Waiting for the Rain to Stop

It was raining in Malate.

Of all the nights it can rain, it would be now, when it was the only time I had to enjoy a little piece of heaven.

It was a road trip, down to Manila, for the first time in the 24 years of my existence. I have never been to Manila alone, just once, and it was for something really important. I was with two great friends, Kiko, and Ben.

Manila was great, it wasn't like what I have always thought it was, the gateway to hell.

The air was just right, not scorching hot, and the taxi drivers were friendly.

The first night was spent just horsing around, taking pictures and sleeping. After the night we arrived, we headed to the mall, where we bought some things for that night's Pride Party at Malate. I was personally excited. I always wanted to dance to the beat of the bars I have heard of in stories, places I have only imagined in my daydreams.

That night, garbed in my precious white tank top, new silver chandeliers and trusty white leather sandals, I travelled to Malate. It was quite a short distance from the hotel we were staying at. Ben had a date, so it was just me, and Allan, a very good friend from Pampanga, and his friend, Jenny. Kiko stayed at the hotel, waiting for his lover to arrive from Europe.

It amazed me. Every street corner was full of gay men. Men just like me. Men who loves men. People Like Me. I was immediately mesmerized. This was Malate.

Then, just like that, the wind blew in from the South and it starting raining. Not the "cat and dog" kind of rain, but the drizzly, "sticky-when-you-dry-up" kind of rain.

My gold makeup was the first thing I tried to protect. I spent half an hour just trying to perfectly put the goddamn gold powder on my face. My hair was wet, and Allan, Jenny and I were running to and fro, looking for some of my Manila friends at the numerous bars around.

At last, after another heavy downpour, we got to the Rainbow Project, where some of my friends were. There, I realized, that no matter how eager I am to see my Manila friends, I would love to see someone else, be with someone else, dance with someone else.

He promised me he will be there. He told me he was going to be with me the entire night.

He did not come.

But I waited. He said he was coming.

At the Bed, I danced my heart out. The music throbbed in my ears as I moved, I ignored the beautiful men around me. My Baguio friends would envy me, I thought. Surrounded by beautiful, half naked men, and not a care in the world.

I was drenched in sweat, I felt like the queen of the night, but I was not happy.

The night ended like it ended before. One by one, my companions went home.

I was still hoping he would come. He promised he would come.

It was 4:00 am. In the middle of the street I walked, looking for a place to rest my tired, sandalled feet. After an hour in a nearby Starbucks I stood up, and I continued walking. I decided to go home, I was tired.

It rained in Malate that night.

It rained like it never rained before.

And as the cab I rode drove away from the place I thought was heaven, I wondered - when will I stop waiting for the rain to stop?