Confessions of Mr. Moscato and His Attempts to Woo My Heart

Even at prayer services for the passing of my grand-auntie, I still seem to get hungry eyes-- at a family gathering.

In Filipino-Catholic tradition, when someone passes away, there are 9 days following their death full of prayers and rosaries to be said aloud as a group. These times are often called to remember and reflect on their death, but also a time for family and friends to get together in both a time of mourning, or, for others, to share joyous memories.

After two hours or so of praying, my grumbling tummy and dried-up throat from repeatedly saying the said prayers scarfed down a plateful of that oh-so-greasy but infamous oiled-down delicacies of meats fried and boiled in rich, decadent sauces accented with vegetables and peppers. Rice-based sweets and desserts were added to the plate, as well as fresh mangoes, and--of course--the sweet and cheesy Filipino-style spaghetti. I haven't had homemade Filipino food in a while and, at a moment like this, it seemed evermore appealing to my appetite. Call it food for the soul--comfort, or food for the body--energy. Whatever it was you needed, you could help yourself to it here.

There are times where I become very uptight and tense, uncomfortable with myself and not entirely open for chat, and, this became one of those moments. I admit--you may call me shy, reserved, quiet, goofy, weird--but you've probably never witnessed me be so uncomfortable with myself, with family for crying-out-loud. It may have been the fact I didn't have my brothers to lie back on, or just how I've never been entirely close with this side of the family, but I scarfed down my plateful of carbs and drunk bottles upon bottles of water like there was no tomorrow. I gathered myself with all these elders, next to my mom, trying to distinguish what they all were talking about in their conversations. The Tagalog dialect isn't the most attractive, but being around it for all my life, I've come to understand bits-and-pieces of it (oh how I wish I could fully understand and speak it--that'd make my eavesdropping easier!).  Of course with my youth, my fair complexion, straightened-out smooth dark-brown hair, and big ol' gazing eyes as if searching for answers from the Heavens, I was bound to get, "Ohhh is this your daughter? Oh ganda ganda na! She's so big now, and so pretty! You should be model!" (Just try to phrase that in a Filipino accent).

When I sit there quietly looking so out-of-place, looking for something to entertain my soul while bouts of conversation surround me, these little compliments definitely flatter myself, but they also give me a good laugh because they're oh so funny to get from relatives, and they're also so cute to say.

While my little table of regulars go on chatting every which way in that indistinguishable language, I overhear stories from a lady who isn't entirely known with the family reciting superstitious stories about the home, and another who's reflecting on their last few moments with our beloved auntie whose death was very unexpected. Soon, a 35-or-so decently-young-looking male comes to the table and greets the superstitious storyteller.

He begins by talking about how he worked with my grand-auntie's daughter a few years ago and currently sells wine. The superstitious storyteller continued to talk incessantly, enchanting us with the glory of the man's wine.

The man added, "Yeah, I sell Moscato. It's a very 'sweet' wine and very easy to drink."

The lady insisted, "Oh you should bring it tomorrow and sell it to us!"

My mom and my other auntie at the table just watched these two strangers talk about this wine.

"Well I don't know where it is anymore. I think I only have about 3 bottles left. My house's a mess! I don't clean anymore."

My auntie decided to join in and asked, "Oh, well how much do they sell it outside?"

The man lazily put his arm around the chair across from me while holding a water bottle, "Well at my work," he then glances to the superstitious lady, somehow signalling her to double-check if he's right, "we get it for half off, so they must be around 5 or 6 bucks here."

"Ohhhh no! It's more than that!" the superstitious lady replied.

The man and the woman kept talking on-and-on about this Moscato wine. Something in the man's movements was very cautious. He calmly and watchfully grazed the chair across from me, leaning his head towards my mom while she asked questions about his work, and my auntie just looked at this guy, questioning the so-called "sweet wine".

The superstitious lady headed home when she was called upon from her other friends leaving. The guy remained a little while, gliding over to where the superstitious lady was sitting next to me as if he were making it an excuse to say goodbye to the other lady at my table. Under all this conversation pouring over our heads, the guy stood there as if trying to think up something to say that would make his standing-there less awkward.

"Okay, well, nice chatting with you guys. I'll see you later," he calmly recited while walking away, raising his water-bottle in hand to signal a goodbye.

A couple minutes later, my rather outgoing, auntie #2, came by the table to chat with my auntie, who informed her of what they were just talking about with Moscato guy. Under all their gibberish in Tagalog, I caught a few words. Auntie #2 came and grazed my cheek, saying, "Ah ganda ganda mo, so skinny. She could be like a model."

She turned to my mom and started talking about the girls on TFC who flaunt their stuff around in mini-skirts and bras and dance in-between takes on game shows.

My auntie, who has been at the table, said to my mom and auntie #2, "Ay! That guy kept talking about his Moscato-Moscato wine... He only came here to look at her! ... I was watching him, he keeps talking on and on but he only wanted to look at her."

You can bet that silent antisocial "her" at the end of the table was me-- the reason the guy came over to talk about his Moscato wine.

On the car ride home, I kept asking my mom to translate her conversations tonight that were said about me. She said that since I didn't have a boyfriend, my auntie compared me to another cousin of mine saying, "Oh, she didn't have a boyfriend either, but now she has one since she came back from college."

This led to me arguing with my mom.

"You never know," my mom said in a very hard tone. "The boys down there are 'mature' and know how to play-around. I won't be there, and the boys [my brothers] won't be there. You better watch yourself. Because [my family] were saying you're pretty and the boys down there will try with you. I don't want to hear that you got pregnant."

I sat there in complete awe. This really irked me, because it was like my mom had no idea who I even was. "Mom, have you even seen myself these past 4 years? Year after year, boys kept 'trying with me' but I never let anything happen. I had plenty of temptations and chances to give-in. I'm not like that. I'm not like most girls."

"Well what about that one boy this year? What if something happened?" she asked in defense.

"Mom, but something never did happen."

We paused for a silent moment. The dark of the night caused my eyes to water, but my mom couldn't see so I wasn't watchful.

"I had my lesson learned with him, and I never did anything."

"You know it's different down there."

"Yeah, but I have people who can watch out for me. I have people I can talk to that will give me feedback on what I'm doing, and I have friends that know who I am and can tell me if I'm doing something wrong. I'm not completely alone down there."

I insisted on changing the subject to what the superstitious lady was talking about with my mom.

For once, I would just like to be thought of as that one girl who never got lost in college. Who didn't live up to those said stereotypes. Who didn't get picked up by a boy or got pregnant... I don't want to live up to the reputations of "pretty girls who go to college and get a boyfriend". For once, I just want my mom to truly see and understand that I'm not that kind of girl... That I'm something, so much more.

And to think, all this arose because of my grand-auntie's passing away...

When I go down to Irvine, I just want to go there and get what I want to get done, done. UCI chose me-- I never chose it, because I had no other alternative. I'll learn more about myself and develop as an individual, but I will never, ever sink down to that level... Please mom, you know me better than that.