The rule of clubbing states that everything happens in just one night. You pick a dance partner; dance in a rhythm that expresses your innermost longing; drink hard; grope harder; kiss, like the separation of your lips would mean a shortage of breath; hug tight and savor the moment of togetherness because when the time comes for dance partners to part ways, everything will be over.
Another clubbing night experience would never be the same as the night-out you had tonight.
---
And so we returned inside the bar for another round of beer and dancing. The revelations had convinced him that we should extend our stay to get to know each other deeper. The discovery stunned me as well. Chemistry and commonality rarely becomes a double trait in one person. The dance floor was packed and everyone danced to the beat of Rihanna. We never had the chance to talk. Instead, the proximity of our bodies lead us to fill each others need for intimacy. Assured that I am with the right person, I danced with him like I would dance with my boyfriend. We would kiss, tongue and hug each other tight. We would let go from time to time to give each other some breathing space. Other hands would try to distract us, but in the end we make sure no one will be carried away by the swirling currents of people seeking somebody else to be theirs.
We would go bathroom breaks together - him walking closely behind me - his arms tightly wrapped around my shoulders. I broke walls of people, making sure he was secured behind me, while I bear the brunt of bodily collisions after my rude and assertive dispersal. He might be tough, older and more assertive when he's sober but with his senses nearly disabled by alcohol, I was his best fall back guy. I never sought him there, but our strange encounter gave me reasons to put up a fight on his behalf.
I would have stayed and danced with him but the night is nearly over. I found what I sought that night and perhaps he found his as well. Parting is such a sweet sorrow and I was the one who bid my goodbye.
"Tara, let's go home." He followed without any protestations.
We claimed our bags at the bar counter and walked outside with my arms around his neck. We talked more about the revelations earlier and at the back of my head, I was resolved to see him again.
"You're too good to be true, I hope this would not be our last." I finally confessed.
"Hindi mo pa nga kinukuha ang number ko eh, paano tayo magkikita ulit?"
I've been dancing with strangers for as long as I remember. Dancing was my liberation and it reminded me that no matter how my hands were bound to one person, my soul runs free to express its innermost desire with other people. At the end of ecstasy, I return to my sullenness by trying to forget the encounters of the night. I don't leave traces thus, I don't give personal details to dance partners.
Now that I am free, the choice to let others stay rest entirely whether I will let an encounter develop into something longer than just a club-night-stand.
"What's your number, i-text kita."
He took out his phone for his pocket so I can get his number. While transferring his details into mine, my luck run out when the number on the screen of his phone suddenly disappeared.
"Malas ah, na low-bat ka na." Fate was testing my initiative.
"Dito ka lang, intayin mo ako."
Determined to keep him, I went inside a KTV bar to borrow a pen from the lady cashier. She was busy counting the bar's profit so I grabbed the pen lying on the table without her approval. In a calling card I found on my wallet, I started scribbling my number. Though the place was dimly lit and the effects of alcohol had started kicking in, my persistence won over. I gave him the card outside hoping he would not lose it. We talked a little longer about our interests until the topic shifted to a subject relating to our past.
"So why did you break up?"
He said that the guy was 7 years younger than him. His immaturity had put him off and their bedside personality did not complement one another. I am sure that there were deeper reasons behind their break-up but I didn't bother to probe further. Instead we talked about our longings and our plans now that we're both single.
Another clubbing night experience would never be the same as the night-out you had tonight.
---
And so we returned inside the bar for another round of beer and dancing. The revelations had convinced him that we should extend our stay to get to know each other deeper. The discovery stunned me as well. Chemistry and commonality rarely becomes a double trait in one person. The dance floor was packed and everyone danced to the beat of Rihanna. We never had the chance to talk. Instead, the proximity of our bodies lead us to fill each others need for intimacy. Assured that I am with the right person, I danced with him like I would dance with my boyfriend. We would kiss, tongue and hug each other tight. We would let go from time to time to give each other some breathing space. Other hands would try to distract us, but in the end we make sure no one will be carried away by the swirling currents of people seeking somebody else to be theirs.
We would go bathroom breaks together - him walking closely behind me - his arms tightly wrapped around my shoulders. I broke walls of people, making sure he was secured behind me, while I bear the brunt of bodily collisions after my rude and assertive dispersal. He might be tough, older and more assertive when he's sober but with his senses nearly disabled by alcohol, I was his best fall back guy. I never sought him there, but our strange encounter gave me reasons to put up a fight on his behalf.
I would have stayed and danced with him but the night is nearly over. I found what I sought that night and perhaps he found his as well. Parting is such a sweet sorrow and I was the one who bid my goodbye.
"Tara, let's go home." He followed without any protestations.
We claimed our bags at the bar counter and walked outside with my arms around his neck. We talked more about the revelations earlier and at the back of my head, I was resolved to see him again.
"You're too good to be true, I hope this would not be our last." I finally confessed.
"Hindi mo pa nga kinukuha ang number ko eh, paano tayo magkikita ulit?"
I've been dancing with strangers for as long as I remember. Dancing was my liberation and it reminded me that no matter how my hands were bound to one person, my soul runs free to express its innermost desire with other people. At the end of ecstasy, I return to my sullenness by trying to forget the encounters of the night. I don't leave traces thus, I don't give personal details to dance partners.
Now that I am free, the choice to let others stay rest entirely whether I will let an encounter develop into something longer than just a club-night-stand.
"What's your number, i-text kita."
He took out his phone for his pocket so I can get his number. While transferring his details into mine, my luck run out when the number on the screen of his phone suddenly disappeared.
"Malas ah, na low-bat ka na." Fate was testing my initiative.
"Dito ka lang, intayin mo ako."
Determined to keep him, I went inside a KTV bar to borrow a pen from the lady cashier. She was busy counting the bar's profit so I grabbed the pen lying on the table without her approval. In a calling card I found on my wallet, I started scribbling my number. Though the place was dimly lit and the effects of alcohol had started kicking in, my persistence won over. I gave him the card outside hoping he would not lose it. We talked a little longer about our interests until the topic shifted to a subject relating to our past.
"So why did you break up?"
He said that the guy was 7 years younger than him. His immaturity had put him off and their bedside personality did not complement one another. I am sure that there were deeper reasons behind their break-up but I didn't bother to probe further. Instead we talked about our longings and our plans now that we're both single.
"I'm looking for someone younger but can think more mature for his age."
"I'm looking for someone older and can think more mature than me."
"I'm not getting younger and I hope to find someone who'd be willing to grow old with me."
"I'm 27 and I think I'm not getting younger as well. That's why when I found what makes your heart beat, I decided to stick with you up to now."
"I think I love you na..." he finally mumbled while trying to keep the smile from his face. I just returned the favor by smirking, knowing that everything is just but a drunk's talk.
"This is really out of the ordinary, and I'm glad I went out of my way just to find you."
Over another round of Red Horse, we talked about our likes and dislikes with our partners, our bedside manners and the things that made us smile and cry. I learned that he's a home-buddy who enjoyed playing chess or watching QAF reruns. He said that behind his tough and aggressive nature was a soft guy who cried over little things.
"I'm hypersensitive and I'm afraid you will find me boring."
"What made you say that?" I replied "I deal with all kinds of people."
At that moment, I finally grasped the potentials between us. The compatibilities are obvious and the adjustments, if there are, would be insignificant compared to the sacrifices I gave up to sustain a failed relationship. Our conversation was like those of two lonely people preparing to enter a union and behind the fears and hesitations of starting a relationship all over again, I finally muttered,
"I'm yours."
I guess all the things we've said we're just product of our loneliness. But now that I'm sober enough to remember that strange encounter I had last Saturday, it seems like I kept my part of the bargain. His words would still reverberate like they were just said an hour ago and the hopes we shared during our chill-out talk is what keeps me believing that there might be a future for the both of us.
The sweet talk would have went on, but alas, our time was up.
"Thank you very much for meeting you." I uttered over and over while my head was pressed against his chest. "I had fun, you're someone worth keeping."
Daybreak had finally arrived replacing the brief twilight that kept us hoping in the dark. We stood up from our chair and walked together towards Taft Avenue, as the last of the party vampires were now on a hasty retreat out of Malate.
"If you ever lose that card, I will wait for you at the same dance floor on Friday." He just smiled as he put his arms around my shoulders.
It was a short night and for the first time, I would have wished it to last longer in order to buy time to know someone I might never see anymore. Thrice, he asked if we could sleep together. On his second try I gave in and offered my place provided that he would never make any noise. He rescinded his suggestion admitting that he might not be able to keep his promise. On his third, he opened the idea of checking in a motel, but it's already too late to sleep together.
Morning was upon us, and my family will be looking for me.
And so we stood at the corner of Taft and Julio Nakpil as an acceptance of our separation. I stayed with him to wait for a cab that would take him home. Promises were conveyed, even if words bore no meaning. After all, words would last long enough until reality settles in to put a final verdict on our ending.
The cab finally arrived and it was time for him to go.
I said my goodbyes. But just before he opened the door to enter the vehicle, he turned around to see me again. Without any hesitation, he grabbed my shirt, pushed me closer to him and with one final act, he kissed me in that street corner unmindful of the passing people around us.
Fighting back, I closed my eyes and responded to his kisses with equal passion he had shown throughout the night.
---
Epilogue:
I slept at past 6 am hoping that he would text back upon his arrival. I never recieved any message.
I was stirred from sleep to check my phone. It had 3 unread text mesages. They were from friends bidding me good morning.
In between short naps, I dreamt of getting a text message from an unknown number only to wake up and see an empty screen.
Afternoon passed on and I prayed for his return.
At past 3, I started losing hope.
Maybe I wrote the wrong number. Perhaps he lost the card on his way home. I also cannot rule out the possibility that every word he said and every gesture he did that night was a result of his longing. He was merely lonely and when I filled out his void, my presence suddenly became irrelevant.
Just when I was about to write him off and accept that I was taken for a ride, my phone vibrated. It was a new number and this was the message it contained.
"Men! Tannis*! Hope u can still remember me :) am here at rustan's supermarket grocery lang, supply for next week. :) ayus ka lang?"
He remembered and we started texting again. However, the person who came back is not the same lonely guy I met in Malate two nights ago. Something has changed and this change reminds me that yes, it is best to slow down from my infatuation.
*Tannis - his code name for this entry.
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