On my way from the Church’s Youth Fellowship and the University Infirmary where Basti was confined, I heard familiar voices from the other side of the street.
“Lance, sama ka!” Ah, my friends from the dorm fellowships.
“Saan ba kayo pupunta?” I asked quizzically.
“Sa Baywalk.” Then they went on explaining that there were cultural presentations by selected artists from the National Commission for the Arts. I said I had many things to do (my standard excuse when I’m invited to parties and debuts and other gatherings, which, by the way, happens to be the truth). “Si Manong mo, pupunta,” they said.
“Really?” And, without any reservation, I crossed the street, and with them, hailed a jeepney, rode the MRT, picked a taxi, and listened to the sweet, familiar music that so enchanted us all.
And yes, these things happened with the fishy, awful smell from the cleanest water form in all the earth, Manila Bay.