I went to her hometown for work: an overnight trip that welcomed my thoughtful self with open arms, stretched as wide as the equator. It was of jeepney rides, and of van rides, and of ferries scraping the skin of the sea. It was wonderful, to say the least.

On the first day, I was alone. The others would come in the afternoon. From the plane, I was one acquainted with its face. And I loved it from there. I loved it even before I met the place. I loved it while she was once telling it to me. There was heart in the way she spoke of it. And how could one not believe a girl with glistening stars for eyes, cutting me open with a smile, and tapping my cheeks with her tectonic accent, and brushing my chest with her soft, rhythmic manner of speaking.

I was there for two days, one night. Yet, I was certain there was nothing not to love about that city. Not even the budget hotel we were booked in could ever change my mind.

But see, I guess, falling in love with this city was just so easy, so natural because even before this whole thing began, this whole writing bled, I first fell in love with one of its daughters.