The Bar is Dead

Tonight as you slowly take your little melodramatic steps up that pillar of stairs into that very familiar wooden stairway you released a great sigh as you glanced into that stretch of mirror to your left. It’s not of relief or despair but it was something akin to missing someone. As you took each flight of steps you anticipated a cheerful crowd standing, rocking, thumping, wiggling with their backs facing you while some upbeat pop/rap/rock/jazz music envelopes the smoky atmosphere.
But alas, no one is there. The silence is deafening.
The bar is dead.

We can only anticipate as much but reality always shatters us.

The place seems in solitude as the space provides a haunting melodrama that you can only sense in funeral parlors and the lights were a little dimmer than usual. It was never deserted, this place, you reckoned.
The bar has always been there since you started working in this concrete jungle amidst the gigantic monolith malls and huge edifices. Those neon lights were all too familiar you could wish you owned them yourself to hang in your own personal minibar.
You scanned the whole place and it was vacant, except for yourself. “What the heck happened?” You beckoned.
This bar used to have a vibrant, lively yet warm and welcoming ambiance. These are the reasons why most people like you flocked here to have a couple of cold brews and just talk about everything and nothing. Mostly the people who came here were composed of those young urban professionals with their loosened neckties, crumbled linen barongs or corporate sexy dresses. If you get the chance to hear at least a couple of conversations inside this place, you will realize that this bar was once graced by simple and intellectual men and women; those who know what they are talking about yet will never brag about it. Perhaps the same people you elbow with everyday as you take your daily grind trying to win that ratrace. But then have you thought about the possibility wherein as you climb up that corporate ladder you may realize that it is windy and empty up there after all? Nah, we all want the sight and feel of what’s up there.

People are made perfect by life’s imperfections.

As time goes by this what used to be a regular bar became popular to other people and other breed of customers poured in. The usual crowd was suddenly replaced by those youngsters in their oversize shirts and loose elephant denims paired by white sneakers, baseball caps and rowdy attitudes. The guys in their mid- twenties sporting muscle shirts came partying also along with the eye candies in their lowrise jeans and tube tops. Oftentimes there were a couple of dirty old bastards prowling for an easy chick or prowling for an easy guy. You and your Gen X friends just stared and observed. You used to own the moments in this bar but now you are just like a forgotten trend.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot conquer time.

Time passed, bottles tumbled and the music paid off. The once vibrant and warm atmosphere became frenzied and surly. Gone were the days when the beer tastes just right and the music might be a little loud but still better. Now the booze became too stale or too bitter and the music became too noisy it was somber.  You saw the drastic change that happened to your favorite watering hole – the simple and seemingly intelligent people no longer drops by the bar to have a couple of cold brews. The place became packed with unfamiliar faces, wearing the same frugal smile, just like everyone else.

Now the bar is closing and here you are standing at the entrance about to give your last farewell to the chairs, couches and stools. These furnitures were used to be a part of your happy nights in neon lights.
As you sit in one of the stools with a beer in one hand and a cigarette on the other you began to reminisced. Suddenly you feel old and alone. Ah, life is catching up!

As you romance your solitude you begin to understand that as life passes you by, the trail it leaves will create a skid mark that can echo to the deepest nadir of your soul.

Suddenly the laughter of your friends echoed along the now empty walls.
If these walls could only talk perhaps they can tell you all the happy drunken debauchery that occurred as you wasted your life in booze and chicken crisp. And you always tell yourself that every moment was worth the hangovers. You got that right.
If these walls could talk perhaps they can recollect how your friends used to frequent the place every other night talking about sex, love, life, work, death, bigbikes and rock & roll but not necessarily in that order.
How arguments were composed, heated conversations erupted, some friendship ties were built or cut and painful love stories were drowned in beers and mushy pop songs.
Things like these were laid down on the table for everyone to partake yet nobody was claiming to own.
Truly those were the days.

Happy is the man who can detach from the pangs of existential cycle and yet can still laugh at the monotonous routine thrown at him.

Tonight as I slowly take my small melodramatic steps down that pillar of stairs into that very familiar wooden stairway I released a great sigh when I glanced into that stretch of mirror to my right. It’s not of relief or despair but it is something akin to fulfillment. As I took each step I anticipated my friends standing outside waiting for me with their sober faces and cheerful looks while the night envelopes the parting time atmosphere. And my friends are there.

Lights out.