What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that one of your frequent hangout places closed down? For me, it’s the last time I was there.

Bo’s Coffee in Katipunan was one of the places where we studied for oral exams, prepared slides for presentations, and made highlights on readings we would later forget. The food was too expensive for dinner, so we took turns staying to reserve the table, and ate instead at the McDonald’s across the street. For a while, the restroom was under maintenance, and we would sneak visits to the next-door Starbucks because the freezing air conditioning made it difficult to hold it in.

But it was cozy. It had Wi-Fi and outlets and tables good for working. National Bookstore was there if we needed to print something, or if we had an excuse to buy a pen. Up until graduation, it was a constant place.

One day, I came back as a Rappler employee, my first job, to hold an interview. My sources were late, but a part of me hoped they’d delay themselves a little longer, as I sat at the table I once did my thesis on, reminiscing my days as a student. I hoped I’d run into old friends, too. 

I didn’t. Maybe next time.

Then two weeks ago, Bo’s closed. My next time was threatened, and I was left with this unsatisfying last memory.

I imagined my friends over at Diliman who frequented Chocolate Kiss feeling the same abruptness, staring at an emotionless post that said, in all caps, that the branch was permanently closed. Patrons of the Rooftop probably felt the same, too – unwinding with friends over drinks always began with breathless, sweaty greetings after hiking 5 flights of stairs. Now that’s gone as well.

In June, amusement establishment Fun Ranch closed its doors. I’d never been there, but I remember seeing photos of my 5th grade crush spending a birthday there 12 years ago on Friendster. 

And then in July, Nokal in Poblacion closed. Makatizens found solace in Nokal, set as it was in a bustling city that never stopped reminding people to get work done, and fast. Nokal reminded them that some things could wait. (READ: What NoKal’s closure means for the fate of Poblacion)

The unsettling part is that these aren’t normal closures. In normal times, you can usually tell when a place is about to go out of business. Sometimes you’d go and support it as much as you can, but when it closes its doors, you are disappointed but not surprised.

But under these circumstances, nobody asked for these closures. It’s especially heartbreaking when we think about our favorite servers – who knew us by name and our regular orders, and sometimes snuck us free stuff – who are now looking for new jobs.

We often promise to our friends and family that we’d see them as soon as the pandemic is over. I imagined those future meetings in places I’d already shared with these people, to get a sense of back-to-normalcy. 

As the pandemic stretches on and the Philippines plunges into recession, we hold our breath and brace ourselves. What’s going to close next? What if I don’t get to go back?

There’s no easy answer. When establishments close, they don’t always say they’re coming back.

But there are some who manage little surprises: The store is closed, but you can still order for delivery. We can’t serve you the entire menu anymore, but you can always depend on our specialty. Here’s how you can help us keep our employees.

Nokal said it would come back “once the timing is right.” It is a message that is uncertain, but reassuring. We hope that more will be able to say the same.

Part of you will hope that somehow, in the same way we will get through this pandemic, memories in special places will resume as well. There could still be next times.

And who knows, an aspiring business owner with an incredible concept could be saving up now. When circumstances permit, he or she could open what would become your next regular hangout.

In hoping for our next times, we shouldn’t forget there will also be endless first times. – Rappler.com