A Little Girl’s Bash

Angeli Marijopaz has the face of Gong Li, that leading Chinese actress famous for her unusual appeal. She was appropriately dressed in a red silk cheongsam for the special occasion. It was her fourth birthday party.
The venue was a fastfood restaurant with a party package that saved lots of headaches for adult party-givers and was accessible to guests.  On the way Angel, for that’s the four-year-old’s nickname, puked inside the vehicle.

She stayed put in one place and was saucer-eyed, not even daring to touch the balloons, before the guests arrived. Then they came— two- to eight-year-olds— three children of a family friend, two of our laundrywoman, and the majority from a local orphanage. The rest were adults, all of the fairer side of the gender divide, all ready to run after running kids.

By then the celebrant refused to stand on her own two feet. After spreading on the floor her bag of little plastic toys that she insisted on bringing along, she demanded to be carried, turned her back on her guests, and hid her face on the shoulder of the hapless adult who endured her 14-kilogram weight for two hours.

The party was a blast for the other kids anyway even if it overwhelmed the celebrant. There were party hats that stayed on small heads just so.  Some soon went flying, others were torn, and most were on the floor.  Balloons burst here and there. A real blast, so to speak.

It took extra effort to keep from laughing when one child guest who volunteered to lead the prayers turned out knowing only the grace before meals.  The meal was still an hour away.

The party’s program host, a young girl of college age, had the patience of Job trying to organize games and make some sense above the din.  There was a game that made kids remove their shoes while adults ended up looking for missing pairs. No adult bothered to do the Herculean task of keeping anyone still.  When kids moved about, needed to go to the rest room, or ran out the door, adults had to follow.  I thought of the expected pictures taken of the occasion.  In photographic print, at least the kids would look frozen.

The giant mascot came. The kids were agog, but three or four cried in fear. The celebrant was not among them, but she wasn’t excited either. She shook the mascot’s hand just once and maintained a respectable distance soon after. By then, some leftover ice cream had melted that some kids played with by pouring on a plastic bucket.

The gifts were placed in huge plastic bags, the extra food wrapped, the hem of Angel’s cheongsam dress was torn, the party was over, and the place looked like the northwesterly winds had raged through it. The adults sighed in relief.

Angel slept all the way back home carried by my kid sister. She who questioned my fashion taste when I dressed Angel in a tiny red cheongsam suffered the most, including my ribbing when the program host instructed Angel to put her face closer to her grandma, which she mistook my kid sister for.

Angel refused to be carried by me, her Mom, except in those few minutes when she blew out her birthday candles. I had left her with the kid sister for four months when I tackled my physical rehabilitation.  Though I haven’t really become a stranger to her, it seems it’s from my kid sister that she gets her sense of security.

The husband had asked me to give her a bash she won’t forget. So I gave her a bash I won’t forget.  I checked the fastfood’s party package, liked what I read, and signed the contract.  It’s nice to be in times that are a-changing.  My own Mom didn’t sign any contract for my birthday bash as a child. She just did backbreaking work preparing pancit bihon or binignit. I didn’t forget that as well.

I couldn’t tell whether Angel enjoyed her birthday bash more than I did. She’s clearly happier though being Andrew Lloyd Webber-oriented these days. She keeps on singing “Phantom of the Opera” with her own lyrics (In slip you san to me/ in dren yu can/ da boyt dat can to me/ and ju my name/ in nananananaw…) and covers half her face with her hand when it’s the Phantom’s part of his ‘strange duet’ with Christine.

The years will take wings. Angel will have a life. Whether it would be good or bad is for her to make. I can help her make it more interesting, though.