I didn’t go to Siargao to disappear.
I didn’t go to outrun my life, or to reinvent myself, or to post proof that I was somewhere beautiful.
I went because I was tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
Because everything felt loud, even the good things.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped listening to myself.
Siargao didn’t announce itself when I arrived.
It didn’t overwhelm me.
It didn’t demand anything.
It just slowed everything down.
Mornings felt softer there. Not rushed. Not urgent.
Time stretched in a way that felt unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable at first, like my body didn’t know what to do without a schedule to obey. I noticed how often I reached for my phone with nothing to check. How silence made me restless before it made me calm.
And then, gradually, the noise thinned out.
I listened, not in a dramatic, life changing way.
But in small moments.
I listened while riding with no destination in mind.
I listened while watching the ocean do what it’s done long before me and will continue doing long after.
I listened when the sky turned colors I couldn’t name and nobody felt the need to comment on it.
The island didn’t give me answers.
It gave me space.
And in that space, things surfaced. Thoughts I’d been pushing aside. Feelings I’d labeled as later. Truths that didn’t need fixing, only acknowledgment. I realized how often I confuse being busy with being fulfilled. How rarely I let myself just exist without performing productivity or happiness.
Siargao didn’t make me a new person.
It reminded me of an old version of myself, the one who knew when to pause, when to breathe, when to stop explaining.
There’s something grounding about a place that doesn’t rush you into becoming anything. A place that lets you arrive as you are and doesn’t ask for more. No pressure to optimize the experience. No checklist to complete. Just presence.
I left the island without a grand takeaway.
No manifesto. No bold declarations.
Just a quieter mind.
A lighter chest.
And the understanding that listening, really listening, is sometimes the bravest thing you can do.
I didn’t go to Siargao to escape.
I went to listen.
And for the first time in a while, I heard myself clearly.