I never thought I can grow a beard. Since the time I've reached puberty, the only hair that has been growing other than my actual hair was my pubes. And I hated it. I wanted to feel manly and to look manly. I wanted to grow a stubble.

But it seems my hormones wanted a different thing. They wanted me to be stuck in an island somewhere in a forgotten part of the Pacific Ocean before they let me grow a beard. And they wanted me to be stuck for a whole freaking year. Now that the criteria has been met, I have a whole jawline covered in an outgrowth of facial hair. But that's not the issue at the minute. I only noticed this trivial fact as I stroked my chin in deep thought about how in the world I can escape this fearsome foe that has been circling my hiding spot for over an hour now.

Let me get my mind around this first. I will start from the very beginning.

I got into this island in a Hollywood kind of way – a mid-air plane explosion that sent me falling down from the sky still strapped on to my seat with the body of a headless woman strapped on my right and a man, who's mid-section has been pierced by some kind of tube,strapped on my left. I managed to unstrap myself just seconds before we crashed to the sea and the next thing I remembered was being almost eaten alive by a hungry wild dog by the shore of this island.

I managed to wake up just in time before he took the first bite. With all of what's left of my energy, I succeeded in fending off the predator. Since then, I have been a constant prey by various predators in this island – snakes, wild dogs, spiders, eagles and this island's boss, the white tiger.

I have heard stories during the first twenty five years of my normal life that involves a white tiger. They all point out that a white tiger is some kind of a spirit or nature's warden of some sort. But for the past months, I can only deduce that it was a malevolent spirit at the very least.

From all the resourcefulness I have developed with my will to survive, I managed to create a home by a grotto I found near the beach. It has been my safe haven. Not until this beast, which I named as Byakko – Japanese for white tiger – ransacked my humble abode and sent me running for my life until I got stuck underneath the gigantic roots of this giant Balete tree.

I have been here for hours now and I am hungry, which means that Byakko is even hungrier. But I know I have to get out of this place if I want to survive because poisonous arachnids own this territory.

I have to go.

I grabbed a sharp rock and a piece of the tree's roots. Byakko was nowhere to be found nor any sign of him being around. He must have given up. This is my cue.

I bolted through the opening and ran as fast as I could. I looked back. Byakko wasn't there. I felt my facial muscles forced a smile amidst the panting. But the joy was short-lived. Byakko's fangs had already made contact with my flesh before I heard his loud growl as he jumped from my right, clutching on my midsection. Before he could pull out a good chunk of flesh off of me, I jabbed his right eye with the sharp stone. He whined in pain and backed off.

Not minding the pain, I immediately stood and pointed the stick towards his direction. It seems that the taste of my blood only made him hungrier and deadlier. I can see it through his left eye – my death. But with the sudden image of my dog left behind in my apartment in Shinjuku with no one to take care of him, I managed to summon more strength and will to live. Byakko shook off the blood from his eye and launched himself towards me.

I tried to poke him with the stick while he was airborne but, to my surprise, he swiped it away with his paw as he twisted himself mid-air and landed on my head with a good headbutt. That sent me scrambling down on my back. If I wasn't his enemy, I would've been awestruck by his move. He is the boss of this island, after all.

I scrambled to get up, but Byakko was already mid-air, jaw wide open,claws looking sharp and deadly, eyes locking in for the kill. But I still have my stick. I held it in front of me, making it bear the full grip of Byakko's bite. It wasn't long before the stick shattered. Byakko tried to pounce on my head, but I managed to kick his belly strong enough to send him flying back. I took the opportunity to stand up and assume a fighting stance, each hand holding parts of the shattered stick.

Byakko was low on the ground, inching sideways as his gaze remained fix on me. I did the same but on the opposite direction. We were dancing, in a way. Ever so slowly, we moved around in circles, eyeing each other like in a Mexican stand-off. But an unevenness in the ground made me lose my footing. As soon as I stumbled down, Byakko grabbed the chance to pounce on me.

Everything seemed to slow down.

Desperate to defend myself, I smacked Byakko with the stick. It wasn't strong enough to knock him out. But it was enough to make him miss me. He landed on the ground next to me as I winced in pain having to land on my side to some rocks.

Before I could get my bearings, he was already on top of me. His breath reeked with the stench of death as it brushed my face. His drool mixed with my blood dripped down to my cheek. Even with one eye, his stare was so fierce it was as if he was sucking the life out of me. His low-pitched growl seemed to sing my last rites. This is Death's face.

But I can't die. Not yet.

Byakko recoiled his head back a little before launching his jaw towards me. The proceeding events happened in split-second darkness.I could feel the warmth as the entire length of my arm went inside his throat. But he wasn't chewing it. In fact, he wasn't moving at all. I opened my eyes and realised that I have stabbed Byakko with the little sharp piece of stick through his throat when he tried to bite me. Sharp reflexes can indeed save your life, literally. I pulled out my arm and the whole weight of his lifeless body fell on me.

I must say it was the best hug I had in years. A hug from a vicious white tiger that I have just killed. A hug that signifies more than a victory. It was my price for being alive. The moon shone brightly on this empty patch of the forest. It was ethereal, so enthralling, so tantalisingly beautiful that it gave me an irresistible urge to sleep. With an oozing wound in my right flank, I knew I shouldn't sleep. But I felt an overwhelming tiredness that I was powerless against the temptation of sleep. Hunger, exhaustion, pain and blood loss - there's nothing much I could do.

And so, I closed my eyes.

When I woke up, my dog was already licking my face. I could be in heaven right now. Or, I might still be dreaming. Either way, I don't care. I am tired and this is my respite. I have fought a good fight,after all - or so I'd like to believe.