Rizal's birthday party at Sabin

To those not quite familiar with the place, Sabin Resort Hotel is a lazy man’s unhurried retreat by the sea, its wide open terraces looking down on lagoon-like pools close to the shore. Last night we could actually watch some mermaids in these pools as they tried doing breast strokes unsuccessfully, their male partners eagerly taking photo shots presumably as souvenirs. These pools seem to be the main attractants to Sabin’s growing clientele, although its guests prefer watching than taking a dip themselves, and gulping down their frozen San Migs at the tables placed close to the edge of the terrace.

It’s this laid back, undisturbed setting where many business plans are concocted and rumor mills grind with stories retold and revised until you can no longer tell what is true and what isn’t. For once, it’s good to get away from that journalistic crusade for truth and engage in the more creative banter, drowning them in beers and delectable pulutan in such a setting.

It was into this unholy place that we retreated from Rizal’s birthday party at the Sabin ballroom last night. Rizal Jefferson, by the way, is a two year old son of a Pakistani who worships our national hero more than our own Rizalistas. Before the sumptuous feast, the guy took time to explain the life and heroics of his son’s namesake, with hard copies of his speech distributed at the party tables. Evidently, Pakistan does not have one like our Pepe, a man of many talents who gave his life for his country. It was Rizal 101 alright, quipped my drinking buddy. They should invite the guy to speak on Rizal day celebrations, he added. Indeed, he would put to shame a lot of us who know little about the national hero.

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The post-dinner program resumed with the Pakistani’s hero worship until finally he belted out an a capella rendition of Happy Birthday for his son who had, in the meantime, bolted free outside the hall, running around the terraces with his panicking yayas chasing him. The song that sometimes strayed off from the original tune provided a relief from his hero worship and kicked off a night of dancing for the adults that remained. About half of the guests that came for dinner had gone, leaving the celebrant’s family and his foreigner friends who, I was told, had formed their little community here in Ormoc.

The sight of aging and white-haired Caucasians paired with young and shapely Filipinas is not exactly my idea of romance, but can anyone blame these pinays for latching on to these oldies if it means their survival and well-being? We have OFWs sending their dollars home after slaving themselves in lonely deserts and oil tankers in God knows where in the world. But here at home, these sprightly, shapely young women have succeeded in enticing old pensioners to spend the rest of their lives under their care in peace and comfort, with their own starving families benefiting as well.

Oh, it was their night alright, as some of them danced in abandon, gyrating with the hired DIs and showing off their dancing prowess to their aging hubbies to the beat of the boogie. Two of them looked like they were experienced club dancers and would have been easily mistaken as such were it not for their marital status. Then when the soft, slow music finally came, the oldies and their sprightly women came to the floor to tell everyone it’s never too late to be in love.

Well, it sure looked like it was the real thing.

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