I miss

I miss 30 peso beers at the Wan Wan resto-bar across the street. The cheap sizzling sisig and the mystery omelet made from god-knows-what ingredients. It was always an easy exercise in creativity to find a good excuse to end the day early on Fridays. And to ensure that we don’t drink too much or tarry too long, I miss that we’ve made an agreement to only stay until someone sings “My Way” on the karaoke machine. Had we stuck to this rule strictly, we would’ve never stayed later than eight pm. I miss that we could always ignore the rule whenever we just had to finish off the discussion on yet another crazy client demand. I miss the urgency of it all.


I miss “fire escapes”. The term that we, the writers, have lovingly invented for the many cigarette breaks we take by the emergency exit -- the one sacred sanctuary that means a momentary escape from the drudgery of writing yet another kart racing segment. One can only write “and it went round and round and round” so much, after all. I miss the witty exchanges and the pie-in-the-sky discussions. I miss that I can smooth out whatever feathers I may have ruffled (again) by simply asking matter-of-factly “So you think Ramos can really push the Philippines into a tiger economy?”  I miss the importance of it all.


I miss my good buddy, my old friend I have known since before I could correctly pronounce “motorsiklo”. I miss him being always just a text or phone call away. That no matter what we were doing, we can always find an excuse to get together for some beer. I miss how we could dismiss our respective girlfriends as too possessive for not understanding the sanctity of our Sunday OTB gambling and drinking sessions.  The last session I remember was when my buddy came home briefly for a visit from the States where he now resides. I remember winning an improbable daily double for 500 plus pesos on a 20 peso bet. JB Hernandez always flubs it when he is the outstanding favorite, why can’t he ever believe me when I tell him that? I miss the foolishness of it all.


I miss Barrio Fiesta. I miss how they serve kare-kare in a traditional tungko and  palayok complete with the hot embers of charcoal still burning. Mom always thought that was a little gimmicky and ill-advised given their clientele normally included naughty kids like us. I miss that in those dark days of Marcosian rule, Barrio Fiesta was never a nonchalant or whimsical decision. Barrio Fiesta, fittingly, was always a celebration. The last celebration I remember was to christen my brother’s first ever credit card. That was a fun way to start getting into deep debt. I remember we had some cash ready, if ever the card thing didn’t work. I miss the naïveté of it all.


I miss Thursday movie releases. I miss having just five channels on TV. I miss EDSA without the flyovers. I miss Ali Mall as the center of the universe. But mostly I miss not missing anything. I miss not caring, not giving a damn, always looking forward and never needing to look back. Now I realize, as I list the things that I miss, we can only miss the things we once loved -- and have lost. 

(Photo is of EDSA in 1974 
http://junehlrome.multiply.com/photos/album/12#photo=63)