Of Pogi Points, Proms and Debuts

I hate formal dances. The ones where you have to practice for days and nights on end just so you would end up being laughed at by everybody else not dancing. I was one of the dancers of our cotillion for our Juniors Prom back in third year high school. It was a disaster! I was a klutz on the dance floor. They chose me because they had to choose somebody, and my partner happened to be the most beautiful girl of the prom (ahem ahem). My partner was so beautiful and was such a graceful dancer that she only magnified my over-all ineptitude in this graceful dance that was supposed to be our symbolic “coming-out”.The prom was the most important event of our young lives. Nobody in his right mind wanted to miss the prom. And because I came from an all-boy school, getting our partners was a quest in itself. If you got someone beautiful, you get 25 pogi points. If that someone beautiful is your girlfriend, add 25 more pogi points. If you get some crush-ng-bayan from some exclusive all-girl school, you get 50 pogi points. If she agreed to go with you even if someone else had invited her first, you get 100 pogi points and bragging rights among your friends. If you get someone from the college, and that someone happens to be the ultimate crush-ng-bayan and pantasya of the highschool boys, you get 150 pogi points and ooohhhs and aaahhs from the batchmates. I went to the prom with 150 pogi points in the bag. After the dance, I had negative pogi points.

That’s why I hate formal dances.

My only consolation was that learning the cotillion wasn’t just about learning how to dance (I ended up not learning anything about that anyway). Part of the lessons of cotillion had to do with basic formal etiquette such as how to give a firm handshake, how to look someone in the eye without blushing, how to escort someone to the bathroom, how to eat. Basically, how to be a civilized person for one night (you know how all-boys school-boys are such barbarians…). As one of my high school teachers used to say, “it’s good to finally see humans tonight…”

I was invited to the debut of a friend in college. I remembered the disaster that was my Juniors Prom so I said yes on condition that she wouldn’t let me dance as a member of her court. As a compromise, she asked me to waltz with her for her “18 roses”. We were 18 men who symbolized the different “parts” of her life. There was the traditional first dance with the father. The grandfather. The uncle. The oldest cousin from the father’s side of the family. Another uncle. Then another cousin. A childhood friend. The neighbor who was a family friend. Her ninong. The highschool bestfriend. The ex-boyfriend (they didn’t have a bad break-up I guess). The english classmate. Then I was next. I was supposed to be her “closest friend in her organization”. Good thing, I knew the basic steps of the waltz and not turned the whole thing into a class in How Not To Dance 101.
Knowing her, she would probably have been more comfortable dancing the rave instead of the tricky steps of formal ballroom dancing. But that was her night. I guess most of the 35 members of her court (all 18 pairs) did not join because they were great dancers. They probably agreed to dance just to give her support. And they did well. She should’ve thanked me for not dancing in her cotillion.
The debut, over the years, has gradually lost its original meaning. In the past, debuts were literally coming out parties. Women younger than 18 were not allowed to socialize formally. The debut was a virtual announcement to the whole world that the girl has finally become a woman and is now of marriageable age. Guys were invited, so they could see the girl-turned-woman, and also so the girl-turned-woman could see prospects-for-marriage: gentlemen of her own economic and social standing. Right now, with the advent of the internet, the mall and MTV, the debut is just a formalization of the girl’s ascent to adulthood and her taking on of more responsibilities. The dance is no longer a time to meet men and a time for men to meet the debutante in return. Today, if the debutante wants to meet people, she can go to the mall.

But the debut, much like the quincea-era of Mexico (to celebrate the 15th birthday of a girl) and the bar mitz vah of the Jews, has remained a popular rite of passage among Filipinas.

The debuts in the Philippines have also taken in a distinctly Filipino flavor. Debuts are a showcase of many things Filipino. In usual Filipino flair, debuts today show the lavishness and opulence of the fiesta. And just like the fiesta, there’s a seeming social pressure to spend for debuts even if it’s above the family’s means. Some of my friends’ mothers swear the preparations for their daughter’s debuts were more complicated and more extravagant than their own weddings!

It is a time when members of the clan can meet and socialize- a virtual family reunion. The spending is usually divided among the many titos and titas and aunties and uncles of the debutante. Auntie X would be the one to bake the many-tiered cake. Auntie Y would prepare the invitations. Uncle A would shoulder the cost of the tuxedos and gowns. Even Ninong B would be donating a huge amount of money for his beloved inaanak. In true bayanihan spirit, members of the dance (usually friends and cousins carefully chosen with the guidance of Mommy) would spend countless hours practicing the dance steps. A friend’s group met thrice a week for two months just to perfect the dance in her debut!

And the friends and cousins would do this for nothing.

Just for the love of the debutante.

…Or maybe for more pogi points.

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Written for my class with the revered Doreen Fernandez. That class was one of the last Doreen taught at the Ateneo. Photos from www.gettyimages.com.

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