A friend has told me that I should write about my adventures in Europe, but a part of me remains convinced that nobody would bother reading a story about a naïve 22-year-old Filipina girl who managed to escape the conservative confines of Metro Manila and explored the modern urban jungles of Europe.

It now seems like a long time ago. Already two years have passed since I last set foot on one of Europe?s glorious capitals and almost four years since I first ventured into that vast continent that holds tantalizing treasure troves of culture. I can?t even decide which one of my many adventures (or misadventures) I should recount. And yet the memories remain vivid. They are so clearly etched in my mind that I can almost hear the hustle and bustle of the streets, see the way the light of day and artificial street lights illuminate the scenery, and feel the cold, dry air prick my skin. (In case you haven?t noticed, I have a flair for the dramatic, so sue me.)

What sticks out from memory though is how Europe seems to be in a permanent state of love festivals. People everywhere and anywhere seem not to hesitate to put on a public display of affection. In the library, in the train station, at the park, PDA becomes a vibrant expression of European liberation. And I must confess that the love bug bit me too, albeit in a different fashion.

I used to think that my first kiss would be over-the-top. I had crushes, but somehow I never found myself in a relationship all through high school and college. But I told myself that my first kiss would happen in Spain, in the gardens of the Alhambra Palace, illuminated by a full moon. I never told this to anyone, not even my best friend. ?Ilusyonada? [Illusioned girl] is what they would have called me.

After college, I found myself in Spain, in a new country with newfound friends. It was the first time I experienced dating, the first time guys asked me out and expressed interest. It was also there that for the first time I asked a guy I liked to dance with me.

For somebody whose idea of a night out consisted of watching movies in a friend?s house till 7 p.m. or until my mom picked me up, it was a complete transformation. Suddenly, I was Beyonce?s Naughty Girl ? young, sexy and exotically Oriental (people couldn?t tell whether I was Latin-American or Chinese). I even had a new nickname, which was part of my effort to reinvent the shy, soft-spoken and nerdy girl that people knew back home.

There I got to learn a lot of things. Not only did I get to practice my Spanish by being bombarded by an overwhelming dose of rapid-fire Spanish in all its forms, I was also able to learn to distinguish the varying accents of my friends: the melodic Mexican accent, the crystal clear Colombian, the punctuated ?RRRsss? of the Puerto Rican, the dull, boring accent of a Madrileño, the cryptic sounds of a Cuban accent and the ever sexy Argentinian Spanish. My Latin-American friends also taught me to dance the salsa and merengue, which merited me the title of ?Honorary Latina? conferred by a Panamanian guy who watched me dancing enthusiastically and passionately.

Dancing, I learned, is a way of life for Latin-Americans. My Colombian friend told me not to pay attention to the steps but to simply feel the beat of the music. This may sound like a cliché taken from a cheesy dance movie, but it is true. Dancing to the sexy beat of a Celia Cruz song, I am lost in the pulsating beat and my hips move in constant harmony with the music.

Travel became a newfound passion as well. It was so un-cool to remain in the dorm during vacation breaks, which were really, really long. We had breaks stretched up to five days ? ?puentes,? we called them. But while I loved traveling with friends, my most cherished adventures were when I traveled alone.

When I ventured into Lisbon, a truly melancholic yet scenic place, I was worried because I didn?t speak a word of Portuguese, but somehow I managed. I found it funny that they seemed to understand me (I spoke Spanish) but I couldn?t, for the life of me, understand them.

Of course, everything doesn?t always turn out fine and dandy when you travel. Once I found myself in Seville at 4 a.m., in the dead of winter, helplessly trying to find my way in the maze of identical side streets that never seem to end, in the company of a friend. I had told the poor guy I knew the way back to my hotel and he had to suffer too for my lack of a sense of direction.

On another occasion I lost my poise and reserve and shouted to a bartender to get my drinks since I had been waiting for two hours already and I was devastatingly hungry. The people around me must have thought I was an alcoholic as I ordered sweet vermouth to go with my paella. (Who knew it was a good combination?)

It was also in Europe where my lust for art was completely satisfied. I had a cultural overdose after spending three hours in the Louvre Musuem. Paintings of my favorite painters ? Monet, Manet and Rubens ? grace the museum?s walls. The sculptures were even more glorious, all showcased in a special section of a museum. However, it was at the Orsay Museum where I found a piece which talked to me: a work of art made by Camille Claudel that reminded me of her tragic romance with the Rodin.

The year I went back to Manila, I knew I had changed and people around me noticed it, too. No longer was I too shy to voice out my opinions, instead I wanted to be heard. I realized that life is meant to be lived, not in the solitary confines of the classroom but with family, friends and those journeys you make yourself.

I cannot cram my experience in Europe into one article; it merits a whole diary?s worth of entries. I can only recount bits and pieces of it to friends, in the hope that at least they will find my tales amusing.

Annika Narvades, 27, is a postgraduate student at De La Salle University.