sex talk

Over dinner at Harbor View along Roxas Boulevard (on a pier jutting out into the dark sea), my barkada and I inevitably watched the conversation veer towards that most juicy of topics (and really, anything other than war is a welcome change of something to talk about). So as we wolfed down Oysters Rockefeller, sisig, and other great stuff, we also strolled down the sordid past (well, mostly mine), digging up things that really were better left in the realm of memory.

Why?

Because memories become colored in time. Or they lose all color and become pale greys. You either remember more or almost nothing at all.

And there is the sad tendency for these experiences to become war stories, which, unless you commit to a novel, are not really fair.

When I think about all the women who passed through my life (not that many, but enough to learn lessons pleasant and harsh), I feel suddenly old and wiser. I am scandalized at my energy, amused by my opportunism and put off by my early attitude. But it was something I needed to go through, to better appreciate what I have now. And that's no mere justification.

Later, we had cocktails at Komiks in Malate (which had a copy of The Lost#1 on display behind glass, evincing a wry smile from me) and continued to talk about aging and attractiveness, temptation and time, desire and denial. Marco had the quote of the night (which I shall not put here for fear of ruining his reputation) and we missed the missing elements of our eclectic group - Carl, Dino Yu, Cyn & Arn.

On the way home in the wee hours of the morning, we passed through the brightly lit boulevard again - such a change from the time when it was considered suicide to walk there. I was thinking about something mentioned earlier in the evening.

About how when you're young you can dare anything, but when you get older you need to take care lest you hurt your back.