Brightside Entry 25: Dinner at Other People's Houses

I wasn't able to post the other night because I was in Pasig, having dinner at someone else's house. Hahahaha Alright, let me explain myself: last Monday, I journeyed north to deliver something to a customer who bought a couple of my items, after this I went to the Shaw (EDSA Shang) area to see Keavin. He was going to wait for our friend Christian there until around 6:00 pm and then head to his house to work on thesis.

I decided to go hang out with the guys and perhaps help out with thesis and shiz as well (Psychology majors, whut). So we hung out in Shang, making fun of things and then took two tricycles to Christian's house. Their place is very homey. :) They have this adorable dog named Pasha (not sure if I have the spelling right)--I'm a very big dog lover; when I was younger we had two German Shepherds (named Bertha and Otto) as well as a Japanese Spitz (Casper).

Anyway, we all had dinner and the night's conversation revolved around the following topics: (1) Enrile's corned beef (2) Psychology in the Philippines (3) Keavin's history with women. :)) Very refreshing. And as I--Keav was staying over until late that evening--said goodbye to Chris's mom, I realized that I very much like having dinner at other people's houses.

The thing about having dinner at other people's houses is that it offers a temporary reprieve (not sure if this statement is unnecessary as all reprieve seems temporary) from the loneliness of having dinner by yourself and/or being ignored and/or ridiculed by your family. And I say this with minimal resentment; it's just that I think because families have been with each other all their lives, there's a certain numbness that is developed between them so that they no longer can tell (or care about) when they're hurting someone's feelings.

For example, yesterday we had dinner in Quezon City so that we could go hang out with my uncle who's here from New York and when I asked my Dad to pick me up in school he told me it was too traffic and would rather I commute to EDSA where they would pick me up. Now this ticked me off because (1) they would spend the same amount of time waiting for me along EDSA anyway seeing as how at rush hour the MRT is like a rice cooker for grains that don't want to be cooked (2) it's not like there was any big rush to get there; it was only 5:30 in the afternoon. After this, he told me I could also just go home if I wanted. This last statement really pissed me off because the whole family (sans Mother) was in the van with him and so if I were to go home, there wouldn't be anyone home anyway. After I spent a couple of hours fuming over this, they finally arrived (after begrudgingly agreeing that me going to EDSA would be like microwaving a goldfish alive) and I thought my father would've sensed my pissed-offness through the phone but I got in and he said, in the most jolly tone of voice, "Okay, let's go!" What the.

When you have dinner at other people's houses, you get talked to like a person and not a burden or an obligation or someone who owes someone your life. And in turn, you're doing the people who own the house a great favor. Somehow, the addition of an extra person or two to the dining arrangement makes everyone nicer to one another. So the temporary reprieve of being treated like a human being is extended to the person who owns the house or whose family it is you're dining with. So long as you, their guest, are there there can't be any screaming, any fits of anger, any sarcastic remarks dripping with resentment; there's only "pass the ketchup, please" and "can I have some more rice?"