No Shirt, No Shoes, No Worries
Yoga, Tears, and Transformation in El Nido
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This batch of daily diary entries marks another week of my solo-travel voyage throughout Asia! If you missed last week’s batch, you can read it here!
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November 24th, 2024
El Nido, Palawan, Philippines
I haven’t worn a shirt in days. It’s not just the heat that keeps me stripped down. The magic of this island demands a complete shedding of the unnecessary. Here in El Nido, life flows with the rhythm of the waves, a perfect blend of beachy surf culture and responsible abandon. My hair has grown wild, my skin kissed golden by the sun, and my spirit feels lighter than it ever did in New York. How strange it is to feel so at home in a place I’ve only known for nine days. It feels like I’ve been here forever, wrapped in the simplicity of it all.
Mornings begin with yoga, my anchor in this new life. Namaste Shala, the studio where I teach, is perched near the water, the salty breeze sweeping through its open walls as we flow through asanas. There’s a kind of magic in teaching here. After each class, Conchita, the studio owner; Luis, my fellow teacher; and a rotating cast of students join me for breakfast at a little beachside café. We sit barefoot in the sand, eating poke bowls piled high with fresh fish, avocado, and sesame seeds, coconuts in hand, laughing and talking about everything under the sun.
Luis, whose passion for yoga matches my own, has been learning the art of massage. When he asked me to be his practice model, I jumped at the chance. Who would say no to a free massage? During my session, Kendra, his instructor, stood beside him, adjusting his technique, correcting his movements, and, at times, taking over to demonstrate with her own skilled hands. As Luis worked, I felt the delicate power of touch, the way it mirrors yoga. Both are rooted in an intimate knowledge of the body, a conversation between physiology and intuition.
The massage wasn’t just relaxing—it awakened something in me. I thought about how yoga is, in many ways, a self-massage, a way of tuning into the body and releasing tension. As Luis’s hands guided me toward that familiar post-yoga bliss, I found myself wondering: could I learn this too? Could this become another way to help people find relief, healing, and transformation?
When it was over, I stepped out onto Korong Korong Beach, feeling as light as air. The scene before me was pure joy: children running barefoot in the sand, shouting and laughing as they played some sort of game involving a beach ball and a rope swing. I didn’t understand the rules, but their happiness was universal, a language I didn’t need to translate.
They ran up to me, grinning wide. “Hey, sir,” one boy said, his voice laced with mischief. “Can you give me a dollar for my money collection?”
I laughed. “Very funny, but no,” I replied, as I always do. Yet I know that here, my dollars carry far more weight than they do back home. Every peso I spend supports a local business, a family, a community.
Back in New York, spending feels hollow, as if each dollar vanishes into the hands of faceless corporations. Here, it feels meaningful, tangible. Still, I wonder if I’m doing enough, if my refusal to indulge the kids is the right choice. These questions linger, surfacing in quiet moments like waves against the shore.
Teaching yoga here has been deeply humbling. Every day, at least one student cries in my class. Not from pain, but from release—years of tension and emotion spilling out as they move through the practice. They come to me afterward, tears still glistening, thanking me with hugs and words I’ll never forget.
One such moment came with Shai, a student who stayed after class to share her experience. She told me how the meditation I guided—an invitation to visualize her highest self—helped her realize how close she was to achieving her childhood dreams. Her words were a gift, but it was what she said next that truly moved me.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” she said, looking at me with an honesty that cut through all my defenses. “You give so much to others, but when do you give to yourself?”
Her sympathy stayed with me long after we parted. She was right. I have a habit of moving too quickly, of always reaching for the next goal without pausing to celebrate the wins. That night, walking home under a sky full of stars, I let her words sink in. I cried—quietly, to myself—not from sadness but from gratitude.
There have been other moments of connection, each one leaving its mark. I met Daniel, a fellow traveler from Seattle, during one of my classes. Later, he joined me on an island-hopping tour, and as we paddled through the turquoise waters of the secret lagoon, he opened up about his struggle with marijuana addiction.
I listened as he described how the drug had once been a source of comfort but had become a crutch, numbing him rather than uplifting him. I recognized his story because it was my own, not so long ago. Together, we talked about recovery, about finding new ways to feel alive. In helping him, I found a renewed sense of pride in my own journey—one year of sobriety, an achievement I’d hardly allowed myself to celebrate until now.
And then there was Charity, a 22-year-old from San Francisco who felt like an old friend from the moment we met. We spent an entire day together on Vanilla Beach, wading through the low tide and laughing about everything from memes to the complexities of our shared experience as first-generation Americans. She felt like family, and when we parted, I knew this wouldn’t be the last chapter of our story.
As my time in El Nido comes to an end, I feel a bittersweet mix of emotions. This place has given me so much—friendship, clarity, and a deeper connection to myself. Leaving feels like closing the door on a chapter I wasn’t ready to finish. But I know that the lessons I’ve learned here will stay with me, guiding me forward.
Is it escapism or ambition that drives me? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s both. But as I pack my bag and prepare to board the next boat, I carry with me the peace of this place, the joy of its people, and the quiet certainty that this journey is only just beginning.
Thank you for taking the time to read about my week. Next week, I’ll be sharing my next batch of daily diaries.
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I hope the rest of your day brings presence and gratitude.
See you soon!
Love,
Etai