What makes Gin, Emperador, Alfonso, and other alcoholic beverages so delicious to the point that my papa, titos and titas, kuyas and ates can’t seem to stop pouring another round?
As a kid, I couldn’t understand it.
How can they withstand the bitter aftertaste?
How they can drink that even amount of alcohol inside a small round glass without flinching and scrunching up their noses?
What’s even funnier is how their faces turned like ripe tomatoes after every shot but even so, they continue drinking as if it does not affect them. It’s like an elixir of life for them instead of something that smells like paint thinner.
I used to sit at the corner of the table whenever there were family gatherings, my tiny hands holding a glass of full iced juice, watching them in awe. They would eventually start laughing at jokes that I couldn’t find funny (for myself), it would not be complete without them singing “Di Ko Na Mapipigilan” by Sexbomb Girls in the karaoke machine with so much emotion matched by them dancing later on to the point that you would think that they were auditioning for Pilipinas Got Talent. Believe me when I tell you that their incredible talents are showing when the influence of alcohol starts kicking in.
In those moments, I told myself “Nope, not me! Never in my life I will ever touch or try to drink alcohol” with a matching shaking of my head in disbelief, quietly judging everyone for their strange liking to alcohol. “When I grow up, I will never be like my father and his kumpadres who treat alcoholic drinks just like bland water. I will be different, I will stick to sipping fresh fruit juice or water.” I was so sure of my objective, foreseeing that I would be the person I envisioned. Confident and convinced that I’d forever stay on the path of non-alcoholic righteousness.
But, as we all know, life has a funny way of turning the tables. Fast forward to my college years, and here I was—surrounded by friends who swore by the magic of Ginebra San Miguel, Alfonso with Coca-Cola drink as the chaser, and Red Horse as the ultimate stress relievers after a long week of examinations.
I remember the first time I was invited to sit in a drinking session for a shot, I stared at the glass as if it were a test I had to pass. Contemplating if it’s the right choice to make. “This is it,” I thought. “The moment I either confirm my resolve or eat my words.”
I hesitated. I mean, not to be dramatic as hell but the peer pressure was real though they would not force me on something if I declined. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for my response, and for some reason, it felt like the world was watching me as well. So, like a true rebel in my own right, I picked up that small round shot glass, swirled the even amount of gin a little, and braced myself for the aftertaste and kick off the spirit of the alcohol.
I drank it in one go.
Let me tell you, I could feel it all the way down to my throat. It was burning, the taste was bitter, and my face crunched like a piece of paper. I didn’t feel guilty after that though, I mean I broke my promise to myself just because I wanted to try something new, but I realized that it was not something bad to try either. At that moment, I was convinced I’d be coughing, gagging, or making some dramatic exit from the table.
But surprisingly, nothing like that happened. Instead, I felt relief. Kind of proud of myself as well. I just crossed the line I never thought I would ever step, it felt surreal and new.
As the night of drinking went on, I didn’t just sip on gin like it was some forbidden fruit to taste. Oh no, I was in the zone—laughing a little too loudly at jokes that would’ve been cringey sober, and singing Dancing Queen like I had been practicing for years. Somewhere between the giggles and the Red Horse refills, I realized the transformation had happened. I had become one of them—the people I used to watch in awe when I was a kid, judging from my corner of the table. I had joined the those who could stomach the bitterness, who saw the glass not as a test of will, but as a symbol of freedom, of fun, and maybe even a little bit of rebellion.
It wasn’t just about the alcohol. It was about the fleeting moment. The stories we tell when we’re tipsy having a flushed cheeks, the songs we sing altogether in the karaoke machine, and the friendships we solidify with every “Cheers!” that echoes across the four corners of the room. It was about realizing that life doesn’t always go according to plan or promised, and sometimes.
Sure, I had promised that I would not touch alcohol, but in the end, trying it wasn’t as earth-shattering as I imagined. Instead, it was just another part of growing up.
And now, here I am, the one who used to judge the people who often drink alcohol, now raising my glass and giggling louder than ever. It’s funny how our life works—one minute, I’m swearing off alcohol, and the next, I’m asking for another round.
Growing up doesn’t always go as planned, that is what I realized. And sometimes breaking promises you made as a kid leads you to new experiences and memories you wouldn’t trade for anything.
It’s not about the alcohol, it’s about cherishing the moments, the laughter, and the people around you who you just met and befriended with. Life’s too short not to say, “Shot pa?” and enjoy it while it lasts.
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