Prologue

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An unplanned get-together on a Friday night. Just another drinking session among friends and alcohol buddies in an acoustic bar in Tomas Morato.

It is one of those Cindy Lauper moments when girls just wanna have fuuuun, oh girls just wanna have fuuuuun. Sing it, beybeh!

For me, it is one of those nights when I get tired of thinking and I am, finally, almost ready to forget. Another couple of drinks and I would be passing out. But before I take that ice-cold SanMig Light bottoms-up dare, I said to myself, yes, I would be stronger, I would be more resistant, I would be even better, and I would get what I deserve. And I drink to that.

Slowly yet roughly, the throat-burning liquor goes down my system. Bawat lagok, may tama. I know, I know, it's weak. It's not imba in colloquial DOTA term of computer games addicts.

I drown every insecurity, cowardice, and stupidity I have left in every gulp.

In the middle of my bottoms-up dare, I hear a voice speaking on the microphone.

"Sound check, sound check, 1-2-3-4..." echoes the voice like the person is trying to audition for a free session in front of the depressed alcoholic nation.

"This song goes out to someone I care for a lot. I hope she hears this."

Then he strums the first stroke on his guitar and sings the first line of the only song that rocked my whole world-apart.

"And I give up forever to touch you..."

I choke. "WHAT THE F***!"And so, I lost the dare. A total distraction.

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