IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT, the night Filipinos and locals alike celebrated the 20th anniversary of the VIC** Club Filipino with a dinner-dance party. I could have danced all night were it not for the court cases I may be facing by Monday next week.

Physical injury! I stepped on so many feet while dancing. I remember someone reprimanding me, saying I was not alone on the dance floor. Give me a break! I wanted to say. That was the President dancing! Feel privileged that I stepped on your feet would have been my tart reply. Bitchy, I know, was my signature reputation while running the Club. Not this time, though. I decided to be charming to the complainant — took her hands and did the Swing to the tune of Bobby Gonzales’ Hahabul habol. Case closed!

The lurking court case happened when I was doing the boogie– with my sparring partner at the dance school in Vienna. Wow, you can dance, she said. She meant I could, as opposed to the time we signed up to learn how to tango and all that jazz. Since day one at the dancing school, I had been a disaster while she would have new dancing shoes every time. I felt so proud of myself. My best ego trip ever — footwork, I mean — until someone cried “Aray!”

Taking a much-needed break, I returned to my table. No one was there but for this couple (for Christ, too, no kidding). I asked where Cindy was, my former office colleague and friend who came with me to the party. She has gone somewhere to get some blessing from a priest at the party, the couple told me. A priest, wadafak? Hmm, Christmas was coming and was checking out perhaps on who was being naughty, who was crying, and who was foul? Not my date, who once attended a CfC meeting and came home holier than thou a minute later. Talk of overnight saints! I bet she was the first to seek the blessing. What blessing did she need that it took her so long to come back to our table? Dance some more, I said to myself.

Till I could dance no more; I grabbed my jacket and was on my way out when I saw her coming my way, telling me she was getting a lift from someone because it was late she just missed all the possible public rides she could get going home. You may get a ride with this person, she told me.

Suddenly I was out on the street dancing to the tram station. I was pissed off a little, perhaps, but never mind. I was to give a speech at the party because that was what past presidents do. I abhor prepared speeches; they tend to run long. I was ready for something spontaneous, witty (even rock the boat, why not?). I waited for my cue and waited forever for my three minutes of fame that never came. And no one said sorry that it was just a joke, that the other past president consumed my time slot plugging a book he wrote, reciting some of his favorite lines.

The Guest of honor came quite very late. No one seemed to mind, though. Please do not wonder why! The time came for the Guest of Honor came to be introduced. Oh, jeezes! When will we ever learn? Do intros have to be that sugar-coated that guest-speaker and audience alike suffer from instant diabetes? You don’t want to sound like an A-licker, so avoid the overkill. Make the praises short. Thank goodness, the Guest of Honor spared us the hohums by delivering a short one. Unrehearsed and yet beautiful. Direct to the point, clear, concise, and most of all, coming from the heart!

*Posted on FB, September 23, 2017.

**Vienna International Centre (UN Vienna)