the elegance of an old boulevard

“human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but ... life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” 
― gabriel garcí­a márquez

on a good day, you can catch a faint scent of the sea as it is meant to be: sultry, seductive, sweet. not the stomach-turning sewer stench that we have associated with the tragic, unlamented pasig river: a victim of everything that's wrong about us.

if you are lucky, you will hear the sea wind sing its sad ode to what manila bay was once - clean, clear, carefree. if you are luckier, even the coconut palms will join in the singing, but they will be belting out a happy tune, contradicting the breeze. no, i am not hallucinating. or smoking grass. i am speaking metaphorically, of course, if you get my drift.

recently, i find myself walking often along roxas boulevard, or at least that tiny patch that stretches from the philippine navy headquarters right next to the ccp complex down to the american embassy, especially on late afternoons just before the famed sunset on manila bay bursts into fiery colours of red, orange, sometimes mixed with yellow. then i would sit down on  a bench and watch it thoughtfully. like an old man about to die. or contemplating death.

it's freeing. the sight of the sunset. no matter how fleeting, it never fails to relax my mind. drive away the demons that have abused their stay. free of rent, i may add.

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sometimes, when feeling fatigued, i would have a massage. there are many of them. masseurs, mostly old men and women, sitting on benches, under the boulevard's dying and dwindling coconut trees as most of them have been felled by storms. the masseurs or manghihilots use different kinds of oils -- peppermint, efficascent whether camphor or menthol, and of course the very reliable virgin coconut -- all promising a moment of bliss under their equally tired, calloused, sunburnt hands.

it's cheap. the massage. or hilot. a hundred pesos for a full body massage. plus a fifty peso tip. the downside though is, the hilots or masseurs would sometimes insist on removing your shirt in full view of the joggers, walkers and commuters on buses, cars and taxis plying along the busy roxas boulevard. sometimes, you will be asked to lie down on a mat, usually discarded and flattened card board boxes, covering the cold, cruel pavement.

you will also look shiny like a newly roasted pork and feel slippery all over your body after an hour's session. but it's well worth it. you will feel as though all the knots and bolts in your joints have been eased, the tensions released. a brand new you. ready for another war.

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when feeling frivolous, i would have a fortune telling session with maestro dan, who sits on a sidewalk right in front of ramon magsaysay centre. maestro dan, who calls his little corner his office, stands out among other inhabitants of the boulevard. he has wiry, curly hair, really dark, leathery skin, lean, long features. he may have been a good looking young man once. the prince of the ball. now all you see are glimpses of that once easygoing youth, his nicotine-stained nails and teeth.

his lean, agile frame is draped in old but still decent looking shirt and pants. but it's his eyes that will get you. piercing, all-knowing, kind eyes. one eyeball looks deformed, covered in white, further adding to his mystic. or charm.

he would ask me to sit down. then he would lay down an old set of tarot cards. they are so old that the sides are frayed. they're soft and wrinkled too. ready to be torn apart in case you don't like what the fortunes have in store for you. but i do no such things. maestro dan speaks in a gentle, soothing voice, like your grandfather telling you to behave and take care in the big city. he calms me down.

before asking me to pick cards, he would read me using his "vibes" (he uses this word a lot). he would then tell me some aspects of my personality and character like a psychiatrist. just to impress me. "you are stubborn." "you are very patient but once pissed off, you erupt like a volcano." very spot on. sometimes he would tell me a recent event that occurred in my adventures while searching for the proverbial greener pasture that may have already turned grey and dead for all i know.

if he didn't tell me beforehand that he only finished elementary, i might have mistaken him for a university professor because of the way he talks and moves. there is a certain elegance in his humble looks and ways.

he charges a hundred pesos per session. but it's all worth it. aside from his readings, you will be treated to his endless jokes (i can see a lover in the horizon. he has a mustache. i know you don't like men with mustache, but that's what the cards are telling me. don't worry, you can always ask him to shave it off), endless tales of his own adventures in the city. he also apologises a lot (i only finished elementary, so you have to pardon my english. in fact his english is very good).

i would go to him, not so much for the fortune reading, but for his stories. i like listening to tales, adventures. i am a collector of tales. fiction or real.

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when hungry and feeling adventurous, i would sample the fried fish balls that you could pick using a bar-b-cue stick while they are still being fried on a stove, drowning and squirming on a sea of boiling already brownish cooking oil. i used to love doing this when i was still in the elementary, until one of our classmates was rushed into the hospital after he vomited and felt ill. since then, i have stopped patronising those yummy balls.

but now, i don't mind. anyway, i am old and no longer afraid of death. i have done what i am set to do. i have long ago resigned to the fact that what ever you do, no matter what your status in life is, death will get you sooner or later. he is very clever, you know. death.

aside from fish balls, there are also steamed corn that you could eat, still piping hot, right off the cob; peanuts still nestled inside their shells; fresh fruits.

there are also stalls selling bar-b-cue and grilled dried squid (i love its taste, but its smell repels me. so i never buy it). if these are not your thing, or you are squeamish about eating street foods, then you can head off to the restaurants across the street -- max's, shakey's, and the old reliable aristocrat's that serves filipino dishes at reasonable prices despite its name.

if you prefer a more high-end restaurant with a fabulous view of manila bay, then head off to the nearby diamond hotel or even manila hotel. if it's still not to your liking, then i suggest you go jump off the bay and end your miserable existence on earth. nobody  will miss you, i am sure of it.

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most of the time, when tired of walking (and sometimes after a massage or a card reading), i would just sit on one of the benches and watch the sea, the people around -- a frail old man carrying a child on his back begging for coins, a matronly woman with a loud voice hawking cigarettes and candies, malnourished street children playing on the street or climbing coconut trees or swimming on the filthy water, lovers kissing and touching each other oblivious to the world around them.

listen to their conversations. sometimes,  you will be surprised at the humour, joy, pain or misery surrounding you. then you start appreciating or hating your own life. hahahaha.

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it's a good thing that the new manila administration has removed the restaurants and bars that used to dot and ruin the view of roxas boulevard. they are not only noise pollutants, they are also eyesores.

there are also small improvements being done, like repairing and cementing the pavements that have been ruined by storms. sometimes, i would see street sweepers getting rid of dried leaves, candy wrappers, discarded lives around it.

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so next time you find yourself fretting, cursing, dying while stuck in a hellish traffic along the boulevard, ask your driver to park beside the bay. get off your car. then breathe.

relax. be thankful that you're still alive.

(note: i don't own the photo above, taken from a web site. no copyright infringement intended.)

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song for the day: lana del rey's born to die.