Watching Manila rock from the sidelines

Such a premium has been placed on making it in America but I’m thinking maybe an even greater feat is making do with Manila — rather, making Manila work.

Whenever I meet someone new in New York, the question always comes up — “So, how do you like it?”

It’s a compulsory question asked of anyone who’s new to a city, but it’s different when it comes from a New Yorker. I always detect an undertone of assurance in the inquiry, like they’re merely affirming another convert’s “like? More like love” of the city. They’re often disappointed when I give them my answer. 

Of course I like it, Facebook thumbs-up and all. I like it enough. I like that there’s a satisfactory slice of pizza on every street corner; I like that servers and bartenders look good and converse well; I like — well, I don’t need to go on, really. New York doesn’t need to be told how agreeable a city it is. God bless all the New Yorkers out there — Spartans in self-realization, satisfied with being dissatisfied. There are so many people here nobly struggling to make a mark and trying to broadcast how interesting they are. Which is all well and good, but frankly, it gets boring after a while.

I won’t say it’s more fun in the Philippines. I know a lot of Filipinos who love living by the millisecond in a city like New York or whichever urban utopia that’s got its own Time Out and anonymity to offer. A year ago, I would have gotten an aneurysm from excitement if I knew I’d be where I was now: a grad student at Columbia’s Journalism School and an editorial intern for the men’s magazine I studied like scripture since puberty.

However, I will say that Manila these days sounds like a lot of fun.

It’s hard not to notice Manila on the Internet, just as it’s hard to avoid spotting Filipinos at a public square in some random city. You guys won’t shut up, much less about your problems, for which I’ll let the ever-reliable negative headlines and someone like Jimmy Sieczka elaborate on instead. There’s the ridiculousness I’m alerted about, of course. I mean, really, an ice cream bar trending on Twitter? Archaic swimwear choices for colegialas? The Padillas, being the poster family for both homophobia and racism?

But then I’ll hear about the other things, too: an “it” tranny barred entrance at a club and fighting for her gay right to party wherever she pleases; yet another showbiz scion that’ll garner my derision, as well as my interminable curiosity; more photographers shooting sharp and aiming high; more musicians breaking the global sound barrier; more designers creating buzz for their clothes and drama off the runways. In spite of your problems, Manila, you still look like you’re having the best goddamn time in the world.

Such a premium has been placed on making it in America but I’m thinking maybe an even greater feat is making do with Manila — rather, making Manila work. To all the people rocking the city many of us hate and actually love in equal measure, people like myself can hear you from all the way here. And we’re dying to join the show.