
IT IS NOT the two cups of brewed coffee that the Hizon’s waiter fixed us (the second cup offered by BRodel because it tasted sour) that I am kept awake at this hour (2:21 am). I’ve posted my daily scripturals already. Sleep still seemed elusive so I reclined restfully instead and waited for it to naturally come over me. While I replayed in my head the many stunning turns of events that accompanied “Serenata,” the second communitarian-oriented project of the Council of Stewards/Community Building Ministry that was emboldened/empowered by the small success of its Christmas Fellowship.
There were no eggs in the fridge so I simply faced St. Clare and prayed in earnest that she intercede for us and beseech God not to let the darkening clouds develop into a rain that might ruin our parade. I would repeat the entreaty later, at the Clubhouse, while the One STG Band musicians prepped and sound-checked their equipment, when Lyra asked me to go to a corner outside and pray with her. We took turns in thanking God that we have come this far. The venue was set in a decor worthy of glossy pages from House Beautiful. Karen would not let go of the heavenly ceiling at Hizon’s (when GenDong, Ate Grace, she, and I went there for the taste test) and instructed the decorators to create a reachable version of it with a twist; overhangs of bright red and gold flowers in-between rows of white, vertical clouds abbreviating the sky, low enough to enthrall. Lyra and I passed through the brief tunnel, an archway of the red-gold overhangs that gave the passers a shiver of celebrity-consciousness without the carpet (the canopy was a predictable hit shortly). Our prayers were as deep as the rehearsals that saw us Tuesday and Thursday nights at GenDong’s (heaven-sent) garage and short enough to make us aware that we were finally making happen what we excruciatingly, extravagantly (no names necessary) prepared for.
Briefly, while the Philippine Navy’s Seabees Band waited their turn, we rendered our numbers to a once-over that satisfied BRomy, our maestro, and enabled the others to go home and quickly change into what passed as a costume depicting Woodstock or its successors. Karen and I donned bell bottomed pants; Ate Grace put one over us by coming in a distressed version. In a whiff (shaming Superman’s phone booth), the “Village People” took GenDong’s orders to heart. Ergo, Teddy was dressed like a construction (executive) foreman (who forgot his hard hat); Noy Atô was in combat gear (his weapon confiscated at the counter); Will I AM looked the part of the gigolo that he was assuming (hairless chest showing); Jess was a cow(less)boy; and I wore my security guard’s heart in my long sleeves (thanks to Bernard).
The guests were not only punctual; they were ahead of the appointed 6 pm start of the soirée. Reason for organizer/overall-overseer Karen to (wo)man the registration counter pending the emergence of the assigned team there (who all thankfully came before the onrush of the bigger crowd).
The national anthem put the people in patriotic perspective (it is always a blood-rushing moment when I overhear a voice or two singing along with me). And a peaceful space for Fr. Adrian’s opening, settling prayer (the homily-adept pastor made sure he didn’t fumble and read his brief preparation). Then Atty. Francis Rivera delivered the welcome remarks on behalf of absentee GenJo Caringal, whose message is summed up as a tribute to BF Homes as a community that is happily coming together from the grip of the three-year pandemic, slowly and surely shedding the hostage-taker, getting to know their neighbors again, and rediscovering a sense of belonging that is fostered by get-togethers like the belated Valentine ball. Therefore, thanks to a God-centered dynamic, the February special serenades the elderly, young couples, and the bayanihan spirit that is owed to the various volunteers who did not yield to the crisis. The barrister apologized for his slow, sometimes halting stutter, caused by his advancing cataract, although he made up for the pauses with his signature spiels.
Cue was not necessary for Karen to call on (not yet costumed) Kuya Jess and, together, they went around tables to get-to-know their occupiers. Having satisfactorily warmed the crowd with the comfort of knowing their comrades, they called on the Philippine Navy’s Seabees Band, with Petty Officer 1st Class Michael L. Aquino on the drums, to ball-roll the bash. And it only took a heartbeat for them to do Apo Hiking Society’s rousing rendition of “Mahirap Magmahal ng Syota ng Iba,” a fitting appetizer for dinner which, Karen squeezed in, may coincide with the band’s energizer. Since she also announced that the breadline to the buffet is by table number, the queue was orderly and served as a cue for the buffs to stretch (scratch?) their itchy legs and trip the light fantastic. It’s too soon to historically essay what came after that.
While the guests leisurely enjoyed Hizon’s to-die-for cuisine, the One STG Band took over the Seabees and rocked the early night with Noy Atô’s “Laki sa Layaw” and “Surfin’ USA,” superbly sandwiching Doc Joey’s “I Saw Her Standing There” and “Johnny B. Goode.” When you cross a former Peemayer with a physician, it is not hard to imagine a healing seventh heaven. Which Karen aimed to reach when she introduced the game for the married guests. Five couples, who raised their hands to the question “Married for 50 or more years?” were “grilled” with “difficult” questions to “test” their compatibility quotient. Their answers, if not downright attesting to the secret of matrimonial bliss, veered towards mischief, as when Karen asked the male half of one whole which date he was referring to. Laughter never failed to erupt to naughtiness like that.
The Seabees returned after the second set and didn’t have to use a crane to pull the terpsichores to the dance floor. With Kuya Jess’ four DI’s, it was only a matter of lining up to the inevitable line dance. There would be no pause for the instructors because, when the band changed their tunes, their partners stood (swayed?) poised to march to whatever different drummer the night had to offer.
Our very own One STG took over and BRomy fingered the first notes of my cue to render “Never Ever Say Goodbye.” Noy Atô returned with “Hotel California,” followed by Madonna’s “Borderline” by Lyra Mary Ann Padilla, and “Achy Breaky Heart” from the band’s closet rocker, BroTeddy. The dance floor never looked so adrenaline-pumped.
The third set saw the Seabees again, hot to trot with the energized crowd that worked up the air-conditioning enough to warm the clubhouse. If they thought they have had enough, Doc Joey gave them another think coming with “Honey Don’t.” The crowd never complained and boogie-woogied to the accompaniment of the musi-physi-cian’s Fender base. To calm the frenzy, Karen called on BroWill for their “Something Stupid” collab. Dawn Dupaya came on the heels of their duet with Lani Misalucha’s torch song “Bukas na lang Kita Mamahalin.” BroWill was next with his Michael Buble-inspired “You Don’t Know Me.”
GenDong concluded the musicfest with the fitting “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You,” justified by his Closing Remarks (and Thankfulness) that is why he couldn’t take his eyes, heart, and mind off the goodness, God-centeredness, and communitarianism of all who came to, partook of, and shared with the tribute to the homeowners of BFQC. A Closing Remark will never be complete (closed?) without the brainchild of everything that came to pass. And, from one Mistah to anotha (pardon the pun), GenDong short of insisted that his fellow Peemayer GenJo Caringal preferred that the event be punctuated with bell bottoms. And the punctuation winners are: Ate Grace, Karen, and yours truly. Thank you for the pioneering milestone the Ministry (spearheaded, trailblazed, and generated by the One STG Band) had consummated, and for the round-trip tickets to the epitomization of Hizon’s heaven.
Amen.