In a world when people are always leaving and friendships you’ve made are instantly broken. You say goodbye maybe forever but with the faint hope you’ll see each other again. Fighting the more formidable question that it will it be the same, and the unfortunate reality that maybe it was just that shot of Sambuca that held your entire friendship together.
When there’s always someone leaving and before you’ve set your bag down and found your underwear it’s back on again and you’re off. You’re back with no idea where you are or where you’re going; but it’s okay because you’ve got your maps.me and you’re one of a million other people all doing the same thing.
You don’t get a leaving do until you actually leave; back to your own country where it’s probably winter and you’ll have to move back in with your mum because you’re too broke and depressed to do anything else. Okay, then you get a leaving do.
Except, if you make friends with some Filipino beauties who decide to throw you a bon voyage party at the beach bar you’ve been hanging out at all week to go and get royally shitfaced, before sobbing on board your ferry/boat/bike/bus/taxi/plane or all of the above you poor sod.