As I breathe the taint Manila air in,
I knew I was about to fall in love again.
Oh how I craved for the smoke belching out of the jeepneys, how badly did I want that signature smog to have me begging for fresh, precious air?

Ah, nothing would beat the musky, filthy smell from the streets and the constant fear of being pickpocketed that no feeling in the world would ever compare. The last time I felt my heart beat like a wild beast was when I was walking alone down Raon to fetch my first few vinyl records.

Commuting is a breeze. Except that breeze is in the apple of the eye of the storm that I would gladly, willingly look straight into. Quiapo is but an irony; the only place in the world where you would feel safe and protected by the church and the very same place you would feel fear of being mugged or robbed or both.

But the food, dear god, is incomparable. The blood enemy of my melancholy. I find peace in Binondo, a haven that makes me forget all the political dysphoria going on with our good old neighbor and ***** lover, China. Let's take a breather and bask on our shared heritage and cuisine instead, shall we?

Manila. Her chaos, her charm, her history and the dreams she holds for me...
these are what I will always come back here and battle death for.