Have a Blast!

• By ebotpandayan
• Posted in Uncategorized
• On December 4, 2018
• 6 Comments.

“SEVENTY?!” WTF!

That’s over the hill! Unlike many people I know who have no problem celebrating the day when they get older each year, I suffer from depression, like when I turned 40. Oh, you have no idea! Fifty and 60 came naturally to me, but 70 is another story; it was crying time again. But, of course, I was good at hiding how I truly felt. I thought going home could help me survive antiquity. So no celebration, I said, until my sister in Oz came back and, together with quite a bunch of my good friends (and family), orchestrated a surprise birthday bash for me.

THE BEGINNING

It was mid-November already, and I was still struggling with the garden clean-up before Walter, and I left again for our Bukid-non home – our winter refuge: The time of the year when no friends are around to help clean up; but then also I never ask for help. Walter used to, but after his unfortunate fall in the garden last year that injured his right shoulder, he is now more of a nuisance when he lends a hand. So I let him sit at his computer while I slave myself outside, uprooting perennials and wilted veggies. I can do things faster when left alone. I was raking leaves when he asked me to take a break and come inside the house. A friend home wrote him an e-message, and he wanted me to read it. He said he didn’t understand what this friend wished to get from him.

My sister wanted to throw a surprise party for my upcoming birthday with other friends. She asked if Walter would like to help organize it, the message said. Walter didn’t know what help manage meant. I was in stitches after reading it. He blew it and was not aware he did. He did not find my reaction funny. He said he didn’t know how I would like it done. Walter had his 70^th last year and celebrated it for two consecutive days. The first day was for my extended family; the next one was for friends. He didn’t want to make a circus of his birthday, thus the separate celebrations.

Okay, let me pretend I didn’t know anything about this surprise birthday party when the time comes, this I told my neighbor, Marilyn.  I didn’t realize that she was part of the conspiracy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While I was still in Vienna, my sister called me, telling me she would treat me at Sofitel for dinner with some family members and friends. She must be kidding, I told her. It would cost her a fortune, but I should not worry, for my 70^th, she said. Rub it in!

 

 

I always get somehow depressed days before my actual birthday. When with friends, I try to joke about this, but then I sulk once alone again. Curiously, I am alright once more on my birthday; I can celebrate it for days, which I’ve always done in the past. I guess it all began when I had my first birthday away from home when I was already living in Vienna. You see, I used to be surrounded by family on my birthday. In Vienna, friends would be around but not a single family member. We may only have pancit on the table back home, which was a big deal already. There won’t even be a birthday cake, which was perfectly alright. I am amazed that parents nowadays would have a cake every month for their baby – monthversary they call it—different generations. You don’t find a cake sold in every panaderias during my time, unless perhaps if you live in a metropolis, or you have a mom or an aunt who can bake a cake for you, that is if your parents own an oven. I lived in a sleepy hollow, and in our kitchen, we only had clay pots and stoves and used firewoods for cooking.

My parents and many of my close family members may no longer be here with us, but I still have other close relations back home, and also, my sister would be home in time for my 70^th, and that was one good reason for me and Walter to fly home earlier. I won’t feel alone. It is always fun celebrating the occasion surrounded by my good friends in Vienna, but somehow I still feel alone. It dawned on me that I miss the company of my family. I don’t get sad when it’s Christmas. The whole world is celebrating, but I still feel all alone on my birthday. This time was different; no pre-birthday jitters. Walter was present as always, and this time, my family.

Walter knew about this surprise birthday party, but he kept the secret from me this time. I thought I would celebrate the day with dinner in a hotel hosted by my sister. As she wanted it to be a close family affair, she could not invite everyone. So I asked her if I could ask a couple of my friends and pay for them. No problem, she said. The problem was that all the other friends I invited to join us had a reason why they could not make it. Well and good, I said. I was relieved. Some thousand pesos saved then, I joked. And for those who could not join us, I said I was hosting a post-birthday party on the weekend.

THE BLESSING

Days before my birthday,  our former Mayor invited me to be one of the sponsors for the ribbon-cutting ceremony of Chowking — a Chinese food resto — in my hometown. Her family owns the branch franchise, and a daughter would manage it. However, the ceremony was set for another day — on my birthday. That would be a hectic day for everybody, especially for me. She planned on taking me to Manila for breakfast with her whole family and assured me that we would be home in time to drive again later to the city for that dinner date with my sister.

The night before the Blessing, I sent her a message that it was perhaps a good idea to drop the breakfast thing because of the blessing ceremony taking place that day. Her daughter should enjoy the occasion. No, she said, it had already been planned, and she would have me picked up at 7:20 am. We could drive to Manila for breakfast shortly after 8. No way I could stay at home and relax before going through that dreaded Manila traffic congestion. She had me picked up on the dot, and I had no time to sip that morning tea my cousin made for me. I asked for a cup of tea at the Mayor’s house. Soon our friend, the former Mayor, came out of the house and said she was taking us to a church somewhere. The blessing ceremony has been re-set for 9:30 that morning instead of 8. I looked at my piping hot tea, again untouched as we were leaving.

Once inside the church, our former Mayor and another friend prayed before the image of Padre Pio. This Padre seems to have become the flavor-of-the-month-saint among many of my Pinoy friends here and in Vienna. His followers always organize trips to this place somewhere in Italy, where he may have been born or presumably buried. What is this Pinoy fascination with Padre Pio that they don’t have for our Father Lorenzo, our lone Filipino saint? I have yet to hear of Pinoys rushing in the flock to the place where our first Filipino saint was born or buried – if ever he was buried at all. Again, my presumption. I should start reading about the lives of the saints. That will endear me to my holier than thou friends.

We drove to a shopping mall next to our town to have breakfast at Starbucks from the church. It may not be open yet as the mall opens only at 10 in the morning. We drove there just the same, but the place was still closed. Why don’t we have breakfast at Chowking, I asked, since we were going there anyway. Chowking was flaming red that morning – crew members in red, the women in traditional cheongsam dress. The managers – the family of our Mayor – wore something red. One of the daughters wore a red dress with a matching red cape that prompted her five-year-old son to ask if she was Superman and that he would like to have the same.

UNHOLY WATER

Soon after the ribbon-cutting ceremony was over, the officiating priest began blessing the whole place with holy water. I needed to go to the toilet and asked a crew member if I may use the bathroom. Yes, she said, and while I was pissing, the door opened and saw the priest getting inside, guests behind him, but backed out when he saw me. Sorry, Father, I said, but I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of blessing the urinal with my unholy water. Coming from a container with a cute tiny nozzle that you may like, I wanted to add. I didn’t think he was amused. Sorry, sir, I did not expect that he would bless the bathroom, the crew member who let me use the toilet said to me, blushing.

Celebrating my 70^th, I decided to go a little chic by wearing my summer jacket and my new pair of Gucci shoes. I may appear like a sore thumb during the ceremony, but what the heck, it was my birthday. Inside Chowking, the Mayora gave me a piece of suman (some rice cake wrapped in banana leaves) made of sticky rice and coconut milk. I knew better not to eat the thing because I have a low tolerance for coconut milk when I am hungry. Having been the first to bless the urinal, I just won’t let myself be the first to use the brand new toilet bowl even if Mayora told me that the presence of someone who has a birthday on the first day of business could bring good luck. I hoped so, too, but don’t blame me if the contrary happens. I prefer to go home and change into something comfortable, I lied. You cannot go back yet, she told me. You look fabulous with what you have. We still have to see the Mayor’s new office, she said as in an afterthought.

I had no more sense of urgency to use the bathroom once we were at the municipal hall. The former Mayor showed us the new office, which now has a toilet and a shower of its own. She reminded me I could use the bathroom. With its seat cover still wrapped in a plastic sheet, the gleaming toilet bowl told me that it was new and unused. “I’m good,” I said, but would it be alright if I go home now because it was already late for breakfast in Manila, anyway, I told her. Yes, she said, but we had yet to see the Mayor talking to some people in her old office as we entered her room. An older man handed the former Mayora an invite. He was celebrating his 70^th a couple of days later. I looked at him and thought that whoever said that 60 is now the new 40 was a congenital liar.

I told the former Mayor that I didn’t want to join the current Mayor’s tour of the new office setting. There was nothing new to see that I hadn’t seen yet since entering the building, so let’s go home. It was getting late, and I didn’t know when my sister, friends, and I needed to leave for the city without getting caught in a traffic jam. We’re going now, but let us drop by my place first, she said. She forgot her pills, she told me. So I called home to ask when we were supposed to leave for the city at her place. Whenever you are ready, the person who picked up my call said. Weird, I thought. Whenever was I ready? Would that still be okay with them had I said, “hmm, 6 pm, okay? “The ride could only take about 3 to 4 hours, at the least.

THE CONSPIRACY

Driving to my place, her eldest daughter and husband were with us. Ostensibly, they were going back to Chowking after dropping me. I even asked her if she wanted to join us. It would be nice, but she still had so much to do. Tingnan natin (we’ll see), her mom said when I reminded her again if she would come to dinner. I could not get a specific answer from her and never suspected why.

It was almost 1 pm when we reached my place. I saw a friend coming with us to dinner; he was sitting outside our house gate. I felt guilty that he may have been waiting for that long.  We arranged that he would come to my place to get a lift to the hotel where he used to work, where dinner was to take place. I found it odd that he would travel from Manila for a ride when he lives in Manila and grab a taxi to the reception. I did not give much thought to it, though. When the gates opened, I noticed the line of cars in my driveway. Then I saw a tent, tables, and chairs in my garden. The thought that a surprise birthday party was taking place did not sink in until I got off the car.

Suddenly, friends from Vienna began stepping out of the house and singing the old familiar birthday song. A giant balloon blasted, and I found myself covered with a shower of colorful confetti. I was speechless; I saw our Mayora grinning. She staged all the delaying tactics.  Now I knew why she had me picked up that early in the morning: The catering people came to set up the place. She knew it all the while. Everybody knew it—even Walter. Ditto with my friends in Vienna who were with me at a friend’s home that weekend before I flew home. They recorded their birthday messages on video that night we were having a pre-birthday celebration. And they must have done while I was in the kitchen or the bathroom.

My sister orchestrated everything. She got in touch with my friends, thanks to Facebook, and invited them. And those who could not make it to the party, she asked to videotape their birthday messages for me. Those I asked to join us for that staged hotel dinner but, knowingly, did not have the time, and those I invited for the post-birthday celebration that coming weekend were all present that day. I thought nothing could surprise me until this one. What a party. And I thought I did not want to have a big bash!

Thank you, my friends. Here’s to you! PROST!