The first of ELETOM’s Sunday digital column dedicated to op-eds, personal essays, and all the things that we love.
For as long as I can remember, stepping through the doorways of the ‘Pen’ has always felt like entering another world that has long been forgotten, even though I have been here more times than I can count. The Peninsula Manila has always been one of our family’s go-to places for birthdays, special occasions, meetings, and, in my case, my other office away from home.
The reason I say that is that at that time my home was on the 36th floor of a condo 15 minutes away. And the act of bringing my laptop, planner, and other work essentials felt like a form of escapism because of the unconstricted freedom I felt working in its hotel lobby, like any other writer who has found refuge in hotel lobby lounges before, think Ernest Hemingway and Martha Gellhorn at the Manila Hotel and Raffles Singapore, although I am nowhere near their caliber; someday I hope?
Maybe it’s the energy that flowed through its hallways, the high-vaulted ceiling, its iconic sunburst chandelier, the marble floors, the life-size paintings depicting the Philippines’ tropical landscapes, or the terrace.
All of these elements came together to create an aura of comfortable grandeur that does not seek to intimidate but to welcome all who come through its doors.
The lobby lounge, with its dark wooden chairs and marble tables, lent an air of sophistication—my usual spot was on the left-hand side of its sprawling space, close to a tall palm tree with the perfect view of the quartet that played later in the afternoon from its perch on the second floor, and it also served as a way to hide from potential encounters that you may or may not want to see. In my case, there were quite a few of those.
Since I usually come to the Pen in the early afternoon, a day at the lobby consists of ordering turon—a stack of fried banana fritters coated in caramelized sugar and a dollop of jackfruit ice cream on the side for merienda, a Spanish-Filipino term for a light snack eaten between lunch and dinner—which I pair with a cafe latte that provides a rich, full-bodied flavor that goes along with the familiar childhood flavors I grew accustomed to.
Taking it all in, one can’t help but wonder about how everything in this space came together so harmoniously. The Peninsula, despite being a global name in five-star luxury, has reinvented itself as an integral part of Manila’s glitterati and aunties; it isn’t decorated with the usual trappings of a Western-style hotel; rather, it has its own identity, which I think is so quintessentially Filipino but, at the same time, elevated to the highest standards.
And one has to wonder who was responsible for creating a space like this that’s unlike any other. In this case, we go back to 1976, the year that the Manila Pen was built to host the International Monetary Fund and World Bank Conference.
The group of investors tapped acclaimed Filipino architect Gabriel Formoso to deliver such a concept—none other than a legend in his own right—known for creating structures that incorporated Brutalist design principles while retaining a form of social architecture executed with unprecedented finesse. Since then, The Manila Pen has retained the title of being the Jewel of the Capital’s Crown, a title that is rightfully deserved.
Over the past 50 years, it has weathered plenty of storms—one in particular in 2007—but despite that, it has retained its status as one of the places to be. You get all sorts of people coming to the Pen, me being one of them, who is just looking for a place to observe and have a good bite to eat. Others come for the pictures, some gossip to each other about the latest drama or exploits, all while eyeing another woman in the palatial gallery, wondering what’s going on with her outfit and who she even is.
Occasionally you get a doe-eyed tourist coming in, wearing the standard attire of a visitor who is clearly not accustomed to dressing in a tropical country—Birkenstocks, shorts, and a slogan shirt that screams, I am clearly not from here. Upon taking their seat in one of the lounge’s many chairs, a group of well-dressed ladies was seated across from him, bedecked in large South Sea pearl earrings and gems, while decked out in the latest Issey Miyake and some even wearing intricate Filipiniana tops that were made for everyday wear with tailored jeans. And of course, the women had to look, and it’s not meant to offend, but it’s a reflex at this point because they know they might run into someone that they know.
And in the most disinterested fashion, they went back to sipping their coffees and teas, with the smattering amount of afternoon tea trays on their table. But this, of course, was noticed by the doe-eyed tourist, and from that time on, they probably felt too casual, and it was about time to order something quick and easy rather than ponder what just transpired.
And how can they not? Upon realizing the effort that a majority of people put into looking their best when they come to a place such as this, I was there, halfway done with a piece I am writing for our publication, as the sun slowly set and the pianist came to prepare for his set with the trio of violinists trailing behind him.
Quickly glancing at my watch, I realized it was almost time to head home, but not before stopping to listen to the music begin. For a few precious moments, I listened to the orchestra play a surprising rendition of the Game of Thrones theme. As I headed up to the second floor, I stopped by my favorite jeweler’s store because I was supposed to pick up the wedding bands my (now) husband and I had customized for our upcoming nuptials, proving that some afternoons at the Pen were a little more special than others.
