CEBU, Philippines - To travel without direction, to throw one's compass and burn his maps, to let his hankering for freedom take wings and take him wherever the winds of choice may lead - be it into the depths of the labyrinthine passages clothed by thick vegetation as he passes through the hazy, mazy, merry-go-round wilderness of life; or be it into the boundless blue of heaven or into the bottomless pits of hell; or be it in the middle of unnamed, lightless streets no one ever crossed, or to the barren surface like that of the desolate moon with no gravity to hold him so that he almost can't feel the ground beneath his feet; or be it going inside his own self, into an infinitude of "have been," of "being," and of "becoming," going into each crack, each wound, each scar, each broken dream, each hope, each joy, and tracing it with his hand like he would the formless flowing waters and discovering nothing but the countless possibilities it holds… and, afterwards, to come home to the naked truth that everything he longs for he already has, that the meaning of his own existence is one that he himself picks from the multitude of possibilities innately available to him, that he may not have to leave his dwelling to be able to wander because everything is possible within himself, the ultimate destination where his Maker wants him to stay.