to debut or not to debut...

Here I am, coming out of hiding and writing my debut post on Filipina Moms. Usually, I have an opinion and/or thought about some random filipino-ness, but I'm finding my creative process is blocked. I think the reality of blogging alongside such talented, accomplished and illustrious pinay/pinay-lovin' sisters has left me a little humbled... and kinda panicked...

So, I start shuffling thru the latest issue of Audrey magazine hoping to find something to write about. I find an interview with Melissa Reyes, a filipino american teenager who auditioned to become the next Pussycat Doll in the reality television show, Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll.

I should also mention that I live in a deep, dark hole underneath my kids' large pet boulder. I really have no idea who Melissa Reyes is or who the Pussycat Dolls are. All I know is they do perform a cover of the song, Sway, that I really like a lot. And that the lead singer, Nicole Scherzinger is mixed race (with some filipino in the mix). I read through the whole interview and Melissa seems like a very lovely, very driven singer and dancer and will most likely go very far despite her loss to another singer, dancer, mixed race filipina, Asia Nitollano, for the next "Doll" role.

But it's the very first paragraph in the article* that struck a chord with me:

"The spotlight beam shines on an elated Melissa Reyes perched on top of a 6-foot tall gargantuan plastic tiered birthday cake in the Disneyland Hotel's grand ballroom in Anaheim, Calif. The heads of nearly 400 friends and family are craning toward her. It's Melissa's 18th birthday party and debutante ball, or "debut", a tradition in Filipino culture much like a quinceanera for Latina girls. Following the path already set motion by Melissa's older sister Michelle and their cousins before them, all of whom hosted debuts for their own 18th birthdays complete with ball gowns, waltzes and ceremonial customs, Melissa had staged a gala for herself."

Still with me? Or are you (like me) choking on your rice and longanissa at the FOUR HUNDRED guests? Maybe the 6 foot tall, tiered, plastic, birthday cake? Then it hit me - what am I going to do if/and/or/when the Paloma asks to have a debut?

I vaguely remember when my sister had her debut when she turned 18 in the winter of 1986. I didn't attend (long story) the festivities in Manila. I remember her writing to me about it later and sending pictures to illustrate her letter. It was very traditional. The first pictures were of her at home getting ready for her debut. She wore a beautiful ballet length gown that was made and tailored exclusively for her. Shortly after arriving at the ballroom, she and her "court" were introduced. There were 36 people in her entourage - 18 candles (young women, representing guidance to adulthood) and 18 roses (young men, representing courtship).

There was a toast to her and then some prayers followed by dinner. My father danced a special dance with her. Then, my sister and her friends waltzed (they had taken special dance lessons too) around the room. Then, my sister danced with all the young men (one of whom is now my brother in law and father to my most edible of nieces).

Presented to my sister, one by one, the 18 candles were lit. Everyone sang "Happy Birthday". And then, she blew them all out. The MASSIVE, multi-tiered, 3 sectioned/bridged cake was cut. My sister said a few final words and then, they danced all night long. Guests went home with tiny porcelain favors (I think they were baskets) carrying tiny pastel candies inside and wrapped with a flourish of ribbon and tulle.

When I turned 18, in the winter of 1990, I was in my second year of art school. My mom asked me if I wanted to have a debut. I said no. I think my mom was relieved (even though I know if I had said yes, she would have yoga posed the wheel to host the best debut for me). The biggest reason I said no was the sheer expense of it. I just didn't want my mom to go into further debt than she already was. I couldn't imagine paying for dance lessons for 36 people, getting fitted for an original dress, picking out party favors. And I have to admit, I just didn't "get it". Intellectually, I understood that it was a very special filipino (from the spanish?) tradition for young filipino women. Emotionally, I knew it would've made me feel more "unfilipino" than I already did.

I am a lot like my mom. I turned out very "non-traditional". I wasn't a traditional "filipina beauty". I didn't play piano or guitar. I didn't dance traditional dances. I didn't speak tagalog, bisaya or ilocano - i would always cringe when i could hear them explain, "maintindihan ay hindi nagsasalita". Then, I'd disappointed both of my parents by accepting a partial scholarship for poetry and attending a local art school instead of pursuing a BA at a larger, more prestigious university where I'd also been accepted. Looking back, it took a long time for me (and my family) to realize that even though I wasn't very traditional, it didn't make me (or my fellow non-traditional filipino friends) any less filipino.

So back to the article and the bazillion dollar question - what will we do if/and/or/when the Paloma asks if she can have a debut? Honestly, I really don't know. I really don't know who she'll be, 14 years from now. I know I'll still be her parent. I'll still feel that it's my responsibility to help her make informed choices and still be true to her sense of self. But it's disconcerting to know that I'm more certain I would allow her to get a tattoo at 18 than I am about throwing her a debut - elaborate or practical. I'm not very comfortable with how loaded it is with symbol and interpretation about what it means to be a woman - at 18 . What ideas and/or which friends/family will really be guiding my daughter and her decision making at 18? I don't understand the relevance of the special rose dance with the 18 men. How will we celebrate the Pork Chop's 18th birthday? When is he considered a man? Frankly, I'd rather spend that amount of money on a college education, a trip abroad to the Philippines, seed money for a business investment, even a big tag wedding or nursery item.

I find that with hitting certain milestones in life - marriage and motherhood, the passing of my lola, I'm eager to learn more about filipino traditions, their meanings and how they inform, transform and resonate in my life and my kids' lives. I did not hesitate incorporating some kasalan traditions into our wedding - the meaning behind the symbols of the coins, cord and veil really stated in a visual form what we were pledging to each other, what we hoped for our future and how connected I felt to this specific tradition.

Well, regardless of whether or not she has/wants/gets a debut, we'll still celebrate the very special day of her birth for the 18th time with presents, cake, pansit and friends. Though filipino tradition may consider her a woman at 18, she'll always be the loudest baby my midwife has ever heard, the fast talker, the slow walker, dinosaur afficionado, princess wannabe, physical comedienne and cicada whisperer to me.


* "All the World's Her Stage" written by Rhea Cortado in the June/July 2007 issue of Audrey.