single is everything

"when it comes to relationships, maybe we're all in glass houses and shouldn't throw stones. because you can never really know. some people are settling down, some are settling and some refuse to settle for anything less than a butterfly," carrie bradshaw, sex & the city.

"i'm a try-sexual. i'll try anything once," samantha.

afraid of being boring, even to myself, i decided to go out last night. just to see how the world is celebrating the overhyped, over-commercialised valentine's day (or in this cramped, filthy side of the third world is also known as kris aquino's birthday. in case you have not been following the country's all-important history, she is the youngest daughter of heroes senator benigno aquino and corazon cojuangco aquino, and sister of the current president. now you understand her significance!) by equally over-eager, over-enthusiastic romantics.

excuse me, but i never like valentine's day. i was never been part of the sea of suddenly foolish heartantics having an unreasonably expensive candle light dinner while whitney houston or george benson is singing in the background. red roses and a merlot are chilling on the side table. even when i was in a relationship. it's just not for me. i'd rather die than be seen wearing a red shirt ever.

anyway, i have always been afraid of being boring, and for that matter, being caught in the company of boring people, including myself.

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so i was there. in a place with rows and rows of bars with noisy and lousy music. caught in a flood of overdressed young people (boys in ill-fitting rented and borrowed suits two sizes bigger and girls in tacky gowns, hair-raising hairstyles and horrible make-ups that will make george romero scream with delight. zombie!! just looking at them makes me claustrophobic. they remind me of people sleeping peacefully in their tiny coffins. turns out they all just came from their school prom. ok. forgiven. cheap suits and barangay sta. cruzan gowns notwithstanding!), sitting alone drinking the whole awfulness and creepiness of the night. sigh.

there was a band. of course there always is. this is manille, famous for exporting singers and dancers everywhere in the world, even on cruise ships.

the three-man singing band was composed of an overfed obviously gay man who pretended to be straight (he asked the crowd at some point if there were any single ladies out there that he could date later on. no, he wasn't joking. he was a closet case. echoserang peppermint!) in tight-fitting white jeans and red shirt that highlighted those unsightly fats and bulges. then there were two other women, in ugly mini-skirts that looked like curtains that they simply wrapped around their voluptuous bodies, and cleavage-enhancing  blousons that looked like cheap imitations of a calvin klein bra. of course there was a drummer and a guitarist. but they too looked like sleepy creatures from under the sea.

they sang mostly popular ditties from bygone eras: the prom anthem keng and quin of harts (seriously, that's how they pronounced king and queen of hearts), some mariah carey, beyonce, one adele (the crowd went wild with rolling in the deep. even singing along with the band) and plenty of whitneys. then the all-time forever favourite: posong batu. gosh!

just when i thought the night couldn't even be more horrendous, a lone man in his fifty's with greasy hair and huge belly who was seated at a table next to mine greeted me: "hape balentayn pare. baket wala kang dit?" (translation: happy valentines sister. why don't you have a date?" i almost screamed: "eh ekaw, baket wala ka ring dit?" (what about you? why don't you have a date?"). but i kept my poise and just smiled. he took this  as a signal that i wanted to join his company because he told me it would be better if we enjoy the night together and share a table. yuck!

i stood up after hearing this, went to the bar and paid my bill. i left and took my bottle of san mig light with me. they don't have stella. or heineken. or corona. or 1664 either.

outside, more women in lousy make-ups and get-ups carrying bouquets of cheap flowers. did they just come from a funeral? and their men. oh my god i so hate to be judgmental.

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at the second bar, i got luckier. the crowd was better. more pleasing to the eyes. oblivious to the horror and carnage outside. nobody was wearing red. or gowns. no girls carrying flowers or heart-shaped balloons. a lot of young men in university get ups -- black or grey v-neck shirts, hoodies, unwashed jeans, sneakers -- playing beerpongs. i befriended the bedimpled, cute ones with killer abs underneath their tight-fitting black shirts and even tighter zara jeans. i asked them how the game was played. they were just too happy to accommodate.

one of them, ethan, an engineering student at a nearby university, told me that players would have to shoot the pingpong balls on the plastic cups filled with beers at their opponents turf. the first team to shoot the balls on the glasses win. the loser pays for the beer. cool!

(confession. i am not a sport fan. i hate basketball, even if i were filipino, and especially detest boxing. i once indulged in lawn tennis, but only because one of my high school crushes was into it. also the  tennis court was just next to where we used to live inside the military camp. so there.)

but that night, i found myself trying a hand at beerpong. it was easy, anyway. and dumb! like totally. any idiot can do it. shoot the ball, i mean, inside plastic cups full of beer. ethan, who speaks well-enunciated english like he just had tea with the queen, made me do it. shoot a ball, i mean. and we won, which was a comfort because i found out i didn't have enough money left to pay for the two teams' a dozen or so beer.

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after the game, ethan asked me to join his group. they were five boys. all cute. dressed fashionably. like boy bands. their short hairs neatly combed. marky, randall, alex and william. all smelling of expensive perfumes. ethan, i guessed it right, used polo sports. the one with the blue bottle. hmmm.

anyway, while they were all delectable, i was taken by ethan. luckily, afterwards, we found ourselves alone. just the two of us on the table. the four others left and played beerpong.

ethan, bless his young old soul, sounded mature for his age. he said he has heard about jack kerouac and wants to read on the road. like me, he likes listening to bob marley when drinking beer on the beach. though he doesn't watch that many movies and doesn't know any french or italian films that i mentioned, nor does he know who jeanne moreau is nor her film jules and jim.

at least he saw the wolf of wall street and believed that leonardo should win the oscar. unlike most intelligent critics, he got the movie's joke. encouraged by his enthusiasm, i asked him to also watch other martin scorsese films like alice doesn't live here anymore, taxi driver, goodfellas and the age of innocence. who's martin? was all he said.

but it's alright. these are minor inconveniences.

what is important is he looks like an angel with the body of the devil. delicious.

as the night went older, he seemed all the more younger. full of questions. eager for adventures. of course i told him part of my adventures. exaggerated some a bit just to impress him further. talked about covering then president fidel ramos, the coup d'tat in makati one early sunday morning and the press conference later in the night by then president gloria arroyo to announce that then renegade soldier (and now senator) trillanes, et.al. had surrendered. that i went to one or two of fernando poe jr's presidential campaign sorties in the provinces to interview him for a profile that i was then writing.

he loved these stories. he was fascinated by them. and by me, of course.

in other words, i had ethan in the palm of my loving hand. or so i thought.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

at around four, drunk from the free beer that was part of our winning the beerpong game, i asked him if he wanted to go somewhere. to have coffee. or anything to eat.

he thought for a while. then asked me if it was alright if he could tell his friends first that we were leaving. sure, i said, in my sultry, seductive, scarlett johansson voice. he left to look for them in the crowded two-storey bar, which is, luckily smoking-free, one of the few ones in manille that does not allow people to kill themselves and others with lung cancer inside.

while he was away, i was thinking that i finally understood what justice secretary de lima meant when she said that ruby tuazon's testimony against senator estrada was a "slamdunk." or senator guingona's "three-point shot" quip after ms. tuazon appeared at the senate's probe on the pork barrel fund scam.

at last, i told myself, after a season of dryness. of starving. i would feed tonight. i started thanking the universe. the stars. my guardian angels. just the thought of us spending time alone filled my heart with so much anticipation. it would be nice to finally hold his hand, touch his smooth cheek, kiss his seemingly innocent lips and his curious eyes. drink all his innocence and curiosity. that would be lovely, tantamount to dying and going straight to jason wu's room full of his creations! marvelous.

after what seemed like an eternity, the jury was finally out. i was nervous as ethan was walking towards me. i tried reading his face. his walk. his hands. what if he said no? what if his friends wanted to go with us? what if....let's go, was all he said, smiling. did i hear it right?

just us? yes, came the quick reply.

yes!!!!!!

i almost dragged him out of the bar before he changed his mind. we hailed a helicopter and went to my favourite place to eat after drinking.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

after he paid the bill (i told him i didn't have anymore money except for taxi fare. that i did not bring my atm and credit cards with me. he just smiled and said: it's alright. i'm quite loaded. my allowance just arrived.) his mobile phone rang. he excused himself. then after what looked like another half an hour in hell, he was back. looking sullen. like a vampire who hasn't fed for centuries.

what's wrong? i asked. i wanted to cry. i wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

that was my girlfriend looking for me. she's at the bar. she arrived just when we left. (of course a gorgeous young guy like him must have a girlfriend. i forgot all about it.)

so?

is it ok if we go back?

but i am already drunk and sleepy.

then you can go home. let's do it some other time.

ok, i said, defeated. for what else indeed can i do? win some, lose some. only tonight, i thought, i lost big time!

i hailed a cab and let him go first. before stepping inside the cab, he surprised me. he kissed me on the cheek and thanked me for a great night. i had fun, he winked. next time, promise. i'll go with you to your flat. call me. ok?

i just nodded my head. suddenly lost in the tingling sensation of his kiss. of his voice. he isn't too innocent at all.

still in nirvana, i hailed another cab. i didn't even notice that i reached my room.

on my bed, after taking a shower and about to sleep, i suddenly remembered that i didn't even have his number. i cursed myself until sleep finally caught me. the more i hated valentine's day was my last thought.

then. darkness.

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  song for the day: sky ferreira's red lips.