Party Pooper

It is not often that I go home.
In a year, going home twice would already be too frequent. With my schedule and the expense that comes with it, going home is difficult. Add to that the shameful fact that flying still scares me. Though it only takes about an hour and fifteen minutes, it feels like forever with thoughts of crashing the entire flight. So, you see, I try to find excuses not to go home.

Despite that, I think home is still the best destination. And every time I am home, I try to meet as many people as I can, though mostly relatives. Last week, I went home to celebrate my father’s 60^th. Naturally, the gathering felt like a clan reunion that usually happens in December or during Holy Week. Everyone was there. And it is customary that I get drunk with most, if not all, of them, since we do not see each other often. 

And so the drinking started, but this time, I was more observant. I  wanted to satisfy a childhood curiosity.

It had always been a mystery to me, ever since I was a kid, how it was possible that grown ups never ran out of things to talk about. When my aunts or uncles visited us, they could talk for hours, especially, when alcohol is involved.

I drank with my father, two bothers-in-law and a step brother. Within the first few minutes, I could already see that my step brother, younger than me by 9 years, is the talker, the entertainer. The rest of us just laughed at his jokes and funny stories or share one-liners.

First, he talked about spider fighting and that these crawlies get braver if you feed them some concoction his friend peddles. He, then, talked about how he skipped classes in college just to sleep the whole day without the professor noticing. He also talked about how one must never say anything bad about the sea lest spirits hear you and get you into an accident the next time you go fishing. A friend of his almost died while at sea because he boasted he would never drown no matter how strong the waves were. There were more stories about how tribes would bury their dead (in a fetal position in a jar), and even politics. He said that he overheard drug addicts saying they must hold it out for another 6 years, until there's a new president with a different platform than war on drugs. He’d tell these things in a manner that would get anyone hooked.
I wasn't.

It’s difficult to find it amusing when I focus on the truth of the stories being told. Spirits of the sea getting vengeful against you for saying something unfriendly about them? A concoction to make a spider fight better? It is like listening to old grandpa telling us stories of his adventures. Little did I know, this was really how conversations last long. By injecting magic realism, so to speak.

I got so uneasy I felt the need to pitch in a topic and smoothly maneuver the conversation somewhere else. I talked about the Cordilleras, the people’s way of life, their beliefs and how I got inked there the traditional way. When I was done, I got blank, then confused stares, and polite words of feigned interest after. Then, following a few seconds of awkward silence, the tanggero poured some beer into the serving glass till it was half full. It was, then, passed on to my father, sitting beside me. I was glad that glass would go to me next. I just wished it would be filled to the brim for my turn. I needed to pass out. Fast! If I were a movie then, I would have been a box office flop. And if this movie were an installment series, I doubt the sequel would be created any time soon, if at all. Good thing, my step brother picked it up again and we were all smiles in no time.

I should have known that a setting like that is not venue for facts. I forgot it’s for entertainment. The point is to be interesting by telling stories of spirits protecting the forest or stories to the style of Melville. This is not time for geography, culture and the like. And, another important lesson is, if you are an introvert and would like to try being the life the of the party, tread carefully…

I can't wait for my next trip home.