LUNETA PARK
Home: 87 Gentle Street




Luneta has always been a symbol of home for me.

When I was a child, a trip to Luneta was a big deal to us, probably because it was quite a distance away from our childhood home, 87 Gentle Street, which was in Quezon City.

The Luneta of my memories was a lot cleaner and greener. We used to ride bikes there in the daytime, befriending other children playing in the swings and slides so they would agree to take turns with us. When we got hungry, we usually ate at the famous restaurant which hired deaf-and-dumb people as waiters and waitresses.

We used to go to Luneta at night too. Indeed, after Manila Bay's famous sunset was spent, the park would turn into a magical fairyland. I remember gawking at the talented skaters rolling their way around the lighted globe fountain while vendors noisily plied their wares.

Baluuuut!

When we got hungry, our parents would take us to the many kiosks conveniently scattered here and there, ordering ice-cold bottled Royal Tru-Orange and those delicious sandwiches, cut in wedges and wrapped in plastic, usually bearing ham, tuna, chicken or egg salad in their moist and chewy centers.

When we got older, Luneta would always be a destination for school field trips. There was the planetarium, just across the street, and the Rizal monument, so dramatically depicted in those ubuquitous "Jose Rizal" books written by Camilo Osias, which was required reading when I was in Elementary school.

And then there was Manila Bay, always the finale of our trips to Luneta. No matter what we would be doing, we would eventually find ourselves drawn to the water's edge.

Indeed, how could anyone resist the siren call of the waves as they crashed upon the rocks at the bottom of the sea wall?



LUNETA PARK
Home: Traders Hotel, Manila

Luneta has always been a place for lovers.

When I was a child, I used to steal glances at couples kissing on the sea wall, or gaze at them frankly as they lounged on picnic blankets, one's head usually perched on the lap of another.

Little did I know back then that love would cast a spell on me on that very same spot, decades hence.

For indeed, Lorenzo and I had our first date in Luneta.

I was a TV news anchor on primetime news. He was a struggling AmBoy, trying his luck in Philippine showbiz. I had bodyguards and lived in a hotel suite. He had his good looks and the last of a measly movie paycheck.

He had yet to embark on his modeling career, which would eventually bring him success and recognition. But during those first days together, my husband-to-be was an aspiring actor whose biggest thing he had going for him was his heart.

Yet he asked me out. I didn't know how much money he had then but I knew, being the gentleman he was, that he would insist on paying the tab. He asked me where I wanted to go. I told him I was craving for Chow King food and suggested we take some out and eat at Luneta.

So there we were, him with his beef stew, me with my sweet-and-sour pork, both of us sharing an order of Kangkong with Chinese Bagoong. We even had enough money for dessert, halu-halo!

And after our meal, we strolled along the sea wall hand-in-hand like lovers of memories past, sitting on a bench under the Manila Hotel's shadow, whispering sweet nothings to each other. We were in our own little world, unmindful of those around us.

I wasn't afraid. I knew my bodyguards, former members of the Presidential Security Group, would shield me from potential snatchers and hold-uppers, that's if the sight of my muscle-bound beau didn't scare them off first.

But there were other eyes following our slow progress by the sea wall. Eyes of curious, gawking children. And yes, we let them stare.

Because on that night, I had graduated from gawker to gawkee.

And it was time to pass the baton.


(PLUGGING: "When Words Are Not Enough", the latest in The Prada Mama Chronicles.)