Young Writers Society

I wrote this awhile back. During the time when a scandal had erupted in the country. In the Philippines, being a relatively small country, this was a very big deal. Some "videos" of a sexy actress had leaked and everything about them was dug up by the media. They had a video of them dancing together while this song played. Leave a comment and I hope you enjoy!

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Every time someone hears the song “Careless Whisper”, they think not of the beautiful song but of the song distorted by a scandal. This song, for me, however, will never tarnish and the original beauty of its melodies will never be forgotten.

Each time I hear that song, a sense of nostalgia comes over me like warm water washing over me, trickling and dripping off my skin, relaxing me. The intoxicatingly soft and sensuous melodies of the jazz saxophone send me back to the most blissful moments of my carefree childhood. It’s strange that of all songs, this one was the most memorable from my childhood.

I was about nine when my forever active grandmother became the officer-in-charge of a tourism promotion in one of the most historical places in the Philippines; the walled city of Intramuros. Oh, How I remember those days! How I wish I could go back and relive every moment within the old, battle worn, crumbling walls of Intramuros.

The days were short there as I glanced from exhibit to exhibit of every region in the Philippines that presented the quality of their products, the intricacy of their unique traditions and culture and the beauty of the land they called home. I had seen the vast expanse of the Philippines within a few weeks without ever stepping a foot off of the borders of the Greater Metropolitan Area. In those short weeks I had met many people, seen famous faces like those of our president and the People’s Champ, Manny Pacquiao and learned of things I could never have imagined about our country and its people. But, it was not that which I wish to revisit. No, it was the cool evenings of the summer or weekends spent under the skies and stars of Intramuros that I wish to revisit.

Sometimes, I would walk along the cobblestone streets and Spanish style houses of the city and hear the clip-clops of horses and kalesas, feeling as if I was thrown back into the 18th century. Scenarios of everyday life during the colonial period played in my head as I walked thoughtfully along the old walls. Then, a car would honk its horn and I was back to the present, kind of disappointed but happy nonetheless. Early in the evenings, I would walk the expanse of the walls with my grandma, occasionally stopping, as she attended to her business. I sometimes pretended to be a Spanish guard patrolling the borders of the city and looking at a vast sea of water like my grandma told me was there before, instead of the vast sea of traffic jams, towering buildings and the golf course which was on the other side of the wall.

I still remember going to the ruins of a cathedral, somewhere behind the main events tents. It had been destroyed during the Japanese occupation. It had no roof, but most of the walls were whole but some had their top parts blown away by the bombs during the 40’s. The front of the building was still standing like the shape of a huge house, complete with all the windows and doors and a balcony. I imagined it in its heyday; a beautiful cathedral, with white walls and pictures of angels and saints adorning its ceiling, an ornate altar with a chalice made perhaps of silver or gold with beautiful stones embedded in its rim. I also imagined a huge cross made of wood with gold tips and Jesus hanging there, with that merciful and forgiving look in his eyes as blood dripped from the wounds on his forehead. But that was before the war, now it’s a ruin.

During the day, it was just a blank picture of the ruins, as the day died, the music came alive. My grandmother usually had something else to do and left me under the care of employees and security guards. Live performances by jazz groups and singers on an improvised stage made of the large pieces of the broken building and sang the nights away. The mango trees behind the stage seemed to have caught the stars with their leaves and sometimes danced to the soulful tunes played by the performers. Couples on picnic blankets showed their public displays of affection (a.k.a. PDA) and caressed each other under the starlight, whispering sweet nothings and careless whispers into their love’s ear. I, on the other hand, was just sitting on one of the benches, listening, watching and feeling the moments. The romance, happiness and pure ecstasy filled these cool summer evenings of that year. It was with but one song that I took a mental picture and this memory of those happy summer eves watching the stars in eyes of couples and imagining about the past, one song that fills my heart with the memories of joy from those times, the one song that was distorted in the view of many because of one ill decision, one scandal; the one song that forever remains in good terms with me no matter what happens, “Careless Whisper”.