more than a week has to pass before i finally gathered wits to compose this piece on the fantastic street dancing in malate, arguably the gayest hub there is this side of planet asia. the novel tradition is on its fifth year now, and is gay manila's reflection of the monumental stonewall rebellion in the us of a. far from the liberating incident in the stonewall inn where stiletto-armed queens in drag must have stood up against and kept raiding policemen at bay, the white party in malate was uproarious not because of batuta-wielding raiders being beaten up to a pulp by homegrown baklas, but because of a deluge of dropdead gorgeous pamintas with invisible long hairs adorned by cattleyas. feeling like cinderella in pink bodyhugging and cargo pants, i along with a horde of gay friends arrived in nakpil-orosa streets around midnight, and lo, the party was...orgasmic. everywhere i looked, i never saw a guy i didn't like, from the tisoys to the morenos to the gym-goers to the metrosexuals. haha, i laughed to myself, this is life: gay to the hardest core. earlier in the day, devotees of saint john the baptist whisked each other with water; here in malate, it's men that's raining. good portent, i must confess--june 24 is the hottest day on earth, and what a way of dousing our heat-stroked sensibilities with a torrential outpouring of hunks in all shapes and sizes.
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