A journey within the soul of the district known as the ‘heart of Quezon City’
As a lifelong
patron of Cubao for five decades, I bear witness to what I convince myself is
the redemption arc of this renowned business/residential district of Quezon
City. One of my earliest photos was taken at the former Fiesta Carnival in the
late 1970s, a preschooler mounted on a carousel horse with my father standing
beside me. And I remember one night after school when I was in second grade
in the early 80s, when with my parents I watched the mecha anime “Voltes V” as a feature at a movie theater in
Ali Mall, and the sumptuous hamburger I had for dinner at Tropical Hut
afterwards. We used to buy shoes and other stuff at SM Cubao. We also visited
Rustan’s, but I can’t remember what exactly we bought there, if any,
considering it was a luxury department store. And I wouldn’t miss out on
sharing the time my father took me to the main branch of National Bookstore one
afternoon and made me choose which superhero comic book I wanted. I was
reluctant and told him it was too expensive, but he insisted, as it was my
birthday anyway.
Then Cubao fell on the wayside, if it hadn’t fallen there much earlier already. The area became notorious in the 1980s and 90s for pickpocketing, drug-related crimes, and worse. Famed wrestling coach Ariel Samadio, who was a juvenile bruiser of the district’s Ramon Magsaysay High School in the late 1980s, told of a cheap funeral parlor in the area that, whenever business slowed down, hired killers to randomly pick on unsuspecting pedestrians at night to “artificially normalize” the number of their clientele. It’s a morbid story that is as fantastic as it is gruesome, but with Cubao’s reputation during that era, I’m inclined to believe it.
The Cubao of the late 20th century, with its grit and scattering of grime, has captured the imagination of creative writers. The late Tony Perez wrote a series of books with Cubao as the common theme, with “Tularan sa pagbuo ng isang handknitted chaleco Cubao Thanatos (para kay Ferdinand Aquino)” as most likely the first installment.
Conchitina Cruz has the
following lines in her poem, Here: In
Singapore, I think of Cubao in June, and, In Cubao, I call into question the sparseness of my wardrobe. (Notably,
Cubao is the only place among many that is mentioned more than once in the
verse.)
Also, I have no doubt
that this particular urban area likewise plays with and plagues the creative
imagination of the poet’s partner, the prolific creative and outspoken activist
Adam David, who is a longtime denizen of Cubao.
In 2002, a tidal wave of
commercialism began to rise and wash over the public’s perception of
criminality that stained Cubao. Whether the high crime rate was washed away or
whitewashed is a matter of discussion, but it is undeniable that the central
part of the district has been aglow—literally and more pronouncedly—with the
new or renewed commercial establishments, hotels, buildings rented by BPO
businesses, and various other developments courtesy of the real estate enterprise, Araneta City.
But while Araneta City
provided the newfound sheen at this century’s dawning, it is Cubao Expo that is
the soul of the place. Formerly the Marikina Shoe Expo, the compound has
become a favorite gathering place and cultural event venue for
creatives. Upon entering the horseshoe drive along General Romulo Avenue, one
will be greeted by establishments that readily give the impression that it is
for a special niche: John’s Antique Shop, Wooden Canvas-Photo Printing on Wood,
Dudeparetoys, Cubao X Brewery, and further down at the curve, Fred's Revolución bar.
In 2021, Silingan Coffee debuted with staff composed mostly of the women relatives, the wives and mothers, of the victims of extrajudicial killings during the previous administration’s so-called war on drugs. It’s a charming well-lit cafe, but the injustices perpetrated under former president Duterte cry for redress on its walls with posters that read, “Stop the Killing” and “Suporta, Hindi Parusa” (Support, Not Punishment).
Four years later, artists Paul Bularan and Keeshia Felipe opened shop with Favorite Edition, offering “zines, clothing, home goods, art prints, (and) records.” Paul shared that aside from locally made zines, they also ply copies from other Southeast Asian countries.
The arrival of these new and progressive Cubao Expo
tenants is a cause for celebration. But let us not forget some of the dearly
departed: The Warrior Poet Art Cafe, Studio Soup Library (but fortunately
reopened as Favorite Edition), and Cubao Expo’s past life itself, the Marikina
Shoe Expo, whose shops closed down because they moved to the malls and the shoe
industry of neighboring Marikina City was eventually decimated by the influx of
cheaper shoes from China due to trade liberalization that started in the 1990s.
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