You me and nocturnal mood swings – A series of wandering musings over childhood memoirs. Places seem to change as they add on and lose certain characteristics. The blemishes seem to worsen but the feel seems virgin.
‘Back in the day, the bakeshop was Selecta. We’d pull up to the driveway and the waiters would put this table thing that hangs from the window where they serve you your food and ice cream.’
‘Lola would walk up and down the bay as we’d just gallivant around the area. It was once a beautiful place, now it’s infested by hookers and Japanese men.’
It was three in the morning. From the airport to an impromptu stop at a childhood after Sunday mass classic lunch place. We wanted the chicken barbeque, the gambas and the wildcard imperfections that come along with taking chances on unfamiliar items on a menu.
You try, you ask, you wait. At three in the morning without the inebriation grown accustomed to, everything seems suspended in some sort of thick air. As you feel contented without the need to feed the self but knowing with the distance traveled, you just have to unbutton your shorts or loosen the belt and order. Because even if the place has grown to reach places more accessible to us, there will only be one Aristocrat along Roxas Boulevard and the rest is just bullshit.
There is no option. There’s always room for something as great as this. You rub off the sleep from your eyes, take a sip and dig in. At that point, it came to me as a struggle to really define the real from the dream. It felt a trip down some twilight zone as every bite I took slowly took me into an awkward state – somewhere between reality and dream sequence. It was unfamiliar but it was a good kind of unfamiliarity. It was almost like love when you blindingly just let go because it’s so easy to do so. It comes off romantic rather than risky. Sacred rather than silly.
Capping off the last spontaneous wander of the year, seems like great things are about to come our way.