5/08/2007
Missing nighty nights

"Bet I can convince [you] to step inside that so-called fantasy."

"I'm eighteen. I guess it matters. But convince me, please."

"On my birthday I expect [you] to walk me towards the entrance to Embassy."

At least Chex was, to some extent, whiling me through the news and the cold reception room at some clinic in Las Piñas. It was half past eight and I was craving for food. The cold wasn't helping. The larger clientèle wasn't, either.

"Actually 'expect' is a weak one... 'demand' is more like it." Then comes a chuckle.

It took me thirty minutes to respond. By then I had already eaten dinner, brushed my teeth, and turned on the radio, expecting to hear the same legal problems, posed this time by different people. This time I knew how to get away from what she just posed me - I'm taking it half-seriously but it seemed like it's been, well, quite a convincing joust. Then again, I only had to mention unlucky circumstances - I live in Cavite, I'm always stuck at home, and I don't exactly enjoy going to clubs. Wait - that last one, it came earlier.

But I knew things would be different if circumstances made me Niko Batallones, socialite extraordinaire. I might always make it in the society pages, sipping tequilas (and not margaritas) while getting soaked in either strobe lights, people, or foam. But no, I knew right when I said I wouldn't enjoy it. In fact, that's not really the live anyone should be striving for, except probably when you're filthy rich and can afford to run away with it once in a while, or if you run the places yourself.

And maybe I should be thankful because the people around me aren't like that. Sure, I might hear the occasional Embassy visit and end up hearing tons of laughter at whoever was spotted, doing what with whom, where, and why. Then again, socialite extraordinaires only exist in a vacuum, living to show off their abilities to, according to The Rapture, "cross their arms and stare you down and drink and moan and diss". Where else do you seem them, aside from catwalks and dance floors and parking lots? The society pages. Nowhere else.

I sometimes wonder what it actually takes to maintain six-pack abs. I mean, I see those Century Tuna ads and wonder whether they'll get anybody. True, they ended up getting a pair to pretend to frolic in Boracay, and when I saw the shoot covered in the newspaper it seemed like it was unreal. Not that I'm pessimistic or anything - you just rarely see them where you live. They all exist in a vacuum. Who would've thought Anne Curtis actually had a 36 bust? Only the showbiz talk shows do. Maybe that was out of line, but I guess you all get me by now.

And they continue to shove this down our throats. The life you aspire to live, followed by a condominium advertisement. The frequent flights to Bangkok. The occasional party in Ibiza. The constant hang-overs after a night at Eastwood. And then they all wake up to discover that the vacuum has been opened up and they're surrounded by low-life creatures, namely people who just don't get it. You know, people like you and me, or that taxi driver who insists that there's no need to memorize anything, or the mother who's going hungry to feed her children. They realize that there's such a thing as the police station, and the jail, and the law, and that they don't just have to fight anybody off. People start to laugh at them.

And yes, this is another one of my exaggerated worldviews.

Almost everybody around me was like that when I was in high school. I started to think people do not actually care about what happens to them - they only, well, drink and moan and diss. When Chiaki flipped over to smoking I thought, there goes another one. Eventually I'd have my first taste of alcohol - during that graduation after-party - and eventually nobody made fun of me because of my apparent naïvete towards sex, drugs and partying, but there's still this part of me that wonders about how they manage to do it. And then there was Les asking me about whether I ever tasted alcohol. I said yes, and she retorted, "ano yun, wine?"

Maybe I just don't get it like everybody else. Maybe there are just people who never see the beauty in a road trip to climb mountains or to dive depths and discover that there is still a shark in the sea. Maybe I just can't accept that ninety percent of the world's population live on the superficial, and as with everything else, that is define differently according to the circumstances with which you've grown up. In my case, it was the newspaper read backwards, and the free recipes that come with food labels. Life could never be easy, though.

"So next Tuesday I sneak out, travel and hour tops, and give in to your demand to walk you to Embassy. Uh-huh."

"Sneak out? Haha. It's alright. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

She's still jet lagged and slept early. I ended up listening to the radio again, going a little bit populist with each turn. I thought, she is a homebody after all. I shouldn't have made a big thing out of this. And yet I'm writing about it here, because as usual my mind has been triggered with all these thoughts about how tuna became "supermeat" when you actually need more than a balanced diet to make things work for you. My tummy's still big, and they do call it a beer belly, although I haven't had any since that party two years ago.

"You go to bed too! Haha. Nighty night."

"Haha. Right, right. Nighty night to you as well! Oooh, I miss nighty nights."

Indeed, I missed nighty nights, only how that is defined has also changed.

And your responses...

i don't like to party either~ i have a better life anyway :D

Anonymous stef5/08/2007     

haha! guess the nightlife aint for everyone =]

Anonymous chex5/08/2007     

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