Lost Grandeur.

It reeks of an old forgotten empire, trapped in a desolate world of permanent nostalgia. It is hollow, misplaced, and decaying. It has lost its once magnificent façade, resonating a hollow call of progress, with only a few remaining traces of its once glorious past.

The nearly empty roads are greeted by a few dimly lit cabarets. The multicolored lights flicker, eagerly anticipating for the workers to succumb to the elementary principle of desire, or to the call of the videoke while guzzling down the spirit of their favorite saint. This scenario serves as a pretense for an empire trying to regain its splendor.

Circa 1985. http://www.flickr.com/photos/intervene/2096616171/in/photostream/

It stinks. It consumes man’s rubbish, without much hesitation. It embraces all forms of trade, accepting almost everything, which is a far cry from its previous role as a center of commerce. It has completely surrendered itself to the call of easy money. The blind acceptance is probably its form of survival.

It has been abused, maltreated, and ignored. The roads, once carefully crafted, are now fractured. Ruined by the nonchalance of the people, it continues to present itself as an old spirited man trying to teach a thing or two about life. But nobody understands. Nobody even attempts to understand. It tries to remain foolishly strong, but on these times, everything appears harsh. The only available recourse is to weep. It weeps, not as a sign of vulnerability, but as a sign of indifference.

Time has been cruel and reality has been ruthless. It will continue to thrive, on the pain of remembering its lost grandeur. In the eyes of some, it will continue to sparkle, as homage or recollection to its once magnificent era.

This is the paradise of Quiapo at 2 AM.