to be with the stars, a feeling that hoped someone would take me up there. I even climbed up the seats of the balcony and leaned out so I could see more. This was dumb and dangerous and this is why you don’t do drugs. I kept doing that until I finally talked myself out of it. Then I laid down on the balcony because I felt like I wanted to be with the stars. Until I got cold and went back inside. I laid down, and it was very cold. I only had a thin blanket, and so I laid down anyway, and tried to get warm. Then I felt something magical happen because the small thin sheet I had felt very big all of a sudden, felt like a large thick, tent and I kept playing with it with my hands thinking… wow, I wish it to be warm and here’s a magical blanket out of nowhere and now I’m able to stay warm, wow. I’m amazed and I laugh. And I fell asleep.

The music stops, we take the fourth shot. People are becoming more interactive now, someone went around each person and waved feathers around us, there was sage burning, a single candle stood in the middle of the room, people played instruments, really beautiful music. There was singing. I sang without knowing the words. Then I fall asleep and my mind is just rushing everywhere, I feel so much. Then I get waken up. It’s daylight, people were awake, I still kept falling asleep, they kept waking me up. I finally was able to sit up and join the group and be back in ‘reality” and then that’s when I realized no wonder others had asked for “grandmother” to bring them back at a reasonable time.

To this day, weeks after, I still don’t really know what happened. We sat in our circle the morning after and shared our experiences. What we felt, what we learned, how we feel now. Many mentioned feeling loved, something that I did not feel that night which I found to be odd. I shared as well, and I told them “I always considered myself a very unemotional person, I don’t quite allow myself to feel whether it be love, or anger. I often shut my feelings out, and do things to distract myself from how I feel. And I’m quite good at it. But after taking the medicine, in a way it left me unguarded. I couldn’t control my emotions, I felt so much. I didn’t realize I could feel so much.” Surprisingly, I began to cry. I was very confused and exhausted and amazed and so many things that I couldn’t even begin to find the words to describe.

The shaman looked at me for a long time, he was watching me as I spoke and finally he says, “I can see a vast well of sadness behind those eyes.” Tears flowed and I couldn’t stop it. He suggests to me to work on allowing myself to feel, to take some time to cry, to let the tears flow, and then maybe if I decide to come back we could work on family matters.

Soon, the ceremony officially ended, we said our goodbyes, and gave our hugs. Before I climbed up the hill to go back to the car, I went out on the balcony, curious to see the difference between what I had seen and felt the night before to how the world looks now, in the daylight. I looked at the sky; blue, the clouds white. I looked at the valley, green and lush and beautiful. I wondered about the vast contrasting worlds of day and night. Everything was amazing. Everything that was, was peace and quiet.

Well, wasn’t that fuckin’ eye-opening!?

There is Nothing on this Island

“Do you know how long before we run out of food on this island if a disaster struck?” my taxi driver asked me as we drove down H1.

“I don’t know, two weeks?” I guess.

“That’s correct. Two weeks and then we have nothing,” he replies, the word ‘nothing’ weighs heavy.

There’s something to think about. It’s fascinating to truly think about the fact that I, along with almost a million people on Oahu and another close to half a million on the other islands, are in complete isolation.

That idea, I think, contributes to the attitude and culture of the people who live and who thrive here. There is a sense of satisfaction. There is no hint of expanded desire. No need for more. There is an all-around contentment. All we have is this and this is all we have.

But then again, what need is there for more when everyday is paradise.


I arrived here only several weeks ago, so don’t suppose that my thoughts and ideas about Honolulu and its people are in anyway precise. I am still a stranger, still fresh. I am still savoring the process of being new. I am far from the edge of the waning excitement that comes over time. I am still absolutely full of excitement.

Every day ends on a beautiful sunset, and I am elated that after a day’s work all I need to do is step out the back door to watch another day over.


The island is dazzling. Only a few weeks and I am hypnotized by the ocean, and the mountains. The trees and the flowers, the sun and the sky reminds me of home, the Philippines where every flower bloomed bright and every tree stood majestic. I am in my element once more.


There is gorgeous scenery at every corner. And the backdrop to the volleyball games every Monday is a crater thousands of years old.


The mundane, the everyday, the humdrum, the daily grind happens in a place that has a constant desire to take your breath away. IMG_3669

Often, I am asked, what brought me here. A common question as there are many who are not ‘from here.’ I quite honestly don’t have an answer. The idea was brought to me last summer, it simmered in my mind until the time came to leave Boston in late spring and here I am.

If the world crumbled tomorrow and all I have is nothing but this. I’ll gladly have nothing everyday.




My One Year (kinda) in Boston

Boston has a special place in my heart.

Last year, after an absence of over six months, traveling in Asia and a short stint in Las Vegas, I returned in June. It was the perfect time to come back; near-perfect weather conditions, or as perfect as New England will allow. Here summer begins, and a story is told through the changing seasons in Boston and the activities they come with.


The summer months are spent idle at the beach. Where friends, and friends of friends sneak beer in inconspicuous coolers. Where the day ends at the ice cream shop in the corner, hurriedly devouring a melting sundae.


An intimate show, at a nondescript bar


or at Fenway Park, taking in one of the greatest legends of our times, Paul McCartney as he indulges us with our favorite Beatles songs.


Even George Washington joins in the spirit of things and dons a Bruins jersey, in full support of their run for the Stanley Cup.


And the Fourth of July marks the summer in full swing.


Before long, the clouds roll in. The days are dimmer.


The colors of Autumn are everywhere.


Then almost suddenly, everything is white.


The frog pond finds its use.


And water freezes over.


All the while, the good times roll.


The cold never bothered us anyway.


But soon, hints of spring.


Colors return.


Spring is in bloom.


Time to hit the outdoors.


And make our way back to Fenway Park, for summer has returned.

 Now, it’s time for somewhere new, and I’ve found myself in Honolulu.


Stay tuned. for more tales.