however, please be guided that i have no plans of turning my blog to a travel blog. let's just say i am widening my places to wander for wonders.
without any family, relatives nor friends with him, he saw himself renting a small room in katipunan together with an old landlord.
for almost four years the two men stayed under the same roof. but they managed not to divulge into a conversation. there relationship was constrained with brief nods or small talks whenever the boy pays his rent. there were even times when the boy catches the old man just waiting for him sitting on an old dusty couch as if cornering him to finally know who his tenant was.
but the boy, though as polite as he can, would always excuse himself with alibis of something important to do. then he will just catch the old man's dismay through his eyes. He will then feel loneliness radiating on his face.
It seemed like the boy just cannot stand the gloominess and coldness of the room. it was as if he was watching a very depressing film. hence he would always just stays inside his own space.
one time, the boy woke up realizing the landlord was not in the house. there was no coughing down stairs. no radio turned on. it was just plain silence. so he finally went out of his lair and decided to explore the entire house. then he realized, it actually took him a year before he have done this.
in general, it was old enormous house, where dust already covered its elegance and time already stole it from being a home.
there was an old piano dead waiting on the corner. above it were frames of blurred old photos; of people who the boy have never seen before. but somewhere among the frames, he managed to identify his landlord. a young radiant man who was laughing while hugging a woman carrying a baby. the boy figured it must be his family. and no, he no longer attempted asking where they are now? he just left his curiosity inside boxes of piled stained letters, post cards and peeking photos. the mere thought made him really down and was even magnified when a cold smooth breeze brushed his arms.
it had been over a month since the boy learned his landlord was back. surprisingly, he was no longer waiting for him downstairs, sitting on that old dusty couch and listening to a struggling radio box. however, he noticed a woman, probably in her 40s, cleaning and bringing food to his landlord's room. she was also silent. eyes blank and lip tucked.
when the end of the month came, someone knocked on the boy's room. it was the woman. she said the landlord wanted to see him.
the boy also barely recognized the old man's voice. though the message was clear. it was almost over. he wanted the boy to find another place; afraid that he can no longer maintain his house. he just wanted to rest and go back to another waiting. At least thats how the boy understood it.
the words struck him. he (boy) was speechless. there was just that automatic response of handling over his rent and go out. guess, he just can't bare the feeling or perhaps the conscience asking him why he cannot give the old man very small amount of his time before, just to make him forget or at they very least alter his routine.
but before he even made his second step, the old man stopped him. he refused to take the payment and advised the boy to use it for his next space. then he smiled. the boy almost surrendered to his own tears. he thanked the old man and left.
when he arrived in his room, he just stood in front the closed door and looked at the space he called at that time called his home, along with the things that he have brought inside; all the memories that he have met for the past four years.
goodbye has never been his thing probably because he always has difficulties of starting over. but if theres one thing he have learned from the old man, its simply waiting in between is far more worst than starting or ending something.
it was a friday night and for most people, its a gimik night. but ideally, it was not for me since i have classes for the entire day of saturday. but for the past months, i used to attend classes and cram paper dues without a a descent sleep or had passed bad papers. i guess, friday night is just hard to resist.
this is the Asus Eee PC 1008P-KR designed by the famous industrial designer karim rashid. its weaved-like exterior gives it that classy, chic and industrial tone with a touch of relatable local color. it also has a very unique braille-like track pad that maybe awkward at first but you''ll eventually appreciate it, once you get used to it. the keyboard is also notable for it is relatively easier for a user to navigat
e and find its way to the necessary buttons. it weighs around 3lbs and almost an inch thicker than the awkwardly thin mac air.
after three years, a friend have finally convinced me to go back to malate last week. i admit, i was really quite hesitant at first. but not because of any downbeat reasons. perhaps, i just find the place not or no longer my turf. but then i thought of giving it a try again.
we were walking down the long and busy saturday stretch of nakpil. I could see the pounding music of every establishment mildly shaking the tables soaked with warm and blinking lights along the sidewalk. men on their tight shirts were calling out passer bys. i must say that they were carefully handpicked for the job. but we decided to have dinner first since the night was still young. when suddenly, we saw a familiar face, it was Y. he was gracious enough to invite us over their table and we were able to convince them to join us afterwards.
but while we were having dinner, I could not help to notice how interesting the place have combined the diversity of people: rich, bourgeois, poor, straight, gay, local, foreigners and the classification could be endless. But malate has this certain magic that dissolved these differences, to a point where everyone could only care less. I am not sure though if this is already acceptance, or tolerance or perhaps it could go as far as sheer apathy. And probably, I am there that night to realize it myself.
the place had a very large crowd that night. but my company told me that it was actually smaller than usual. a number of people approached our table. I could no longer remember there faces. but their begs definitely echoed inside my ears up to this very moment. there were vendors selling almost everything. A woman, probably in her 40s, even offered us to tell our fortunes. there was a father showing us a piece of paper, asking for his son’s medication. a mute who was wearing a two piece bikini and vibrantly dancing to each table for change. a group of children eagerly waiting for our leftovers. Until a familiar woman stood in front of our table, face sunk and cheekbones swollen, her body was the frailest I have ever seen and has a voice that scratches the deepest of our conscience.
now I remember her. she was the same woman in this local show, where they reunite separated relatives. how could I forget? It was her episode that I was moved the most.
when she was young, she abandoned her family in mindanao to look for a greener pasture here in manila. she never wrote to her family and basically cut her communication from them. many years have passed, but her life here in the city went from bad to worst and when she thought she had the nastiest blow, she found out she has cancer. the show’s staff tried to look for her family and bring them back together, only to know that the woman’s mother just recently passed away. while the furious father would not just simply accept her despite her conditions. probably, if I did not see her there in malate that night, it would not occur to me that the staff made them to look that the father finally accepted her, just for the sake of the show.
all I could do that very moment was to look at her as she moved away, carrying a sackful of empty bottles and cans. she approached all occupied tables that night but none of them spare her some change. i could see on her face that she has been numbed with the same blank reaction from people. Then I thought, when all cancer patients are resting and gaining all the strength they can have lying on their beds, she was there in the wee hours of the night getting all the trash and pity she can have to live and staring how life for most people are being enjoyed. i could imagine how horrible that could be.
when another friend arrived we decided to hit the bar. I pulled a couple of bucks from my wallet, with the picture of the woman still in my head. as I hand it over to the doorman, i then realized, how happiness could cost that much. how we can have the most advantage and benefits in life while some simply don’t no matter how they strive. and lastly, how decadence can make me realize all these.
as we entered the place, I was surprised how dark and many people were inside. it was an explosion of senses: the ear popping music, the humid, clashing sweating bodies and probably a hundred of faces that welcomed us, as we made our way inside. I only had three bottles that night, stripping almost all my hesitations with a friend and just allowing the spirit of the place, succumb me. but at the end of it all, as I was riding a cab home, beating the sun rise, i realized that life in malate was not really what’s inside its bars rather whats outside of it.
Now, I know why I don’t go to malate anymore, because in a way it reminds me of how my life was before. true enough, malate is a destination of escape to many, while a place of hope to some.
well, enough said.
i will just leave the rest to the mind of the master.hahaha. wink! wink!
