Makati Avenue
Past Midnight
It is on a same Friday night like this that I find myself walking alone on a not so different road. Empty cabs pass by with droopy-eyed drivers looking for passengers emerging from the bars that line the street. Most of these revelers would come out of their watering holes drunk and on the verge of passing out. Accompanied by friends or newly-met accomplices, they would hail the taxis and often haggle with the drivers seeking extra payment before they take them home. Across the street, trance music blares from the gargantuan speakers of a dance club. Not far from the dance club, a multitude of laughter could be heard inside a comedy bar as the host picks up and taunts one of the guests with highly scandalous questions a fifteen-year old kid should never hear.
Somewhere across that stretch, maybe a couple of blocks away from where I stand is an obscure ktv bar where my pack decides to lodge themselves. Coming from a booze party earlier that evening, belting diva songs is what keeps the alcohol from taking over their swirling heads.
Meanwhile, I have other plans for the night.
After my pack settles down in one of the round circular tables inside the ktv bar, I would leave the spot barely noticed. I would then troop to my favorite Coyote bar to watch nymphets perform their erotic dance moves on top of bar counters. As they grind their asses to the sound of Trance music, the male audience would scream "take it off," to the delight of everyone. The performers would then, slowly take-off their blouses, shirts, or spaghetti straps (and sometimes their skirts) revealing their underwear. At one time, one of the bar owners was present during the performance and the nymphet took off her bra to the cheers of those lucky enough to witness such spectacle.
Those were my heydays.
After a few hours of screaming, cheering and dancing on the dance floor, my mobile phone would vibrate. The text message comes from one of my friends I left at the ktv bar.
"Balik ka na, uuwi na tayo."
I could ignore the message in my inbox and stay there until dawn. But traditions tell that the pack should go home together after a night's party. After receiving the SMS message, I would leave the club not minding even if the girls show their shaved kitties. After all, who would be interested in pink flaps when it is the big guns I'm longing to play at the end of the night.
Arriving at the ktv bar minutes later, some of my companions were gone. They leave in groups to ensure that nobody gets left behind. Those who remain are the one's I'd join inside the cab going home. It has been our way ever since.
And it remains unbroken even if times have changed.
"Tara school bus ulit," one of us would blurt out.
School bus. A childish name we have given to the habit of riding a cab in groups and dropping each one of the passengers at their doorsteps. Others would never notice this little intimacy of togetherness or even bother to give a name to it. But to us, it is how we forged our friendship. It is during these quiet joyrides that we truly bond and share our stories, feelings and dreams with our companions. It is these late-night cab rides that make us constantly remember who we are and why we should never forget.
Especially the one who made these after-party school bus rides possible; the one who connects everyone in the group.
---
Inside Club Government:
"Huy bumalik ka na dito! Nasa taxi na daw siya." It was a text message from a friend who took the mantle after our central figure left to settle abroad.
I returned to Tienanmen Bar half an hour later. I found the people I left still downing bottles of beer and talking to each other that they barely noticed my arrival. Suddenly, one of those seated across the table shouted "Andyan na siya!" which disrupted the train of conversations. We turned our heads toward the door and saw a big guy approaching our table. The bar was dimly lit and his silhouette is what we saw. His rounded figure, wide grin which we can still see in the dark and his visibly short hair recall the features still embedded on our heads.
"OMG Omeng! Welcome back!!!"
Everyone sober enough to get up scrambled to greet our host.
---
It's been years since he left.
Surreal as it may seems, but last night, four years of distance seem like a week apart.
Past Midnight
It is on a same Friday night like this that I find myself walking alone on a not so different road. Empty cabs pass by with droopy-eyed drivers looking for passengers emerging from the bars that line the street. Most of these revelers would come out of their watering holes drunk and on the verge of passing out. Accompanied by friends or newly-met accomplices, they would hail the taxis and often haggle with the drivers seeking extra payment before they take them home. Across the street, trance music blares from the gargantuan speakers of a dance club. Not far from the dance club, a multitude of laughter could be heard inside a comedy bar as the host picks up and taunts one of the guests with highly scandalous questions a fifteen-year old kid should never hear.
Somewhere across that stretch, maybe a couple of blocks away from where I stand is an obscure ktv bar where my pack decides to lodge themselves. Coming from a booze party earlier that evening, belting diva songs is what keeps the alcohol from taking over their swirling heads.
Meanwhile, I have other plans for the night.
After my pack settles down in one of the round circular tables inside the ktv bar, I would leave the spot barely noticed. I would then troop to my favorite Coyote bar to watch nymphets perform their erotic dance moves on top of bar counters. As they grind their asses to the sound of Trance music, the male audience would scream "take it off," to the delight of everyone. The performers would then, slowly take-off their blouses, shirts, or spaghetti straps (and sometimes their skirts) revealing their underwear. At one time, one of the bar owners was present during the performance and the nymphet took off her bra to the cheers of those lucky enough to witness such spectacle.
Those were my heydays.
After a few hours of screaming, cheering and dancing on the dance floor, my mobile phone would vibrate. The text message comes from one of my friends I left at the ktv bar.
"Balik ka na, uuwi na tayo."
I could ignore the message in my inbox and stay there until dawn. But traditions tell that the pack should go home together after a night's party. After receiving the SMS message, I would leave the club not minding even if the girls show their shaved kitties. After all, who would be interested in pink flaps when it is the big guns I'm longing to play at the end of the night.
Arriving at the ktv bar minutes later, some of my companions were gone. They leave in groups to ensure that nobody gets left behind. Those who remain are the one's I'd join inside the cab going home. It has been our way ever since.
And it remains unbroken even if times have changed.
"Tara school bus ulit," one of us would blurt out.
School bus. A childish name we have given to the habit of riding a cab in groups and dropping each one of the passengers at their doorsteps. Others would never notice this little intimacy of togetherness or even bother to give a name to it. But to us, it is how we forged our friendship. It is during these quiet joyrides that we truly bond and share our stories, feelings and dreams with our companions. It is these late-night cab rides that make us constantly remember who we are and why we should never forget.
Especially the one who made these after-party school bus rides possible; the one who connects everyone in the group.
---
Inside Club Government:
"Huy bumalik ka na dito! Nasa taxi na daw siya." It was a text message from a friend who took the mantle after our central figure left to settle abroad.
I returned to Tienanmen Bar half an hour later. I found the people I left still downing bottles of beer and talking to each other that they barely noticed my arrival. Suddenly, one of those seated across the table shouted "Andyan na siya!" which disrupted the train of conversations. We turned our heads toward the door and saw a big guy approaching our table. The bar was dimly lit and his silhouette is what we saw. His rounded figure, wide grin which we can still see in the dark and his visibly short hair recall the features still embedded on our heads.
"OMG Omeng! Welcome back!!!"
Everyone sober enough to get up scrambled to greet our host.
---
It's been years since he left.
Surreal as it may seems, but last night, four years of distance seem like a week apart.
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