Ruel S. De Vera
Associate Editor

I tried it, didn’t like it. Everyone wants to learn how to drink but the bizarre truth is, not everyone can. In high school, I posed as hard as I could. I’d nurse a San Miguel Pale Pilsen forever, surreptitiously emptying it out however I could when the people around me turned away in the darkness. Beer just didn’t do it for me no matter how desperate I wanted it to. I was the same way with smoking—all smoke, no inhaling.

I guess that makes me a square but I always missed the easy camaraderie that came with a midnight round of drinks, the funny drunken stories and the surprise revelations.

To this very day, the cozy, inebriated atmosphere or sharing a round or two evades me, makes me wonder. But I have come to accept that not everyone is built to drink, especially someone whose strongest preferred tipple is a Mountain Dew.

The few times I have endeavored to try them, each alcoholic drink I’ve sample tasted like what I imagined witches’ brew to taste like. Beer in particular, no matter what variation touched my lips, tasted uncompromisingly bitter and I couldn’t keep it down. Wine tasted, in all honesty, like fortified grape juice. The only wine I took a fancy to was the amazingly sweet mompo we used to steal sips from when the priests weren’t around.  And those pretend drinks like Cali Shandy and coolers always felt more like posers than I did.

Add to that the fact that I get antsy when I’m out past midnight—or 11 p.m. for that matter. I remain in awe of people who start drinking at 9 p.m. and then, as the alcohol start flowing, keep on drinking and talking until 4 a.m.

These days, those tendencies of mine have only gotten much stronger—as has my wonder for the mysterious allure and texture of cocktails. I remain envious of the shared secrets and confidences between drinking buddies out on the town for a night out. Even the vocabulary sounds enticing.

I actually believe my metabolism now actively rejects alcohol—and maybe even the actual ability to withstand a night out on the town. Beyond increased age and the wish to retain my ability to walk a straight line, I like being able to keep my secrets and, from what I hear, a good drink and good company are the fastest way to loosen any tongues. Or so I’ve heard.

Read about the best drinks and the nightlife in the July 19, 2009 issue of the Sunday Inquirer Magazine.