The breeze was cold enough for us to wear jackets and here in a small pub facing the sea, we grabbed chilled beers and flicked lighters every five minutes. It is a small pub. Anyone can remember everyone's face and name.
It was my first night in Puerto Galera, in that little shore town lined with drinking spots.
I could recall how he moved and watched and smiled at us all, like a god looking down on his playful creatures. The eyes full of wisdom and hair washed by years. He would transfer from table to table and talk to everyone- us the only locals, Frankfurters, Londoners, Aussies. I am Swedish, travel by boat and more Filipino than any Immigration officer of this country he said introducing. He owns the pub.
He went to our table, to us, two men and a woman from the smoke. He calls Manila smoke, for obvious reasons.
I like your hair he said to the woman. Long, not straight, not curly. Very Filipina. Do not change that, do not follow those women who color their hair and get rebond so they will be noticed. Do not change. You are beautiful.
He went home a little after. He was very drunk he could piss pure vodka.
Everyone got free beer that night and the Londoner gave another round next. It was difficult to refuse but I managed, my companions are engaged in cultural argument with the Aussies. With the last gulp, I picked my cigarette and took a deep breath and listen to Abba sing Fernando and began thinking about what the old man said.
Do not change. In a world that tells us change is the only precursor of beauty and acceptance is a drunk old man who tells otherwise. Lying next to you in daylight and months after that night only I realized what he means.
2 palagay:
Nice!
But we all know that change is inevitable right?
Cheers!
at sino naman ang katabi mo? hahaha :p
Post a Comment