I am reminded of this scene because I’ve realized that I have been very much sober since I've completed my sub-specialization stint in Manila, which is now almost over a year. Not from an active effort, but more from lack of opportunity. For 13 years I’ve lived in Malate, where a bar is just a few steps away. Oar House, a tiny cozy bar located along Adriatico, boomed at around 2010, thanks to the recommendation of Frichmond. One could just go there alone and in a few minutes see friends from the hospital--not that you'd always want to, sometimes you see that fellow/resident/nurse you've had a recent disagreement with and you're not sure you want to clink glasses with her as if she hasn't rejected your referral for hyponatremia (napaka-specific). Whereas our prior routine just consisted of ending our day studying in Pan Pacific Gloria Jeans Shrine Motherfucker 1, we’ve gained new endurance as the night would be further capped off with a couple of drinks in Oar House which we’ve started to call Whore House. Later on during sub-specialization boards aralan the night would be pushed further with a UN Avenue McDo visit. Those times when people started to become unavailable I would run to the Blue Room at 11:30 pm and drink by my lonesome, which I didn't really find poetic, pathetic, sad, dramatic, or weird--it is what it is.
Strangely the song Sober has a stand-out line which perfectly captures how we think, or should think, during our reminiscences: 3 months and I’m still sober, picked all my weeds but kept the flowers. As an example, we always used to get to sit beside horribly noisy conyo girls in Shrine Motherfucker 1 and Oar House. Now those are weeds we want to step on.