I am a sucker for all things “old.”
I have been given the gift of appreciating things from the past, the ones the world once held in its vastness. I am drawn to old radios, cassette tapes, and vinyl records. My fondness for them sparked my curiosity about how they were operated. I would pick them up and feel their features, noticing whether they were smooth, glossy, or aged.
My YouTube and Spotify playlists, too, are filled with pre-Y2K music. Around the city at night, I would reinforce Sade’s “Hang on to Your Love” as I walk beneath its busy rhythm. Her luscious tone thrusts me back to my love for Ayala Center—a district where professional wranglings and polished tastes meet. I have set foot in its environment multiple times. As such, I grew with the picture of this community as my standard in everything beyond “masa.”
People would say that Glorietta is a chore to navigate. I never realized until today that, true enough, it was a jungle—an arena where being lost is already an easy feat to make. On my first solo visit, I found myself alone on the second floor of Glorietta 4 as I searched for another way out. I only had the Activity Center as my guiding compass to make sure that I was already with the shopping public.
I began to look around the mall’s design. The floors were polished, the wood in good quality shine. Its grilled fences complemented the posh color scheme of mahogany and cream white. These features, found in the upper floors of Glorietta 2 and 3, did not appear as if they had been in existence for 20 years. They added character, as if made for the wealthy—those who had finer things in life. It boosted its persona as the go-to spot for those who had money to gamble for good food, designer clothes, and everything within their reach.
As I left the place, I immediately looked forward to paying another visit. However, the pandemic placed everything on a standstill, including the ability to travel. Despite this, my desire to be in its form of luxury remained.
I have made my rounds around Glorietta since the lockdowns were lifted. It was still the same class and whatnot when I came back. However, they slowly began to place barricades and detour signs to inform patrons of a major redesign. I began to veer away from these sights as they were noisy—distracting—to me.
Yet, as soon as these were taken down, I was in awe of the byproduct. Old railings were now slowly covered in glass. The walls that surrounded them became wooden. It was starting to adapt the idea of reinventing itself into a contemporary design. Some portions, though still covered, are expected to don the same motif. Little by little, it would embrace the features of any other ordinary modern mall. My awe later turned to dismay.
Yes, I am a fan of the “old” Glorietta—the Glo of class and style. Sadly, I may need to see the entire space lose its identity through its slow renovations within its four corners. It will take some time for me to adapt to its changes as someone who has grown up in its past. Its old-fashioned luxury is something I may need to say goodbye to, slowly.
