Hi there, I’m Jona!
This blog is problematically named. My affairs with the world and words started with a book. No, I do not travel as cheap as possible.
What you see and read is not a lifestyle. It is a life well-lived and well-loved
BWAB is my attempt to document and write down my ways of living this one precious life through travel, food, and books.
For real-time stories, puns, self-deprecating awkwardness, find me somewhere else.
November 16, 2022
If you are a foreign student in Munich, or an expat, or practically a creature of habits like me, you find yourself hunting down the best cafes in the city. Because it has been inculcated in your being that you long for that cafe vibe wherever you live. That gorgeous, […]
November 16, 2022
MUNICH, GERMANY | The apartment was empty. Not even a single bulb. No kitchen. Definitely, no kitchen. The new apartment we were moving in was as empty as a ghostly white baby’s bum. It was surprising, and my head, who is so bad at math, already freaked out about the […]
October 13, 2022
When you think of Siargao, you think of Cloud 9, local surfers with tight-ass abs—and the past years—the swimming hole named Magpupungko Rock Pool. Magpupungko Rock Pool is definitely one of the most epic spots in Siargao. This natural pool is located in between two limestone cliffs and offers a […]
October 13, 2022
I’m no surfer. I tried it once, and right in the middle of the surfing lesson, I know it is not for me. But places always hold a singular image in your head. Siargao, before my first trip to this ever-growing popular destination, some pounds ago, was Cloud 9—not the […]
Some years ago, I had an altar of “when you’re broken” reading list. They comprise of Michael Ondaatje’s "The English Patient," Alice Munro’s "The Progress of Love," and Andre Aciman’s "Call Me By Your Name." And the staple Mary Oliver’s “In Blackwater Woods,” Jack Gilbert’s “Failing and Flying,” Derek Walcott’s “Love After Love,” and the pseudo-poem of Jorge Luis Borges’ “After A While You Learn.” I read them. Again. And again. Cried. And cried. Soothed myself. Healed myself through their words again. Cried again. Read them again. This predictable yet painful cycle of breaking and mending. Each pain is different. Each healing is different.
