When it comes to driving to Bonifacio Global City past midnight, it seems as though I suddenly grow a birthmark in my bum. A popular fish wives’ tale term, “may balat ka sa pwet” refers to people who are jinxed because of having a birthmark in their ass (excuse my french.)
For some reason, we cannot seem to get our random food tripping right! or maybe that’s just me?
In another entry I mentioned that due to the fact that we were not able to go to Mercato last Sunday because it was closed, the three of us will try again in the succeeding week. That day happened yesterday and though Mercato was open and was bursting with people and smoldering scent of grilled meat at that, we STILL did not have the EXACT feeling that we expected. As I quote Kaye, “gusto ko sumaya!” (I want to be happy) it is a very melodramatic sentiment yet we still did not get what we came there for. This my friends I blame on myself.
It was certain that I sometimes intend not to tell my dad of my whereabouts even three years ago for the very reason that I will not taste the excitement of youth and bask in the enjoyment of my age, which is early 20s. People from my generation frolic and gallivant in renowned bars of the city even before the age of 18. Though I am not really a fan of bars ever since, I still want to be out at night to at least chill with my girlfriends in a cafe. I was always an introvert with the lack of social skills so any coffee place will do, as long as it is quiet and less crowded.
With this in mind, my boyfriend deliberately assumed the role of being my vigilante. It is a very sweet gesture of him to somehow protect me knowing how naive I can be at times, but that would mean that he should always be in the know of where I am and who I am with.
For some God appointed reason, it skipped my mind to tell him that I was going to be out that night with the girls. When I got out of our house I had a series of phone calls from him that made me tell the truth of my current state. It must have been a momentous event for him to get back at me with anger for all those times I snapped at him for being out late into the night even if he was just within the village with his buds.
I felt bad as I could hear on the other end of the line that he felt betrayed. Unlike me, he was quiet yet I could sense that my unnecessary lie broke him. His manner of frustration is very much like my dad’s – the silent killer. His inability to tell me how he really feels is worse than snapping back at me.
Anyway, we eventually sorted things out before we slept but thing is, I ruined a perfectly orchestrated gettaway.
I am so sorry girls.
So, Mercato.
That was the first main reason why things did not go as planned, the second was less worse but we could have avoided it.
Isaw or intestines in English are a delicacy here in the Philippines.
Most of the time it is being sold in streets together with other meat inards that are being grilled to perfection. When we saw it being sold in one of the tables in Mercato, Gina and I had the urgency to purchase and devour. The long winding string-like
“pulutan” or pica-pica in Spanish (food that goes well with beer) is best eaten with vinegar. Goodness! If it was cooked properly, the chicken or pork intestine will sinfully melt in your mouth. I am such a huge fan. So, imagine our my dismay when we took a bite to eat out of what we bought.
Gina and Kaye can very well incur of my statement that what we were having was saltwater and that we were mermaids food tripping under the sea. It was too salty that we can no longer reach for the stick to take another bite. It was charred and it being immersed in sourness did not pacify the saltiness. Really, it was as though you were muching on grains of rock salt. We gave it back to the vendor who gave us new sticks and assured us that
they were okay. He struggled to explain that maybe the ones we ate were marinated too much. What kind of a reason is that! How can you marinate food too much? It should be “too much.” Either your mixture is salty or too bland. It has nothing to do with the marinating process. The second serving was just as worse and so we left.
Our excitement died down at the sight of people, the lack of ventilation and the taste of the only food we bought for 30 bucks. But Mercato is really awesome if you wear the proper clothes and if you have money to spare. It really is meant for a night long chow down.
Gina’s quench for Milk Tea made us resort to chilling in Bubble Tea instead. We were opting to grace Resorts World with our presence but because of my lack in common sense and Mikee’s dissapointment with me, it was called off. Maybe we should all go together? Tuss Crew invades casinos will be more like it.
We called the night by taking photos along Burgos Circle.
But we still managed to have a great time, nonetheless!
It was a night of many celebrations: a vivid fete where our stamina, energy, and bursts of jovial youth took flight.
Surviving the Late Twenties 