Bar of Sand

It’s past 4 on a Saturday morning. I just came from a bar with a friend who invited me to have some drink and chill to some good live music. Indeed, it was fun. So much that I am thinking, if I could spend weekends this way, then I wouldn’t have to deal with perennial bore and the stab of my own bitterness seeing people happy despite their deficiencies. However, on second thought, even if I could, I wouldn’t do it either. This place is a vice, where happiness thrives with a price, bad yet addicting, guilty pleasure to a high level. Unless you come there, you will never see and unless you’re one of them, you will never know.

Standing at the back with a glass of vodka in one hand as the other make swag in the air, I could see a plenary view of the whole area. There were boozes all over, as drinks’ are sold two for a price of one, the energy was prevalent, eyes were rolling, hands shaking , people coming and going back and forth. Everyone seemed to recognize each other; the circles are much wider than expected. At the tables fronting the band’s stage, were the good friends, mostly flatmates and officemates taking time to unwind and veer away from a week full of work. Coming in numbers, they’re the one who makes the most out of it, ordering in pitchers, invading the dance floor and bravely doing photo ops.

On the right side of the hall, opposite the entrance bar, is the favourite hang-out of the airline staff. They’re the regular patrons, treating themselves well after an overrated job that’s thousand feet above the ground. They’re sophisticated, well dressed, glammed and living up with the hip and hype of their profession. They don’t drink much; they come to meet each other and do more on talking about their latest incidental trips abroad. Other nationalities usually join their group, a testament to their multi-cultural work backgrounds.

On the far right corner where the other bar is located, there was a group of ladies all glammed up for the night. I bet they don’t do this much often, as most of them were seated making love with their mobile phones despite the infectious live music. There was too, on the same place, a couple which has reserved this spot as their weekend home. They have an extended circle too, mostly people working in malls for big clothing brands. It’s just one of the few places here where titles don’t matter, everyone hugs, everyone cheers and everyone looks around.

At the back side where the view of the stage is obstructed by two pillars supporting the building, there stood the gangs of implicit motivations, people who were looking for something aside from the casual drinks and their regular assemblies with their so-called friends. This place is more than what meets the eye. Beneath the blinking lights, the loud music, the overpowering spirit, are desires to be belonged, to get noticed and to find fleeting love. While the centre area enjoys genuine fun, the people against the wall adore the flirt and the flare.

On the far left corner is the alley to the toilets, probably the club’s busiest place. People here come and go, sometimes you’d see someone you know and they wouldn’t even give a glimpse. Ironically, don’t be surprised if you’re complimented or smiled at by someone you barely even know, that is just how things are and that’s just the way it works. This club is where Filipinos converge. Who cares about motives? We are all sands in this desert trying to work together to amount to something. If, by any consolation, going to this club would make it happen in its own little ways, then let’s go on and kita kits.