There's a snoring 30-year-old lady, with long black hair, the tips dyed blonde, beside me. Her eyes remain shut, her lips slightly parted, and the way she breathes in and out slightly irritates me. You can practically hear the way she breathes; it's loud. She also takes my armrest, and despite the fact that I want to commit a murder spree for being so stressed lately, I remain seated.

The only comfort I have is that I have the window seat where I can focus my energy just to watch the blinking lights below.

I'm on the way to Spain to live with my aunt who has been working in Spain for the past 20 years. She is my dad's sister but hasn't been really close with the rest of the family, considering that she's adopted. The family isn't really fond of her, but mom and dad did. Though they barely talked, they were still sending regards to each other. When dad died of heart attack two years ago, that's the time Aunt Aimee got in touch with me to help with the funeral's finances. And when mom died last year due to ovary cancer, I'm left to take care of my 17-year-old brother, Alex, who's going to college and is taking a tourism course.

On top of that, I'm left with debt. One that I have to pay, and of course, Alex's tuition fee. The house we've been living in since I was a kid is in risk of being taken by the bank as we are unable to pay the mortgages and the loan they did to purchase the said house. All the money was spent on my mom's hospital bills and treatments.

I'm pressed to the wall, head resting on the window as I look outside, feeling a bit guilty for leaving my brother behind. It's not like I have a choice, and I'm doing this for his future and to save our house from being taken. Mom and dad had put too much effort to build their dream house, and I don't want it to be gone.

Alex may or may not have cried a little when he and my dad's friend, who is a taxi driver and was gracious enough to offer us a ride, accompanied me to the airport. I gave him the biggest hug I could give, and while there was resistance from him, I knew he liked it.

My brother and I have never been affectionate with each other. The closest bond we have is the bickering and the things we do just to piss each other off. The typical siblings' shenanigans.

The lady's hair whips to my shoulder, and her hair wobbles to the side, and I roll my eyes. I'm already pressed to the wall, and this lady isn't helping me do a dramatic scenario in my head, not when her hair and head leaning towards my shoulder are bugging me. I carefully push her, not wanting to wake her up, and she falls to the other side and I swear my head whips fast enough to the window. I hear her groan and resist the urge to laugh, keeping a straight face.

Through the reflection, I can see her eyes fluttering open, clicking her tongue as she looks confusedly around. She wipes off the little drool she has on the corner of her lips before gazing to look at the back of my head, and I pretend to be invested at the nothingness below us. The lady blinks her eyes for a moment, repositions herself so her back is turned on me, and goes back to sleeping, her back slightly curled. I let out a small smile, wanting to laugh a little, but almost everyone is already sleeping.

Just a few more hours, and I'd finally land on the ground. This flying makes my stomach turn and I haven't even eaten since this morning. I've been up in the air for more than 24 hours, in total. We had to stop over at Abu Dhabi, which took around 4 hours, and when we did, I had to wait for more than 4 hours, then the flight to Madrid, Spain. And I stayed at Madrid for a couple of hours –there was no time for me to roam, and additionally, I don't have extra money to spend– then we boarded to Malaga Costa del Sol.

I'm already in Spain, but I'm not at a specific part of Spain yet. I've been reading the signs and stuff all over the place, and while I can get a few words, I'm not entirely sure if what I have in mind is the same meaning as what's plastered. I mean, Tagalog and Spanish do share the same words. Some.

But you never know. I'm told "Di masyado" and "Demasiado" are different. The latter means "too much" while the former means "not so much". See, already confusing.

In fact, just thinking about it, it already makes my head hurt. It's basically a lion den for me. I went to a country that doesn't speak English, and I've only heard Spanish from the shows I've watched in and unfortunately, I have not retained those words because I fucking watch with subtitles on. There's nothing wrong with that, right? Right?

There are only a few Spanish words I know of, and that's Hola. ¿Comó estás? Gracias. What is the other one? Oh, gracias. Fuck, I already said that. And something along bienve... something like that.

In order words, I'm fucked.

Because from my agreement with my aunt, I have to learn Spanish in less than 2 months because without the said language, I'm not going to ever find a real, good job that's going to pay me more than what I expect. That's my tita's words, not mine. She made the rules, and I have to abide by it because, well, she paid for my expenses and gave me an opportunity. I can't waste it. This is a big opportunity, and I have to do whatever it takes so I can stay here, get a real job, and earn to pay what I have to pay. For me, and for my brother.

4 more hours, and we've already landed on the airport. The lady beside me is now fully awake, her brown eyes already wide. She stands up to grab her things from the compartment, and I wait for her. She gives me a side-eye before turning on her heels and walking away. I let out a shaky laugh before standing once she's out of sight. I pull out my bag out of the compartment; it has more clothes in it, and my wallet.

The flight attendants give us a heartwarming smile as she gestures us towards the exit, and I smile back before taking a deep breath. Finally. I'm here. In Spain. Without any idea how their language works. This is going to be my death. No one is going to take care of my brother, and he'll be left alone with no one else to take care of him.

"Sir, you need to move." The flight attendant says.

"I'm sorry." I reply back, pulling the strap of my bag before walking out the airplane.

As soon as I step out, the cold breeze of the wind immediately greets me, my hair, which has gotten a bit longer since I forgot to have it cut before I flew, pulls back. I smile to myself, taking a deep breath and inhaling that Spain air. I cough. The cold weather prickles my skin, and I have to hug myself all the way.

Metal chairs are lined up, and there's only one old lady sitting there. She stares at me for a moment before getting something in her bag. I look away. I search for the signs because... I feel like I'm lost. Like, I'm already lost. The old lady stares back at me and confirms points out to her right, and I mutter a thank you before turning left. I'm going to die here alone. Fucking hell. I wait for my luggage.

The stores have too much light on them, and they seem very busy. People fall in queue to wait for their orders, and the way they talk is loud. My stomach rumbles when I see the bread on the posters, and besides that store is STARBUCKS. Back home, I couldn't afford to buy coffee like this because it's expensive. Well, it's not that I can't afford, but I have too much bills to pay. Plus, I'm satisfied with the 3-in-1 coffee.

I fall in line and check the menu. I grab my wallet from my bag and pull out the credit card that I've already cleared.

"Hola, ¿qué te gustaría tomar hoy?" The lady, with her black hair in a bun, apron on, says as she looks at me with a huge smile on her lips. I smile back, not understanding any word she said. I purse my lips and just look at her, and she beams. "Oh, English? Sí. Lo siento. I'm sorry. What would you like today?"

"Java Chip, venti, please." I reply awkwardly.

"Your name, sir?" She types in my order on the screen in front of her.

"Andres,"

"All right. Just tap your card here." The lady, whose name is Anna, says as she points toward the terminal. I gently put my card on top and it blinks, makes a beep sound, then receipt is printed out. "You're good. Just wait there until your name is called out. Thanks!"

I awkwardly stand to the side along with the others who are waiting for their drinks. Huge crowd isn't really good for me, and I try to avoid as much people as possible. Not because I don't like them, but because I just don't like them invading my personal space. I'm normally not the one for conversations; if you don't speak to me, I will not speak to you. A conversation must be initiated with me first before I talk, and if the topic dies down, I'll be awkward again and will look for an escape. I'm sort of an introvert and extrovert. I get out with my friends, have a little fun, talk to a few people, but it's all limited. I will go back to my cocoon once I'm tired.

The barista begins calling names one by one until my name is called. I head to the front and the guy hands me my order. He gives me another smile, and I smile back. Awkwardly. Before I turn around and head out of the store. I take a sip of the cold drink and let out a huge sigh.

I sip my drink in silence as people pass by. All the seats are taken so I have no choice but to stand and stare at people who casually throw me glances, and when they look, I look away. Once my thirst is quenched, I throw the plastic cup in the bid and start to look for the taxi. I read my tita's message again. She said that I should purchase a bus ticket – Malaga to Tarifa. I just have to... ride a taxi to the bus station. I get off the building. Once I'm off the building, I can see the huge name of the airport: AEROPUERTO DE MALAGA – COSTA DEL SOL. I message my tita again. She says: estación de autobuses de Málaga once you're on a taxi. You can also pay with your credit card. A taxi halts in front of me.

"¿Estás bunscando un taxi?" A man in his mid-30s, with an untrimmed beard, asks me in full blown Spanish that I don't fucking understand. "Ah, turista. You want taxi? I take you somewhere, ¿sí?" His English is a bit rough, and definitely the accent is there.

"Yes, please." I thank the Lord. He opens the trunk, and put it there. Good thing I'm only carrying a small luggage. The big one is not needed since I don't have many clothes to bring.

"Where do I take you?"

"Um, the buses... wait," I'm about to show my tita's message when he interrupts me.

"Understand, I understand." The taxi driver pulls out a note in front of him, writes something down, before looking at me through the mirror. "I take you to where the buses are, ¿sí? Estación de autobuses de Málaga."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." God, I'm grateful that I know how to speak in English. Studying that in elementary and high school definitely helped. I take a deep breath and look outside as the taxi begins to move.

"Where are you from?" The driver asks me, his eyes on the road.

"Philippines, sir."

"Ah, Filipinas, mucho gusto." The driver laughs and looks at me again through the mirror with a gleeful smile. "Tengo un amigo filipino. I have Filipino friend. My neighbor. We're from El Peñon. You don't speak Spanish?"

"Unfortunately, no." I reply awkwardly, scratching the back of my head.

"Está bien." He laughs. "A lot of people come in Spain, but they don't know Spanish. They try. They use... what's that called? The translator app? Ah, Google Translator. And the way they speak it... it's bad. Su pronunciación es mala. Muy, muy mala. At least you don't do that." He laughs again. "We arrive there in 20 minutes. Where do you go?"

"Tarifa. My aunt lives there."

"Bonita ciudad." He grins before swerving to the right. He adjusts the mirror on his side before picking up speed. "You stay here for how many days?"

"I plan on working here, but I have to learn to speak Spanish. Like you do." He laughs again.

"You will. Just talk to the natives. You will learn." The conversation dies down after that. And more than 20 minutes later, we arrive at the bus station. I pay with my credit card again. "Bienvenido a España. Gracias y mucho gusto. That's welcome to Spain, thank you, and nice to meet you." I grab my luggage and tighten the strap of my bag slung around my shoulder.

"Nice to meet you, too, and thank you!" I shout as the taxi driver pulls back and heads off, leaving me. That's already a total of 10 euros I spent. And... that's around... 600 pesos. Not bad. But it's still fucking expensive. "Putangina. My billing statement."

The place is a bit crowded. I'm standing in front of a long building that leaves me in awe. The top part of the building has 3 large windows, in a triangular shape, and you can see through them. The upper part is painted white while the lower part, where it has round arch design, is made with bricks. I enter the building and people falling in line greets me.

There are 3 ticket booths. I fall in line, and as I get nearer to the booth, my anxiety spikes. It is the first time that I've travelled completely alone, and it's completely terrifying. My eyes focus on the large blinking LED lights attached on the top of the booths where it shows the destinations and the time the bus arrives or leaves (I'm not really sure). I look over the person in front of me and hear the lady speaking in full Spanish mode. My eyes flicker to INFORMACIÓN, and I swear I've never been more terrified in my entire life. I'm fucking completely new here, and it seems that everyone is expecting me to speak the language. I'm a fucking idiot. As soon as the person in front of me is done, my knees buckle. I take a step forward, and the lady smiles at me.

Before she can say anything in Spanish, I say, "A ticket to Tarifa, please." I'm pretty sure she can see how nervous I am. She lets out a small smile before asking for my payment method. I hand her my card. She processes the payment, prints out the ticket, and hands it to me. She points out to the direction of the bus I'm taking. "Thank you."

I head out, pulse racing.

I message my tita that I've finally purchased a ticket. She responds that the trip may take about 3 hours or so. I take a seat and wait for the bus. When it arrives, and the person in charge is motioning us that we can get in, I've practically run. I take a seat at the farthest seat available – at the far end corner, window seat.

I grab my earphones in, blocking everything out, and play random songs on Spotify. I focus my attention on the scenery flying past by me and calm myself down. My anxiety is still present, but now that I'm on my way to my destination calms me down a bit. In a few hours, I'm going to see my tita and have some rest. The next day, that's when the real struggle will start.

More than 3 hours later – 3 hours and 34 minutes to be exact (believe me, I was anxious enough that I timed it), I've arrived at Tarifa. People stand up at the same time and head out of the bus. I wait for them and trail last.

As soon as I step out, the cold wind brushes past me and I shiver, but a smile graces my lips. It's actually scorching hot, but the cold breeze makes up for it. I squint my eyes, trying to get a good look of my surroundings. ESTACIÓN AUTOBUSES. I read. I walk through the sidewalk and see: BAZAR TARIFA, with letter Z, and A and F (in Tarifa) in orange. I message my tita, and she responds: You can walk from the bus station. Look for the street PINTOR MANUEL REINE. From the bus station, just go straight ahead until you reach HOSTAL TARIFA, then turn left. Then turn right on the 2nd street, then left. Straight ahead.

She adds: You should see a car parking. Just keep walking straight. Find the #42 house. That's my house. Once you're there, shout.

I follow her instructions, though I'm pretty sure I'm going to get lost. The place is fucking beautiful. Even the subdivisions in the Philippines cannot top this. So I just keep walking, casually glancing at her message, then I find the HOSTAL TARIFA, so I look again on my phone and follow her instructions. Then I see the car parking she's talking about.

A group of people, mostly male, is running. I take a step to the side, but one shirtless guy bumps with me, and I fall on my butt. I let out a loud groan and want to pull a bird, but I suddenly remember that I can't speak Spanish, which means I can't insult him and say bad words in his own language.

The guy is a definition of a model. I can't tell if his eyes are blue or green, but they are definitely beautiful. His lashes are quite long, and his eyebrows are kinda... chaotic? His jaw is chiseled, and his body is definitely sculpted – look at that abs! I wish I have one, but my stomach is... unfortunately, full of fat. I mean, I'm not really fat, but I am far from fit. He stares at me and offers his hand, and I take it, then the sun shines on his eyes, and I can clearly recognize their color – they are green. His black hair is thick.

"Mikel, ¡vamos!" His friends say.

"¡Sí!" Mikel shouts back. "Lo siento, pero tengo que irme. Hasta que nos vemos." He runs after his friends.

I did not understand the words he said. I shout in front of my tita's house. She gets out with a grin on her face. "¡Bienvenido! I missed you, ¡hijo!" I awkwardly smile and look at the retreating figure of the guy who bumped me. They are still running.

But what the hell did he just say to me? Fuck it. I'm going to die.