It was Brent's birthday.
For the past few years, he has been throwing an elaborate birthday bash. This year, he didn't know what he wanted to do until two days before the big day. On Monday night, he sent me a text message that said he finally made up his mind and it's going to be just dinner with his closest friends, and that it would be a privilege if I could join them.
I have to admit, that was smooth.
So for the rest of Monday night and the whole of Tuesday, I was going crazy worrying about what to wear. I was going to meet his friends. His friends are going to meet me. They're going to appraise me with one sweeping look. Suddenly, it was important that they think I look good, but somehow not as important as what Brent would think. My impulse was to go shopping, but pride and the sensible part of me banded together to tell me there's no way I would go to such length just to please a guy I barely know. Finally, I decided on a knit sweater (and prayed that it will at least be cloudy the next day) with a halter top underneath. It wasn't the best in my closet, but it suggested that the dinner was no big deal and I didn't spend more than 24 hours agonizing over my outfit. Like, you know, I just threw something on before going out the door and incidentally it looks good on me. I wore heels and eye-catching earrings so it won't appear as if I downplayed the occasion too much either.
We had an elegant dinner at a quiet Italian restaurant along Dela Costa street. We were eight in all; six guys and two girls. They say that you can tell a man's character by looking at his friends. Except with family, I rarely find myself in an all-Chinese group because 1. I feel like a racist, 2. I don't have that many Chinese friends. All of Brent's friends are Chinese, and throughout the meal I could hear fookien and Mandarin dropped here and there. It struck me that I could imagine what they would be like five ot ten years ahead: just like their fathers. I was expecting stuck up, self-important guys who couldn't shut up about their cars. Instead, they were normal. I realized then that I was preparing for the worst because I surround myself too much with strange characters, freakos and extremists that I didn't know it was still possible to meet people who are just normal. And I thought, maybe, just maybe, Brent really is normal. There's no catch.
The good thing about being in an all-Chinese circle is you're pretty much bound to have something that ties you, like same elementary school, or a cousin who was your classmate, or in our case, a computer teacher in high school who now works at Brent's friend's school. Well after we finished our meals, MMDA anecdotes flowed over glasses of red wine. Finally, the part I was dreading for arrived. Somebody took out a camera and said, "Picture!"
When Brent invited me to his birthday dinner, I knew this would happen. The sequence would be something like this: Somebody would post the pictures on Facebook. The pictures will have tags. If his friends add me as a friend, I will be tagged as well. Then all of our friends and our entire network would see the newsfeed, and all of them would see our picture. My friends will ask, "Who the heck are those people with Sel??!" because Brent and I are have about as many as two common friends. His network will ask, "Who the heck is that girl with Brent on his birthday??!" And finally, our two common friends will ask, "Since when did Brent and Sel hung out??!" This is also why I needed to look good.
We took our conversation elsewhere after the dinner, specifically to Basilio's in Fort Bonifacio. I like the fact that his friends knew about wines, politics and business. It makes me appreciate the age gap all the more. The guys I know are boys in comparison. These people just know how to have it good, treat a lady--by practice, undoubtedly, and ultimately celebrate brotherhood. Forget noisy bars, beer and cheap women. Of course, I know they're kiddos compared with much older men (wich got me resenting the fact that men really get better as they get older) but those may be way out of league. I also like how his friends are straight, no nonsense men. They didn't give him gifts but provided the wine. They didn't even have a cake. Just so Brent could make his wish, they got a candle and stuck it in a heap of mayonnaise that came with an order of sausages.
Sausage plate with candle
All in all, it was a good birthday celebration. I may not see those people again, but their names left a good taste in my mouth. As for birthday boy, I still can't find what's wrong with him, but maybe I've stopped looking.
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