Malate
Posted at 11:33 PM

My head was starting to swirl from all the booze I drank. The blinking lights and cigarette smoke caused my face to cringe and my eyes to burn. Friday nights are the best, dito sa Malate. You get to meet different kinds of people. Cute guys with attitude; weirdos and their mohawks; human pin cushions and their pierced bodies; and if you’re lucky, you can even get a glimpse of Randy and other stars on their way to Ratsky’s. Ganito lang naman ang buhay ng isang estudyante dito sa Maynila tuwing Biyernes. Of course it depends on whether you were able to fold a Ninoy Aquino inside the hidden pocket of your wallet to keep from spending it. Aral sa araw, gimik sa gabi. We consider this as treating ourselves after a long day of mind-frying. Party time may last from midnight to the crack of dawn. But for sure, a night in Malate is never at a loss for the unexpected. One time, I was dancing my stuff in one bar I frequently go to. I almost thought that I’d go home without a story to tell. Just then, two gays started shouting and raving to the music. One climbed on top of a seat and the other stood in front, below the former. They started extending their hands and swaying to opposite directions, like spiders playing patintero with their prey. “Play our music!”, they shrieked, like harpies, their tongues flailing out their mouths; almost as if trying to taste the raw atmosphere of smoke, booze, and sweat. I check the arena, turning three hundred sixty degrees, with an almost infinite slowness. Every face I see is different. Every movement, saturated with life. Every soul inside the night coven, bursting with a story to share. Take kapitbahay, for example. We call her that because she once lived in the same dormitory with my friend. We don’t really know her, but we see her every time we go to Malate; almost as if she lived here. This was her kingdom and she was queen every night she danced. The ledge was her throne; every gyrate of her hips, a commandment; and every other person inside the dark den, her subject. Some say she was no longer studying --- filed her L.O.A. to avoid being kicked out due to failing grades. I then come into deep contemplation. Did her parents know this? I swiftly erase the thought from my mind. This should not be part of my reverie. I sway around, catching a nanosecond-smile from Alvin. This, on the other hand, was a guy who was there, not to drown his burden in ale, but to scope the place, looking for his latest victim; like the vampire, Lestat. For those who are not familiar with Anne Rice’s most famous character, the latter is a blood-sucking romeo who prefers victims who deserve to be victims. The more dirt, the better. Pero syempre, mas maganda kung palaban. That was how Alvin liked it. Pero ibahin mo si pogi. We met this waiter, the very first time I went to Malate. Quiet, but friendly, patience was already evident, the second I saw the sweat from his brow. He was working his way to college. Aral sa umaga, trabaho sa gabi. Kinda’ like makes you feel all guilty inside. But then, all these faces form a part of me that make up what we coin as, human. I am kapitbahay, when I try to cover my melancholy with a life evident with happiness. I am Alvin, when I try to feel good about myself by toiling with the emotions of those I consider my inferiors. I am pogi, when I try to make up for what life cannot readily offer me. I am each of these three and a million others. But most of all, I am Malate --- full of life; bleak sometimes, but always full of hope. I felt my head wanting to explode; thoughts turning redundant. I had too much to drink. It’s time to head home. >>> This entry was done August 2, 2001, during the time wherein which i felt a little gratitude despite Eros' omnipresence in the life of everyone else's but mine. i just began typing one night and felt glad that i had something to preoccupy myself with during those ungodly hours of just staring blankly at the ceiling.