Hankering for the '90s

I’m a sucker for nostalgia but the days I always reminisce about the most are the late ‘90s, when we danced, as Eddie Boy Escudero and Karen Kunawicz called it. So when Rik Rasos tweeted me about Last Days, a warehouse party organized by some of our friends from back in the day, I excitedly dug out my Kokur clothes, my legwarmers and my platform shoes, knowing that I would be the only one dressed in clothes from that era, but not willing to miss out on possibly the only opportunity I would get to wear these clothes again with the people I once wore them with.

I was a latecomer to the whole ‘90s rave scene, or “Abg’s days” as my friends and I like to call it. My mom was strict and I had a 12 midnight curfew until I turned 18 so I couldn’t really go out, and therefore missed out on a lot of Groove Nation’s early Consortiums. My first rave was all because of a television show I used to host, alongside DJ Schwahn, who was the cousin (or was it nephew?) of Warp’s Ronald Pasion. That show became my excuse to go to all the events, from Star City raves to Puerto Galera, visits to Cecile Zamora’s Grocery (run by a then-eyebrowless Melvin Mojica), Ronald and Brando’s then-new Warp shop in Sikatuna Village, and the occasional Thrift Thursday at Abg’s.

After I turned 18, I was finally legit and became a regular (though still with a remotely early curfew), lunchbox in hand, tinted glasses, and Hello Kitty bandana on my head. Ice parties in warehouse freezers, Laureano Compound, Kemistry in Malate, Lucky Strikes and Levi’s, Human Traffic, Ken Iishi, Fashion Café, Verve Room, Gatecrasher complete with an actual earthquake, Josh Wink on the night of bomb explosions. My college partner in crime Crischelle (now a doctor) and I started a cringeworthy clubwear line called Paranoid that consisted of candy raver aprons, puff-sleeved dresses, and bright-colored elephant pants. Thanks to my friend Ivan, we ended up selling at Milkwear alongside other then young designers Paolo Raymundo, Ge Madriaga (now Mapa), Kushti (Leah Castaneda and Roman Roxas), Teresa Eastwood, Noni Diza, Mimi Sanson, Gian Romano and more. I didn’t know it then — as I just wanted to make cute clothes — that I could wear these when I went out to dance, but that was what got me started on the fashion track, and led me into what I was going to do for the rest of my life.

I don’t remember how those days ended, really. Abg’s closed and I guess we didn’t have a base to gather at anymore, and most of the people left the country. Or maybe we just got old. I’m still friends with pretty much everyone I met back in the day, some more than others, and a handful of people I can’t bear to imagine my life without. Whenever a small group of us got together, wherever in the world, we would always bring up our antics when we were young, tease each other about our old flames within the circle, and compared notes on what we miraculously remembered from back then. No matter what it was, those days were always great.

Last Saturday before we went to the warehouse, I met up with my new friend Tiffany and excitedly told her and her friends about my evening to come. They were amused enough, then one of her friends said to me, “Isn’t it too early for an Abg’s reunion? Parang medyo baduy.” “It might be for you, but for us who were there, it’s way overdue.” Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to get over there, there was no other place I would have rather been at, as evidenced by me and Debrah screaming all the way from The Fort to Pasong Tamo. We hugged our old friends, took photos while we still could, and loved it when we saw Kayen at the door saying to the bouncers, “Ay kuya, eto, old school to.” It wasn’t really a reunion, nor was it really a rave, but just doing something that felt familiar to what we used to do was good enough for us. Old habits die hard: we opened our windows to listen for beats to find the place, screamed in the car and wished the conyos would go away, did some fancy footwork and a lot of our usual tricks. Then when 5 a.m. hit, we were the last ones standing, still waiting for the night to go on, but it didn’t, and we parted ways and trekked home even before the sun came up. That would have never happened in 1999, nor did next day responsibilities like moving house or children’s parties or work deadlines. Reality check: we aren’t 17 anymore, but it was fun for one night pretending to be.