Bitter Almonds

I was 17th of the roses. I had to lead her into a dance of waltz for an excruciating five minutes in front of old, ugly, sneering strangers (most of them politicians) that composed almost half of the guests. I was not at all amused, but when something—and in this case someone—is worth the effort, you just have to do it.

One of my younger sisters (the one after me) turned eighteen yesterday, January 27th year 2012. As per requested, they held a rather grand celebration from nine in the evening up until two in the morning, a ball of sorts. It was her night. Her debut. Finally, she has reached that age when most girls turn for the worst, and only few become ladies of their own right. She is definitely not one of the latter, as I witnessed first-hand mere minutes from when the party started. But that is not for this entry to tell.

My parents overdid it again. The place was overflowing with extravagance I hardly could stand it. There were lights all around, busy cameramen, a sound system that only played annoying songs—but only until I plugged in my laptop so we can all listen to Panic, BB, and Fun, a video presentation, and the colors lavender and purple and pink (I wore pink as instructed—that I did not mind). Half of the guests I did not recognize, and I am sure neither did the celebrant. Of course, I knew full well who invited them. Mom really should know when to stop, because for a moment I thought I was not attending to a debut event but some sort of political congregation. It was a good thing, though, that my sisters’ friends balanced it out. But still, there were a lot of people. It irked me, and the only thing that made me hold ground was the abundance of food. And the cake. I was looking forward to the cake.

I saw utmost pride on my father’s eyes as he stood at the back, watching her daughter smile at the face of all the gifts and in the company of her beloved and witnessing (and sharing) another milestone in her daughter’s life, her rite of passage into womanhood. He really did everything he could to pull the event off according to my sister’s requisites, and I think he did well. He was already tired for setting up the whole thing as soon as he arrived from overseas but he did not complain. My sister was genuinely happy, and I know that was what mattered the most for my father. Later that night, he told me that he did not care at all what the cost, as long as my sister gets what she wanted for her birthday. That made me feel, once again, that I am lucky to have a father like him. Meanwhile, my mother was just being herself: table-hopping, socializing, running around making sure all goes perfect (OC!). Way to go Mom.

While it was not that fun, I am still glad I did go. I heard my other sister sing once again, and I got to eat lots; I got to secretly curse and make fun of the people I hated at first sight, and laugh at my sister’s stupid shocked face after I greeted her a happy birthday with a whisper, kissing her on the cheek (I seldom do sap). It was definitely a Kodak moment.

And you should know why I was 17th.