The Second Blood Moon

Manila, February 27, 2026

Lying in bed, alone, I looked at the clock beside me. It was still six in the morning. Dorama had left the room more than an hour ago. I still believed that, even with the ticket bought, he would realize what he had done once again and come back sorry. I felt the same pain he had caused me with every abandonment, month after month. I remembered the promise that I would never suffer over this again. I got out of bed, took an energy drink, and went to the gym to run. I called my cousin and told her everything that had happened, again. “You know how harsh I can be, but I held myself back so much this time” — I vented honestly, even going so far as to look for some moment in which I was, in fact, guilty. “But this time, it’s over. I never want to see him in my life again” — I finished with the conviction my cousin and I had known for years.

After the run, I felt better, lighter. And now I had to decide what to do. I looked for every way back to New York. The flights were too expensive or completely full. The options remained Malaysia, Singapore, or China. It would be easier to go back through China, but I didn’t have the courage for that. I found a flight from Singapore to Abu Dhabi, then Frankfurt, and finally New York. It would take days to get home. I no longer had the energy to keep traveling, but I had no choice.

I boarded the nearly four-hour Philippine Airlines flight to the last country of this story. I began to cry, thinking of all the trips we had taken, and of all the others I had imagined in my head. I cried thinking about our future, which would never happen. I felt the urge to write, opened my iPad, and the words flowed without any obstruction:

“Wow! Nine months have passed. We traveled to countless places. We got to know each other deeply. Even knowing each other’s flaws, we decided to continue. We hurt and invalidated one another. Each in our own way, we transformed our lives and routines to fit into each other’s lives. We really loved each other, despite the daily pain of living together. Here in Manila, we decided — I, for the first time — that continuing would hurt more than giving up. Until then, my heart beat with hope for better days. Hours in which you would recognize your limitations and see in me a safe harbor. After nine months with you trying to run away, I gave up trying to free you from yourself.”

02/27 — Manila, PH

The crying intensified. I realized how much being alone — or simply being without him — hurt me. But my view of the relationship remained the same: he was still someone who needed help. And now I was trying to accept that I wouldn’t be the one to help him.

I landed at Changi Airport, in Singapore, at 8 at night. I booked a hotel in the city-state smaller than São Paulo, just for one night. Singapore is one of the most coveted and recommended destinations in Asia. It’s extremely safe, with a mix of cultures ranging from Chinese and Indian to Arab.

It was 11 at night and I was walking into a gay bar in Chinatown. My heart throbbed with pain at every sentence in Mandarin I read on signs or notices, as if someone were pouring salt into an open wound. I ordered a drink, even without wanting to drink. I haven’t used alcohol as an escape valve since my twenties, but I thought it might help me relax. Some guys were looking at me, but I couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone. I stared at the TV above the bar, playing the music video of one song while the sound we were hearing was from another. I sat there for almost half an hour, pretending to watch the video. Until he sat down beside me. Wei was his name. He was tall, had a defined body, and was wearing blue shorts with a black tank top. He looked like he had just left the house to buy bread on a Sunday morning. The fanny pack around his hip could easily have suggested he was over 60 and part of a Chinese tour group, but his face made it clear how young he was. And so did his manner. Wei was energetic and smiling — the kind of person you see at a party and could spend the whole night dancing and laughing with. He had worked as a civil engineer in London for a few years, and because of that his English had charm and fluency. With all his eccentricity, he caught my attention.