"WHO ARE YOU WITH SIR?" she asked in a tone coated with so much sweetness it sounded nearly cloying.

"Oh, I'm just alone," I responded, mildly hurt with her question despite its innocence.

"But your room has two beds, sir," she argued, ogling at the piece of paper with my name on it, probably checking if she had the correct document.

"Where is my room located?" I said, diverting the topic with an air of apparent annoyance. The receptionist, a local girl in her early 20s, hardly missed the message her guest was trying to send across but she nonetheless maintained her composure.

She called her colleague and asked for assistance but nobody seemed to have heard her. The thickness of the bushes flourishing in great abundance inside the resort must have sucked out her call. Without any hint of irritation, she took on the job of accompanying her guest to the assigned room - a small villa made of sawali, nipa hut and wooden bamboo floor.
"Enjoy your stay, sir," she told me while dropping my stuff in front of the door. The giddiness in her voice was still palpable and far from waning.

"Thank you," I said in the most earnest way I could muster. She then scurried off toward her post leaving me alone inside the TV-less room. I locked the door unnecessarily and slumped down on one of the bigger beds, forced myself into complete oblivion but the feeling of unfamiliarity amplified by solitude eventually kicked in, making me fidget and toss over. The room, I noticed, was indeed large enough for one person. An extra small bed parked in one corner was a glaring proof that it was never meant for solo occupancy.
Such an observation became a nudge to change rooms - this time preferably at a much smaller one where space wouldn't be a constant reminder of my being alone. For years, I have been a believer of a self-devised aphorism - Solitude is Not Tantamount to Loneliness - and yet it sometimes smacks me in the face with such a forceful blow that leaves me completely vulnerable. Fortunately, I slowly lost consciousness and the emotional drama died.

"MISS, CAN I TAKE MY FREE BREAKFAST NOW?" I asked the same receptionist who this time greeted me with a sweet smile yet again. She thought for a second, pouted her lips and flashed another smile. "Actually, sir, you still can't but... sure, you can take your free breakfast now." She said it in a way that we should keep it private. Our little secret. I smiled and thanked her.

"What do you want for breakfast, sir?" She offered. She was holding a tray. Small patches of sunlight peeking through the leaves above ricocheted off her skin. We were standing beside a porch near the gate. The compound looked very residential. Thickets of tall flowering plants lined the concrete pathway which led to the inner part of the resort.

"Do you have danggit or daing?" I asked, hopeful. My stomach groaned in agreement.

"Sorry, sir, we don't. We have only tocino and longganisa."
None of the two whetted my appetite but they're free so I had to choose one. Tocino. She served it personally along with a cup of Milo and banana. It cured the pang of hunger I felt all morning. After breakfast, I decided to go down the beach, but not without having a shower first. Feeling a little excited, I grabbed my toiletries splayed on the small vacant bed and proceeded to the bathroom in a frantic pace. The water ejected by the shower greeted me with unwanted coldness (literally). Before I could think about making a complaint, I realized that I booked a fan room (without TV or hot water.)
At least they had towels, two sets of them. But they looked old, as if they've been used several times. I had no choice though, I didn't bring my own towel so I had to make use of what was provided. The sorry-looking cloth was too rough that if I scratched it hard against my skin, I'd develop rashes.

"MISS, YOU HAVE FREE WI-FI?" I asked the receptionist who had a sweet smile.

"Yes, sir," she replied, the smile on her face unfading.

"May I have the password?" I asked, fiddling my old Nokia phone to connect to the Internet.

"It's doughty888," she stood beside me and watched me type the password. With such closeness I caught her sweet-smelling cologne. The connection didn't work. But I didn't tell her that. I thanked her and made my way to the green gate.
Later that day, I went to the reception area to ask if they had an extension cord. My phone's battery was almost empty and the socket inside my room was placed too high it's quite impossible to hang my phone without it diving down to the bamboo floor. The sweet-smiling girl wasn't there. Her shift for the day was probably over. They gave me an extension cord but I didn't use it.

"YOU NEED TO PAY EXTRA FOR THE BREAKFAST, SIR," the receptionist told me the next day when I asked her about my free breakfast. She still smiled at me but the warmth had ceased to exist. What did I do wrong? "You have already availed the free one yesterday," she explained. I thought it was our little secret. You made it sound like I'd still have another free breakfast today.

"Oh I see," I managed to say despite the disappointment. "No other option apart from Tocino or Longganisa?" I asked, smiling.

She smirked and nodded. "But if I were you, sir, I would break my fast outside. Say, Andoks or Mang Inasal. We charge 150 for breakfast here," she suggested. Why are you pushing me away? 

"Fair enough," I said. I went to the beach and scanned some cafes along the Beachfront.
It was my last day in Boracay. My flight was scheduled at 2 in the afternoon but I checked-out at around 10am, two hours earlier than the supposed check-out time. Back in my room, I stuffed my things inside my bag as fast as I could. I took a quick shower, toweled myself dry and handed the key back to the receptionist.

She wasn't there. The receptionist who was always wearing a sweet smile wasn't there. I wasn't able to say goodbye to her. I wasn't able to ask for her name. I could have told her that I was alone all night, and that I downed three glasses of rum coke and went to my room at around three in the morning.
B&B Beach Resort