The show follows a magazine format. It intersperses international headlines with important trivia like how women and babies react to the heat. The US has a heat wave while here it is cool, breezy, rainy. Maybe this marks the change in the weather. In the west where they have always had four seasons, it is getting visibly warmer and in the east it is getting cooler. Maybe in 70 to100 years we will have winter in the Philippines. Don’t worry, I tell myself. You will be dead by then.
The doorbell rings. It is my cleaning man reporting early, following my request. I have a writing class at 2 p.m. and the house must be cleaned by then. Later, before he goes, he hands me a wooden canoe he has been working on for my grandson. They are the best of friends, co-conspirators. He has carved this canoe himself, attached a plastic propeller and some wires that should be attached to a battery to make it run in the pool. "Please tell him I have not tried it yet," he asks. I promise to.
I get myself out of the house to go to the bank. I get a number: 21. I look up at the digital display on the wall:14. I dislike this new system. It has removed the friendly atmosphere that prevailed when the previous bank manager was there. "Ma’am, I didn’t see you come in," my friendly teller says. "You should just come right up to me. You don’t have to wait."
"Never mind, I’m a good girl today," I say. "I’ll bother you when I’m in a hurry."
After the bank I go to the parlor to get a haircut. It is a small salon across my home that opens at 5:30 every morning and serves working women who come in for a blow-dry before work. It is quiet, friendly and they cut my hair acceptably. What do I care? I am old. My whole world has changed.
My class begins to arrive early. First comes Tillie who brings me a birthday present and brings up a gift from one of my daughters. Thel brings avocados harvested from her tree. This is a good class. They make their masks. Sometimes they are noisy, other times quiet. Suddenly my doorbell rings. Flowers from my daughter in the US. Lovely arrangement but. . . "Why do you frown?" Tillie asks.
"It has azucena," I say, pointing to the long stems of white buds. "Those are flowers used for funeral wreaths, when I was small anyway. You send them to dead people. I guess the people who make these arrangements don’t know that anymore."
The class ends before five. I tidy up the dining room then dress for dinner. I am invited to an old friend’s house on the other side of town. Sure, he knows it’s my birthday, but that’s not the point of the dinner. He says he will also invite his old classmates to discuss what they should do with their class bank account. The signatories have died. I am hell-bent on going because I need to be with people who might just take my sadness away. If they don’t, I can just drink glass after glass of red wine until my loud laughter returns. Then I will have had a happy birthday.
My daughter and her husband arrive. They bring me a book on flirting. "Who do you think I am? My mother?" We all laugh. We wait for Julian, who is out at a movie with his father. My sadness begins to pull again. We are truly a patchwork family. Soon Julian arrives. I give him the boat then steal a few kisses. He refuses to kiss me.
"OK, I am your grandmother. I will just steal as many as I can," I say. "After all, you don’t live here and I am entitled."
He stoically bears my kissing him.
It takes more than an hour’s drive from Makati to La Vista. The traffic is terrible. I think I will go crazy. When I get there people are deep into their cocktails, so many men and just two women, Inday and me. These are literally my oldest friends, age range between 72 and 75. In this circle I am a nymphet. I downed four glasses of red wine, two snifters of brandy and had a royal good time full of friendship and laughter.
August 9, the day after my birthday, I awaken with a bad hangover. I cannot feel the sadness. Thank you, God, for giving me such a great birthday celebration. I truly appreciate it.