Be Happy Now, La!

We walked along Orchard Road. We walked along the wide, tiled sidewalks of spectacled malls: Wisma Atria, Lucky Plaza, Takashimaya, Paragol, HMV. And this is where we saw the well-dressed Singaporeans shopping, dining and drinking on a Saturday night. It was an interesting-enough stretch, with its many neon lights, sophisticated interiors, trendy places, and hip-looking people. It’s something similar to Greenbelt, but this stretch just seemed: larger and richer in character.

What surprised and pleased us the most was how many Singaporean well-dressed, westernized-looking bagets in groups, or even twenty-somethings in office attire, just sat in staircases or sat in street sides with a bottle of liquor and chaser, such as a bottle of Jack Daniels and Coke, or bottles of beer from a nearby 7-11 stall or from a grocery. I’ve imagined stereotypical Singaporeans to be workaholic types who lived the life of zombies. But they were loitering like high school kids, they littered, smoked and drank outside the malls. And I don’t mean bars around the malls or in the street. They sat in the pavement as if having a picnic with booze. You can’t even do that in a country like the Philippines. We didn’t have policemen in civilian clothes, but that’s enough to get you arrested. As Herbert suggested, Lee Kuan Yew must’ve barked an order to the nation of 3 million, “Singaporeans, be happy now-LA!” I wonder how successful that state-sponsored dating scheme is.

With the wide array of bars and places to dine, we just had to pick one that caught our fancy. I think we picked a very good one for dinner and the first drink: Pre Rogue, which is right beside Alley Bar. A pleasant, pretty Singaporean waited on us for what probably was one of the most expensive and rightfully remarkable meals of my life. The interiors were perfect since the walls had a certain old-architectural flavor and the place had a good crowd with the expatriates and locals. We just had satay with sticky rice, chips, Heineken for 11SD each, fancy bottled water called for 6SD, and Marlboro lights for a debilitating 13SD - a price could’ve bought us two reams. I’ve never had Heineken in my life and I just found out how terrific this German beer is. And D., my dashing date, was clad in her tube top and was looking delicious herself. We also took a peek at Alley Bar, where there was a performer playing jazz on a saxophone and good crowd that’s hyped up. It’s almost midnight, so it was time to turn 24.

In 2004 I wrote, “2005 means I will be 24. That’s definitely something I don’t want to think about.” I never thought I’d have what I wished, of going away with the woman I love, and turning 24 while out travelling. When I was 17, I wrote a story about turning 24. “…turning twenty-four seemed unusual, twenty-four sounds --- nauseatingly ancient. It suddenly occurred to me, from some random palpitation of brain waves, that being another summer older is like having a venereal disease.” The palpitation of my brain waves took a sharp turn and reckoned that turning twenty four was a joy I least expected. Why the fuck did I ever dread to turn 24? Why was I ever afraid of the future?

After paying what the grand 60SD bill, we went to bars after the Alley and found many other interesting, crowded places. There were even those that had San Miguel Beer, which would be on sale at 5SD during the 1am happy hour. But we didn’t want to give Boat Quay a miss.

We took another cab to the Boat Quay and had the after-midnight surcharge which ran the fare to around 7SD. The streets towards the Boat Quay were lined with bars, and we walked the entire stretch to check out the places. Short-skirted women, locals, and many foreigners walked around parading themselves or scouting a bar. Boat Quay is a bit similar to Boardwalk in Manila, although Boat Quay had much more decent (and therefore more expensive) bars, as well as a neater, tree-lined footpath that is (unlike Boardwalk) not directly beside the highway, not directly beside the river, and the water did not have smell that some people found appalling. Boat Quay, after all, was described as the liveliest nightspot in the city, a picturesque area of old restaurants and shops. Among the pubs, lounges, bars in Boat Quay were soccer joints, and dance clubs.

D. and I wanted to see how these Singaporeans would dance in a club. We both weren’t into dancing, so we sat outside in a table by the river. They sold a drink-all-you-can cocktail for 15SD for men and 10SD for women. We decided against it since we wanted to walk to other places and each had the 10SD Heineken, and the waitress gave us an on-the-house bowl of assorted chips, nuts and pretzel twists. We took a peek inside to see what its like and we saw the Singaporeans in choreographed club dancing as if they’re practicing for an intermission number, and some women who were just dancing like mad by themselves. When we used the toilet, it’s as if the whole club threw up all the drink-all-you-can cocktails. The toilet bowl was all puke. After all, they weren’t zombies who went obsessive-compulsive about following the law.

We walked further from Boat Quay to the Bridge near the Fullerton Hotel. It’s an interesting walk since this seemed like historical places because of the statues of Chinese traders and Englishmen, and historical markings on the bridge. We found out later on that if we walked farther to the second bridge, the Anderson Bridge, we would’ve found the Merlion they built in 1920. But our legs would’ve gone wobbly if we did.

We took a cab back to Jalan Besar. On the corner from where the hotel is located, there’s a hawker-center like restaurant that housed cab drivers and some locals who drank Tiger. They weren’t exactly dressed like locals for a gimmick in Orchard Road. Big bottles of Heineken were sold at 6SD. We guzzled two of those. The beer was good and relatively inexpensive I finally had a thirst-quencher, and even reached a sufficient level of non-sobriety. I can’t even have a Heineken either in cheap or expensive places in Manila. This beer is one of the most unforgettable things in Singapore. We went back to the hotel after the drink. There’s a bit more of Singapore tomorrow.

I didn’t sleep yet to live out a dream.

Cable Cars and Badoodles

We checked out of the hotel in the morning, and bought bus tickets back to KL before heading to Sentosa. This way we can spend more time in Sentosa.

For breakfast, we shopped around for the Indian Roti but the stores nearby didn’t serve any. Our walk led us to the McDonalds near the Bugis station, since we had another thing to confirm about the McDonalds in Singapore anyway. It’s a sin to eat Mcdo in a country that prides its hawker culture, but it’s a pretty interesting sin. They say it’s a twilight-zone-like experience to see older people serving your cheeseburgers and fries, especially if you’re used to the disturbing perkiness of McDonalds cashiers in the Philippines and their below-25 age limit. Indeed. But what was also expectedly disturbing, is that we paid 12SD for hotcakes and sausage and a big breakfast set.

We walked to the Little India station. It was our first time to ride Singapore’s MRT and we can’t help but be impressed with how their train terminals and facilities are incomparable to ours, and are even better than airports in Philippine provinces. The system for train schedules and locations was easy to figure out. You can buy tickets from touch-screen machines. There was even this 40” monitor that indicated the number of minutes the next train would arrive, the time, and flashed a George Elliot quote. Inside the train were smaller monitors like that. And there was orderliness all around.

You can tell it was Sunday since the train was filled with families, lovers holding each other’s hands, groups of thin young girls clad in mini-skirts and boys who probably looked too young for their age.

The train ride was a quick one and we got off at the North Harbor station. The cable cars were already visible when we were walking. Laughing at the idea, we just had to look at where they were all coming from to find out where we could get the ride. It came from the top of this building, with tickets sold at the lobby. Being one of the highlights of a trip to Sentosa, it was a good price at 10SD per person, back and forth.

The scenery from the cable car was marvelous, since you can see the ports of Singapore, the thick greens of Sentosa Island and some skyscrapers from the city. All this from a tiny booth hanging on a wire. Cable car rides also have a way of making your badoodles feel funny; I had to hold my balls for a while to check if they’re still in tact.

By the time we arrived in Sentosa, we shopped a little for souvenirs. I thought the beach was just outside the shop. It turns out that it was a bus ride away, the one with “blue” color-coding. The good thing was that bus rides around Sentosa didn’t cost you anything.

Singaporeans have it easy, if not perfect. There’s even a concrete parking lot beside the beach. Along the beach were young couples in their Roxy and Billabong bikinis and board shorts, basked in the sun, reading magazines, eating take-away food, maybe making out a little. We laid a sarong on the beach and just hung out for around for a few hours, taking pictures. There were restaurants and liquor/drink stores around the beach with comfy wooden beach chairs and billiard tables. I had another Heineken (cheaper now at 5SD) and D. had a Vodka Cruiser.

Some travel books and travel websites describe this Island as “plastic,” and I half-expected it to be that artificial. Even the beach sand was imported from another country. They had a Palawan beach here, but we didn’t feel that it had even half of the authenticity of Palawan.

We took the cable car ride back, and a train to Bugis station. We had lunch at one of the bigger hawker centers. We had noodles whose name we didn’t bother to translate but it an unspeakable, universal language we hummed “mmmmm.”

The only regret perhaps, is that there was no time to go shopping for electronics at Sin Lim Square, and we missed SunTec city. But considering how far we got in Singapore in a span of 24 hours and less than 200USD, I’d say we’ve gone a long way.

A Blissful Trip

Late in the evening, we were back in Kuala Lumpur. I resolved to take a cab but D. was insistent we try out the train. We found the train - the subway going from Masid Jamek to KLCC. We saw the “majestic” Petronas Towers up close at night, lined with bright white light, like a building laced all around with giant, sparkling silver bracelets.
We went to Suria Mall again. We managed to get some pasalubong, postcards, and a delicious roti bread from a store called Roti Boy. So that’s where that overpowering baking-bread smell comes from.
One of the disappointments we had in Malaysia, was our failure to try the fish head curry. But the equally unforgettable chicken rice, which we had that night, was more than a consolation.

The 720am flight back to Clark airfield in Manila had many Filipino passengers. We saw an acquaintance we made in Singapore, a newly-married couple who brought their 1 year old. They also went to Malaysia and Singapore. I couldn’t forget the chocolate bars they gave us during the bus ride from Singapore to KL.

On the KLIA airport, something very different reminded us that we were on a flight back to the Philippines. In front of the gate for the flight to Penang was an orderly line. In front of the gate for the flight to the Philippines were a lot of people huddled in a mess as though the gate was the SM Megamall entrance during opening time. We heard the Air Asia flight attendant let out an “Oh my god.”
We really were on the way home.

I remember the day we paid the tickets for the KL/Singapore trip. I sent D. a text message:

Let’s just go, unafraid of where our dreams, where the wind would take us. We are, after all, riding in an air of bliss. Let’s live, laugh, love, dine, walk the walks and have our own stories of adventures and misadventures to put our grandchildren to sleep. And it won’t just be a conventional package tour. We will remember, one day, how we made each other’s life --- truly a blissful trip.

Half-Mad to Give Birth to a Dancing Star

"If one is not half-mad how can one give birth to a dancing star?" - Friedrich Nietzsche

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Jack Kerouac

D. must have had this in mind during our anniversary. I didn't even fancy having an anniversary. We had a party in P. with wine and booze and salad and pizza and friends and she asked us to come up the rooftop. The floor was covered with rose petals, set-up with small chairs, candles and lamps. As she greets me, fireworks lit like a spider across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and D. goes “Happy Anniversary, J___.”

A Welcome to Where We're From

The trip back to Pagsanjan was probably one of the best drives I’ve ever ridden. I sat quite comfortably while my father drove on a highway that didn’t have the usual bottleneck. It’s March but the usual ferocious heat I so often described, softened itself as the calmest sun of summer. Like always, nature sympathizes and the clouds gloomed with my grand aunt’s demise. At the same time, I felt that all my grand aunts and grand parents who've passed away were all happy to welcome me back.

On the many trips I’ve had on the way here I probably never looked hard enough at the un-photoshoped, un-cropped and inartificial view of rice fields and mountains. There are towns lined with garden flowers and plants sold at the sides of the highway. Fire trees and acacia trees formed an arched roof for the road. We were listening to the Philippine Madrigal Singers, Café Del Mar 11, some Eels and Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Pagsanjan is lined with houses like ours: mid-20th century style two-storey houses with the familiar capiz windows. I was glad to be back at this old house. It must have generations and generations of ala-One Hundred Years of Solitude stories to tell about the _____s
There’s a four-post bed in one of the three adjoining rooms. Other bed frames are carved with monograms, AA for ____ and AAA for ____. Even the blankets were weaved with their names or initials.

In the altar near the sala, there’s a huge crucifix, and underneath were small statues of St. Dominic and St. Thomas Aquinas. Near the dining table, there’s a grandfather’s clock whose pendulum has stopped. On the cupboard, the china’s engraved MA for Maria ____, and locked in there is a set of 22K gold heat resistant porcelain.

From the capiz window, I can see an Antique Shop, where a wooden mermaid stands. I remember Lola Amada telling us stories about a mermaid in the river (a few steps away from the house) who may have been the cause of why many people drowned there.
I remember one of the summers I was here, reading Sun Tzu all night with mosquitoes feasting on me. I remember all that muttering that was the Pasion. I remember drunken excursions with cousins, and having to return here for all our grandparents’ wakes.

The house does not have a strong provincial feeling, save for the tricycles that speed through the highway, and the heavy Tagalog accent people have. This area must be richer than many of the residential areas in Metro Manila. This part of the province is free of eye sores such as slums and garbage, not to mention how the greens here are greener. There are a lot of small-scale stores that have been around for decades: the sandal and shoe store Step Rite, the restaurant Dura Fe, and this Antique shop across the street. Having been around for the groceries, the market place, the restaurants and stores, and with the tourist spots nearby, this town’s pretty progressive.

People know everyone and generally have a kinder disposition.

I wanted to congratulate my Dad for taking the effort and pains to maintain this house. The house spoke to us, wordlessly, where our family came from.

Adelia Knew A Secret

March 4. Pagsanjan, Laguna. Adelia A. A.’s finally back in her hometown. She died yesterday in a bathroom accident that's common among old people. That bathroom is across the room where I sleep. She lived 94 years. 94 years of which, she didn’t spend a day working. She never married, but she seemed to have found joy in dedicating her services to the Philippine Independent Church. She was given a dinstinction for that service. She called sugar “refinado” when I tried to make her coffee, but with diabetes she refused the cookies I offered. She loved Bingo. She used an abanico. She prayed constantly. She constantly powdered herself, being rather compulsive about hygiene. She had an excellent memory for stories about almost-forgotten friends and relatives. She had a hearing difficulty which made her, quite literally, just lend a deaf ear to the DTS sounds booming from an 8.5 diamond set-up across the room. And as long as she was able, she walked towards the Sto. Niño to touch it and make the sign of the cross.

To have lived this long, so persistently and idependently, she must have quietly kept a secret to happiness.

But then we grieve her loss. And my mother grieved the most, since she always took care of Lola Del. I hate how it’s all a cliché, but like the grieving and the death it’s all just inevitable. You cannot help but be deeply touched by the affection shared by people who’s lives she touched. How you are thankful she didn’t suffer terribly during her death, but still wished she was around.

Quietly still, and probably as happy as always to be here, she is home.