The Real Reason Why I Don't Attend Pinoy Parties in Columbia

During my first semester here, I didn't really meet too many Filipinos. Gil (the other Filipino Fulbrighter in Columbia) on the other hand seemed to have a radar for Pinoys, and managed to track down each and every one within a 20-mile radius, all within a week of arriving in town. And there are apparently a LOT of them.

In true Pinoy fashion, there were always parties being held for this or that occasion. Gil would sometimes invite me to go to some of them, even if I wouldn't know a soul in these gatherings (he of course knew everyone). I actually went to one, but I felt so out of place since I didn't know anyone. So I didn't go to other parties anymore. Months later, I discovered that feeling out of place would be the least of my concerns when I ventured to attend another party.

Early this semester, I was again invited (through the Pinoy grapevine) to a party. I was told it was being held by our host Mr. C, to get to know the Filipino students and welcome them to the community. The four students were Gil and I, Rollin, and Rene, a Jesuit priest (and as it would turn out, only the first priest in this story). Rene had told me the party would be a small dinner, just the four of us and our host.

So, off we went to the Missouri Country Club. (You might already suspect at this point that the reason I went to this dinner in the first place was the prospect of free food.) We were directed to a function room which 78-year-old Mr. C had reserved for the party. I was surprised to see that we were 15 in all, but I could handle that number well enough. The bigger surprise for me was that there were three other priests in the party, one of them a Monsignor. So, that made the gathering a little more than 25% Catholic priests. I spoke to each of them and they were nice enough, so I relaxed a little, despite my unease at being around so many men of the cloth. (Some background information: I'm what you could call a lapsed Catholic. I was brought up Catholic, but after a few years, my membership to the community seemed to have expired.)

Our host announced that dinner was to be served, and I was again surprised to see that we had place names, and with my luck, I was seated between our host Mr. C and one of the priests. Talking to the priest was easy; I asked him mostly about his life as a priest, since he was ordained only nine months before. THEN Mr. C turned to me and asked a question that I had sort of been expecting all evening with a touch of dread.

Mr. C: "So, Gidget, where do you go to mass?"

Me: (thinking for a moment of lying and blurting out some church's name, then realizing I didn't know the name of any of them)

"Uhmmm, well, uh, (voice volume uncharacteristically low)... I don't."

Mr. C: (Shocked that a pagan was partaking of his free food)

"Are you Evangelical?"

Me: (Not really knowing what that was, but not liking the sound of it either)

"Uhmmm, no...."

Mr. C: "Are you Muslim?"

Me: (considering for a split second saying yes to end the conversation)

"Uhmmm... no". (thinking "How do I get out of this?")

"Actually, I'm Catholic (well, that's what it says on my birth certificate, anyway), but I don't really go to mass."

(As if that would shut him up.)

The priest on my right side is of course now very interested in the topic at hand.

Adjacent Priest: "May I ask why you stopped going to mass?"

Me: (Squirming in my seat and thinking... AAAARRRRGGHHHH!!!!)

Before I could come up with an appropriate response that would not entail having to defend myself before this panel of priests (including a Monsignor, don't forget), Mr. C actually saved me by saying something that ended the priest's line of questioning.

Mr. C: (With conviction) "Don't worry, Father, we will get her back into the fold!"

After this uncomfortable exchange, I just concentrated on eating my dessert and avoiding topics of a religious nature. The rest of the evening's conversation however was interspersed with Mr. C's declarations that I will be going to mass sometime soon.

We said our goodbyes, and thanked our host for the evening. Mr. C turned to me and said, "We'll see you in church soon!"

As I went home, I remembered why I didn't go to Pinoy parties. The very simple question "Where do you go to mass?" is inevitable, and consequently, stressful for me. Of course I knew it. It's classic Pinoy small talk. I guess I thought I could handle it; then again I had no way of knowing that so many priests and "Katoliko-sarado"s would be in the party.

Oh well, never again will I let the thought of free food cloud my judgment.
(The chocolate dessert WAS pretty good though...)