The Debut Diaries

Chapter 1: Lola Elina

My Grandmother is like a serpent.

I mean this in the least offensive way possible, but I say this because she's very sneaky. She slithers through other people's business, pretending that she's not doing anything, when in reality, she's taking full control.

She's the kind of woman that will find a way of getting what she wants through whatever means possible. Disagree with her? That means war. The day after my 17th birthday, she began planning my 18th with eyes set on the biggest, boldest Filipino party that a debutante could ever imagine. She'd go on about the importance of tradition, talk about how every single one of my cousins and aunts and even my own mother, all had a debut. Debuts are special, she'd say, they represent the transition into womanhood. Again and again, she'd try to convince me that a huge and expensive party was more than a huge and expensive party. And I'd repeatedly argue that I'd rather spend my birthday money on a trip to California or something. Every day that I rejected her offers, she'd shoot me the same glare before going on to complain to my mother.

"It's her decision," my mother always told her. And for a while, I believed that.

Like I said, Lola Elina is a snake. She doesn't let anyone win, even if she has to play dirty.

Last December she played her strongest card and had a heart attack.

Using sickness to her advantage, her few weeks in the hospital mostly consisted of her begging me to have a debut. She started this whole campaign about how it was her dying wish, even though she wasn't actually dying. She conspired against me, even having her cardiologist talk to me about preventing her stress.

So yeah.

Now, we find ourselves in this situation. Less than three months before my birthday in early September. The hall is booked. Everything else? Not so much.

I turn up the volume of the music blaring into my headphones in an attempt to block out the background noise coming from the living room and migrating into my own bedroom. You'd think having a personal study space in your room would allow you to, I don't know, study, but in this household it doesn't work like that. It's a Wednesday evening, exams are next week, and the family's insane lack of inside voice is completely throwing me off my game. I've reread the same paragraph of my English notebook several times, yet my brain can't seem to focus on anything except the tremendous chatter downstairs.Instead of helping the situation, the voices mix into the harmonies of NSYNC—not in a good way. I give up and throw my headphones onto the bed, now hearing Lola Elina at full volume, arguing with my crew of titas (aunts) and ates (older sister/female).

Finally deciding to take a break, I close my notebook and get up from my seat, stretching my arms, before gathering my short, black hair into a ponytail. I trudge downstairs, the old staircase squeaking at my every step. Before I can even touch the first floor, I am swarmed by middle aged Filipino women, and of course, Lola Elina.

"Carmen! Bakit naman ngayon ka lang! Anong sobrang importante na hindi mo kayang bumaba at tulungan kami sa pagplano ng party mo!" (Carmen! Why'd you just get here now! What was so important that you couldn't go downstairs and help us plan your party?) Lola Elina screeches, and I wince. She holds a stack of paper in her arms and flails it in the air, trying to exaggerate her distress. Meanwhile, my titas murmur in the background, but I can't make anything out because of their overlapping voices.

"Lola, may exams ho ako. Wala akong time para mag coordinate para sa isang party that I don't even want to have!" (Lola, I have exams. I don't have time to coordinate a party that I don't even want to have!) I say, for the fifth time this week. I push past the swarm of relatives, and head towards the kitchen, where my little cousins are peacefully colouring a map of Canada.