In December of 2006, I had to take a Basic First Aid and Life Support course conducted by the Philippine National Red Cross. This involved going to the Red Cross’ main office near the Port area of Manila, from 8am to 3pm for a whole week.
That one line, “going to the Red Cross’ main office near the Port area of Manila” is a lot easier to say now than it was to do. First off, I have a very bad sense of direction. Places I’m familiar with, like Ortigas or certain parts of Makati and Cubao, and anything along the MRT, I can hack: but when it comes to, well, anywhere else, I’m in trouble.
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“You’ve got a lot of goodlooking people out here! Never expected that”, exclaims my stylish foreign friend. And indeed, we do have a lot of style! Considering how 80% of the population is below poverty line and that a lot of them are all scrunched-up in Manila’s sidestreets and esteros, you really get caught by surprise by the inherent style everyone has. From the hip-hop street children, to the Paris Hilton-esque collegialas, there’s always a fashion statement being made.
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If you yearn for comfort, then Manila is not the city for you! Manila will never be on the list of the world’s safest cities. This is a city where chaos is as inevitable as air. No wonder the people in Manila can’t keep a straight face at all—you really have no choice but to see the humor in everything!
And believe it or not, that is why Manila is the city I choose to love and live in! It’s the city where I can’t be comfortable because it is always changing, providing constant avenues for character evolution. Things are never the same in Manila, where getting lost is always a chance for me to learn, unlearn and re-learn things about myself. Manila’s parade of complexity is an everyday celebration. The different levels and degrees of clutter and chaos provide the backdrop for me to challenge myself to use my skills and talents to fully express my being. Leaving my comfort zone and safety net from time to time lets me live boldly—bringing out the resiliency in my soul.
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It’s a city of contrasts and ironies, where crass mixes with class to make a delightful brand of cheesy goodness and kitschy cool in true Manila style. Your existence in this city can range from humdrum and monotonous to eclectic and surreal, depending on what you’re up for at the moment and what you’re willing to do about it.
One day you’re making tusok-tusok fishballs and choosing between three trademark sauces in garapons (Hepa A, Hepa B or Gastro), the next day you’re sipping mimosas at Sunday Jazz Brunch in your metallic Havaianas the morning after a glamourous night out on the town. Today, you’re hobnobbing with Quentin Tarantino at a film festival, the next day you’re reading about him wading in the baha on Arlegui and getting into a pedicab to meet PGMA in Malacañang.
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The sappy saying—“Love is blind”—certainly applies to how I feel about Manila. Yes, I continue to be a great fan of the overcrowded metropolis despite all the crap that I’ve taken from it and all the crap that I’ll take from it in the years to come. I dare say that my adoration for Metro Manila counts for a lot. After all, I was born in Cebu and raised in Cagayan de Oro. I fell in love with Manila because it is where I ran into some parts of my messed-up but nonetheless fun (I hope) grown-up self for the first time. You see, I spent the first three years of my college life in UP Manila, where I took up BS Nursing in order to please my parents. (Thank God, my mom took pity on me and allowed me to bail out in my junior year.)
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Ahh, Manila.
I’m reminded of how much I love you at every meal. At breakfast, lunch, dinner—and everything in between—you’ve got my heart all a-flutter! My hobbit-like eating habits have me eating at the oddest hours (you know, second breakfast, midnight snacks, full meals at 3:00 p.m…), but Manila, you’ve always got something special for me.
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About five or six years ago, I ended a serious relationship and, as is expected of any neophyte 20-something, spent a few weeks just hitting the bottle. (Pero ika nga ni Amy Winehouse sa kantang “Rehab”: Look, hindi ako alcoholic…BROKEN-HEARTED lang ako!)
Anyway, so one night, I was beyond sloshed. Going home, my vodka-aided sense of better judgment suggested, “Why don’t you just take public? It’s not even one o’clock…sayang cab fare!” So I hauled my plucky ass onto a bus heading south.
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