The Apartment on Union Civica

It was a two-storey six-door apartment building divided by a steel gate that was never open. That means each side, composed of three doors or units, had a separate entrance. If you went out using the west side, it was no longer the same street. Weird huh. Facing a firewall, its east side was really close to the public market that it was more like a part of it already. This was our side. And I never knew our neighbors on the other side. Falalalalalalalala.

Each apartment unit had two bedrooms upstairs, and aside from the usual living room/dining room, there was a dirty kitchen / laundry area and a big T&B on the ground floor. The stairs landing just had to be the altar – one couldn’t think of something else.

We occupied the first unit which was kind of special because it seemed bigger. It came with a verandah on the 2^nd floor. The others didn’t. During brown-outs, you could open the door and let the wind (if any) come in. It served as a place where we can hang our clothes to dry.  The unit also came with a space for a store and a parlor, also on the ground floor. There were five occupants – my aunt-lola (one of my maternal grandpa’s sister who was a widow and the real tenant on record) whom we called Auntie Ely, Mama Diche (my mom’s sister) and my cousin MJ, my Ate and me. Sometimes there were 6 of us as there would be an occasional transient boarder renting a makeshift room near the staircase. Yes, apartment units then were that big.

The middle unit was actually rented by my aunt, but she decided to sublease it to another family to look after Auntie Ely and us; while the 3^rd door was occupied by another aunt and my 3 cousins.

I loved and will always remember our bedroom window where we could see the action. One could spend the whole day just looking out that window. You wouldn’t get bored - vendors on the market front selling vegetables and fruits; my neighbor-crush (who may or may not have known me) playing basketball; and practically people from all walks of life passing by.

Our unit wasn’t that pretty but it seemed to possess a certain attraction or appeal to our friends who would stay there all day, all night - reviewing for exams, chatting, singing and dancing along our small karaoke player; eating lugaw, banana cue, carioca, or isaw; smoking and drinking. The apartment location was strategic that I could take any route going to UST and back. It had a bakery called “Our Daily Bread.” It was close to the malls (at that time, SM City and SM Sta. Mesa), Quiapo or Divisoria or Cubao or Timog, schools (U-Belt), hospitals (UDMC, UST, St. Luke’s), churches, and practically to anything. My folks would drop us off every Sunday afternoon or evening, using the Nagtahan / Santol route. If you were working or looking for a job, it wouldn’t matter if your workplace was in QC or Manila or even Pasig. Ironically though, I haven’t heard of many people who were familiar with its name, “Galas.”

Our room was also the place where most of my short fiction were born, written, and typed. In this apartment, I have loved and lost, laughed and cried, fought and won and lost.

Whatever happened to this apartment? After staying there for four years, I moved back to San Pedro. I am not sure but I think the owner decided to either sell it or demolish it to build a new townhouse. Auntie Ely and Mama Diche are already with our Creator, while MJ is somewhere in the metro, working for a living I suppose. Too bad we didn’t have too many (if any) photographs taken inside it. 

But perhaps it’s all right. The snap shots are all clear and sharp in our minds and memories, anyway.