So I am still in the Phillippines. There are mobs of people; it was more than I could handle. Thousands and thousands of Filipinos, dark skinned, light skinned. Whoa. I felt like I was surrounded by aliens, when they really were my own kind. And I couldn’t speak their language. Whatdya know? It’s like being pocha in the Philippines. I knew that if someone asked me something or started talking to me, I was totally screwed. Just like when I went to the gas station bathroom, and I was like, where the hell is the toilet paper?!? I was glad I brought a
full load of supplies.

I saw many different provinces of the Philippines during that eight-hour ride. From day to night, I traveled through a warp zone of Hawaii slash Mexico slash Flea Market slash I dunno… Philippines.

There were gorgeous things, there were crappy things, what can I say, I was freakin’ speechless. But finally when we got to my family’s house, it was strange. I met my uncle, his friends, and my cousins. The house was old, which my dad said that he grew up in that same house. And my dad is like 55, so dang, that house is old. I was finally there, like the prince of Bel-Air. No. I was just home. Home sweet mosquito augh!-ing home.