The Café Mediterranean was a sleek restaurant with the touch of Aegean charm nearly filling the first floor of Greenbelt 1.
I recall crunching up airline articles and corporate speeches on its petite tables using my laptop, while waiting for my grilled chicken or grilled lamb wrapped in regular or wheat pita to be served—the largest I could order. I used to treat myself with two orders of grilled chicken, one of which I will finish inside my corporate communications office situated just right across the street.
Its spicy sauce was to die for, to say nothing of the resto’s Panino Vegetariano—the marvelous grilled zucchini, eggplant, onions, and fresh tomatoes on ciabatta—during those quick bites. Their Parmesan-Crusted Fish Fillet, Pollo Al Rosmarino, and Mediterranean-Style Grilled Chicken were worth every peso.
The word “nostalgia,” giving the sense of an acute homesickness fromthe original German usage, also means “to return home” in the Greek.
This was the perfect word to describe my daily visits to National Bookstore, also located on the first floor. More so now that Greenbelt 1 is closing.
As a writer, I could not let the week pass without a new title in myhands—a novel, a suite of poems, or the biography of a historical figure. To enjoy these literary treats, I had two of my eyeglasses made by Sarabia Optical. These shops served me quite well during those deadline-gripped years. I would not have been able to survive and see my next paycheck without them.
What truly endeared me to Greenbelt 1 was the day I first went for a walk with my partner-in-crime for close to two decades now, the novelist and editor, Che. I remember that day extremely well, havingbeen awkward and all. We strolled down Greenbelt 1’s winding walkways and lanes without uttering a word to one another. Her younger sister arrived minutes later as chaperone, walking at a comfortable distance while never really deflecting her eyes.
I thought of putting my best foot forward, hence my invitation to dine at the Café Via Mare. While the place was a bit pricey, with their signature Bibingka Galapong—topped with Laguna Cheese and Salted Duck Egg—going at more than P200, I’m proud to say there was little hesitation on my part when she ordered it.
Suffice it that after we dined again at Café Via Mare more than adecade later, and I ordered their lip-smacking Monggo Soup and Boneless Dilis, I got the scolding of my life. “Why would you order something I can cook at home?” Well, wasn’t Via Mare’s Monggo Soup the best example of home cooking? But then, I realized apologies were in place. Happy wife, happy life. No two ways about it.
The Greenbelt Chapel was one of those iconic structures that leave the soul wanting for more. While I am not Roman Catholic, I do appreciateits location: The middle of a sprawling manicured garden and winding brick walkways, where the five o’clock breeze helps alleviate the tensions within.
The pressure to meet deadlines can eat away at one’s devotion to the writing craft, believe me it can, thus my quiet little stints between the trees. The devotees’ songs to God makes one realize that we’re not alone in this vast universe.
What would ring to me as the most memorable is the mall’s cinema. I dated Che for the first time at the showing of “Happy Feet”. Mostcouples would go for sleazier choices for obvious reasons, but I guess choosing “Happy Feet”—a cartoon about a penguin who was ostracized for dancing—spoke well of my good intentions.
And so there we were, slumped on the movie house chairs waiting for the film to start. I wanted to hold her hand, but she refused. She was probably living up to her claim as “mataray” (harsh), but it was all good—so far. I surely didn’t want to impose, much less ruin the day.
Minutes into the first scenes, I got hooked, laughing and sniggering as the movie progressed.
I remember tapping my own happy feet to the music, well-nighforgetting I was with a hot date. I probably came off to her as cold and distant—boring at least, dull at best. Be that as it may, it probably made her realize that my intentions were noble and decent, which, I must now admit, were nowhere near my reputation at the time.
But what’s a guy to do with reputation if that’s all he has?
Thanks to Greenbelt 1’s showing of “Happy Feet,” Che and I have stayedin love for 18 years now. That’s not about to end, believe me.
Overwhelming proof of this is a kid named Likha—this stubborn, highly-intelligent, nine-year-old grammar police with a British accent and the mouth of a Sig Sauer M400. Take that!
Greenbelt 1, designed by National Artist of the Philippines for Architecture Leandro Locsin, is now scheduled to close today. From its first opening in 1988, it has become, for us and many more Filipinos, a destination where precious memories have been hatched. While I amvery much open to the changes triggered by progress, losing Greenbelt 1 is huge, indeed.
But then again, for the remains of the day, other memories will soonbe crafted and set in the new edifice, built on the bright ruins of earlier memories which, I am sure, will hardly be forgotten.
