Phantazein

(I let out a silent cry for help as I stepped back. Its thread-like tongue slithered once in a while. I quickly searched for an escape when I saw two other dragons approaching. I wondered if this was the end.)

I’d like to say that this happened in a land far away, once upon a time. But I can’t, because it happened an hour’s flight away from my home – a place completely unfamiliar to where I am now. I’d say it’s quite the opposite: a place covered in smog and filled with the scent of poverty, abandoned wrappers and plastic cups lining its canals under the layer of guise that is Metro Manila. This forest seemed like that of a fairytale, teeming with wildlife that I’ve only seen in books. I thought that dragons didn’t exist anymore, if ever they once did in those bedtime stories.

A few thousand of these dragons were still alive. Not just in Indonesia, but also in protected forests like the Puerto Princesa Subterranean Park. I never thought it’d be this small. Sure, it’s the length of a human; but even without breathing fire, it commanded the same respect.

(There are no such things as silent footsteps, I said. With each step was a matching rustle of dried leaves, which seems to act as an invitation to come closer. I wanted to be amazed at these creatures, but I was scared. I just hope my eyes didn’t show it.)

Fear is an emotion not uncommon to many. Not just to travelers, but also to those who prefer the stability of being stationary. Dread of loans, mortgages and having to squeeze every penny from the paycheck, dread of sickness, of loneliness; on the other hand, there is the terror of being in an unfamiliar environment, of being unsafe, and of taking risks.

(The sun was fearless; but this canopy mutes even the most fearless of suns. I stood there, motionless, where a cool breeze and cold sweat were indistinguishable. Suddenly, this is a forest of legends – no matter how daunting, you’ll wonder what lies ahead.)

I went on a trip out of curiosity. I thought that the wonders of the world were on far-off places like pyramids and intimidating monuments; how did an underground river attract this kind of attention? My jaded sense of cynicism dangerously mixed with a surprising level of excitement. A tourist, even in one’s own country, is still semantically a traveler; and a traveler can be whoever she wants to be.

(There is a legend in Komodo: dragon and man are born from the same womb. In that moment, I wondered when the dragon princess would appear.)