Let’s start with a quick pandemic throwback. One of my early lockdown highlights happened in June 2020, when I immersed myself in We Are One. It was a joint effort between Tribeca Enterprises and YouTube, held in lieu of that year’s cancelled film festivals. The only recourse was to go virtual. Roughly 20 international festivals took part in the curation. And one of my favorites was the Macau International Movie Festival entry, Sisterhood (2016).

Helmed by then-first-time director Tracey Choi, the film juxtaposes a turning point in Macanese history with a friendship torn apart over time. As such, several key flashbacks  coincide with the 1999 Handover. That’s where we meet the two protagonists. There’s Sei, who’s since moved to Taiwan to start anew, and Ling, the single mother who’s since passed away. Throughout the narrative, Sei is shown both coming to terms with the loss and witnessing how much her homeland has changed over 15 years. 

But there’s another reason I was hooked.  

Apart from the poignant story, I was particularly drawn to the setting. Pin it down, perhaps, on me missing the outside world at the time. See, I’ve been on day trips before. So, naturally, watching the film fueled both nostalgia and an intense yearning to travel again. Understandably, it was nowhere near an option then. But, oh, how I daydreamed of it since. 

Little did I know that manifestation would eventually be at play, that after a staggering five-year wait, Macau would finally end my overseas travel drought.  

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We arrived in Praça de Ponte e Horta at almost 11. It was a quiet night, considering that it’s been 25 years and a month since the end of Portuguese rule. Nevertheless, there were still hints of festivity, but for a different occasion: the Lunar New Year. And, this time, it’s the Wood Snake that’s set to make its grand entrance. 

It’s my first foreign trip with Mom since Osaka in 2019 and first entirely with her former bank colleague, Tita Anna. This was jointly their idea, which is timely, as I’d just ended a consultancy stint. I needed the fresh start.

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There’s a common denominator among the places I visited over the past two weeks. I capped off the first week of the year in Pinto Art Museum. The following weekend, I celebrated a milestone with my co-reader, Timmy, in Makati’s Picasso Boutique Hotel. Obviously, both places showcase art. Overseas, the theme persists. 

Ever since it dropped its erstwhile identity, Hotel Sun Sun, Hotel S Macau has re-christened itself as an art hub. Aside from welcoming guests and tourists, it also offers a platform for well-known artists to contribute pieces. You’d think you entered a museum by mistake.

Entering the lobby is like a minimalist fever dream. Save for a few strategically-placed masterpieces, the entirety of the room is an explosion of white. It automatically draws one’s eyes to the art. In stark contrast, the suites take on much darker hues. It’s like the building’s equivalent of turning on the nightlight. Adorning the corridors is an abundance of assorted artwork, while each room’s number is projected on the floor. Now, to those who believe in angel numbers, there must be some significance in being across Room 1111. This trip does feel like entering a new era. 

After depositing our luggage, Mom and I went down to the hotel’s in-house bar, Epic, where dinner was decidedly non-Asian. Nevertheless, the post-airport sustenance was more than welcome. 

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Much as I’m not the night owl I used to be, I was still fully awake past one. But it’s understandable, given the long day I had. So, before calling it a night, I stepped out for my introductory stroll. 

Outside, the streets still bustled with activity. Convenience store patrons congregated on the sidewalks, exchanging pleasantries with beer in hand. There were droves, but they were just there, minding their own business. As I walked past, Tagalog phrases became increasingly audible. Turns out, Filipinos proliferated that particular area. That much was confirmed when I went face to face with a grocery cashier. After serving an irate South Asian customer who complained about the beer price, she smiled at me at quipped: “Eh bakit niya binili pa rin?” (“Then why did he still buy it?”) 

By 2:00AM, the non-24 hour establishments were ready to close. Yet, somehow, I was still intrepid enough to wander the now-empty side streets. I couldn’t help it; I was confined within my homeland for more than half a decade. As a more thorough look revealed, the place really is a street art haven, with the graffiti complimenting the iconic Portuguese signs. It was enough to keep my senses pre-occupied as sleepiness started taking over. 

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It’s only the early juncture of my stay, but, already, I’ve hit a milestone. The combined duration of my first two trips didn’t even exceed 12 hours. And, in both instances, I left a little past 8:00PM. By being here at that hour, I’ve already broken a personal record. Come sunrise, that record will be broken anew.