Non-alcoholic me - By Elen P. Farkas

(Paano naman kaming hindi umiinom? Heto ang sagot ng isang Non-Alcoholic...again in the Inquirer)
"The piano has been drinking/not me…"
--Tom Waits

ALCOHOL is not my best friend. And this time of merriment, I admit, I'm always the loser.

I was 8 years old the first time I tasted beer. I remember the night my father poured a small portion of San Miguel Beer in his glass; beside it was a plate of peanuts as his pulutan. The color in the glass was inviting. Its bubbles and foam readily caught my eye. The sound it created when he put the liquid into the crystal-clear former Nescafé glass was intriguing. And for a child, it was enticing.

I wondered what its taste was compared to Coke, which my mother never bought. Hi-C or Cetrin was our standard drink. Coke and Pepsi were both no-nos.

As my father gulped the entire yellowish content of his glass, he glanced at me and knew I was curious.
"You want to try?" he asked.
"Can I?" My eyes were sparkling.
"Of course!" Father was smiling from ear to ear and he knew what would happen.

It only lasted for a second until I let the floor taste it too. The bitter liquid didn't even warm my mouth.

"What was that?" I demanded an answer. Immediately, I grabbed a handful of peanuts to vanish the unsavoury taste.

Since then I never liked the taste of beer. After that, I promised myself I would never, ever, touch it again. And I would avoid it as best as I could.

I was clean for 16 years. My college friends were as sober as me. No one experimented. No one tried. There were vague memories in between, during high school. But that was committed by my pimpley faced male classmates.

Their reported flirtation with alcohol and drugs were the result of adolescent fears, hormonal changes and curiosity. And it increased my disgust for spirits. The smell that emanated from their small bodies, not yet fully men, turned me off. My parents were proud of their eldest daughter. I became a role model to my younger sister.

But fate started to make fun of me. The second firm I joined in was the prime example of hedonistic but reserved individuals. The job required us to be calm in times of pressure. I wouldn't say it was a curse because the company made a great impact on me as a person, a member of the working class and a Filipino. I met interesting people for whom smoking and spirits were best buddies. Some of them became my friends, others were just plain acquaintances.

On my 24th birthday, I was destined to taste Tequila and Margarita. It worried my mother, who was not used to seeing me drunk coming home from work. I couldn't forget her first question.

"Do you have a problem?" My mother was roused from sleep by my coming in and rushing to the sink. I reeked of Tequila. Plus the evidence of cigarette smoke that never left my clothes. She knew I was inside a smoky club. I shook my head, still feeling sick. I was still bent over the sink; in front of me were the morsels of food I had eaten while drinking the spirit.

And then I was kind of relieved. But it was not enough. I sat on a sofa and felt as if I were floating. This time it was my father who emerged from the room. Even though I didn't take a peek, I already knew what his face looked like.

"Kung kailan ka tumanda saka ka pa naging ganyan." I didn't know what to say; it was partly due to the fact that I was slightly drunk. And besides, there was no point of arguing with him. I quickly went to my room and prepared to sleep. But sleep didn't come easily. I had to wait until I saw the signs of daylight.

When I woke up, I felt my head was heavy and there were blisters all over my body. They were itchy. I got worried. But I only drank two-and-a-half jiggers of Mexican cactus (agave), a.k.a., Tequila.

Again, I told myself I would never drink it again. But promises were meant to be broken. I still toiled around. There were more misses than hits. I finally decided that alcohol was really not meant for me.

I started to decline my friends' offers to hang out. I became a party pooper, ordering iced tea instead of San Miguel Light (for my cholesterol-worrying friends) or the mean original one. I could say I was a social smoker, too. The long-time smokers among my friends could detect I never inhaled the smoke down to my lungs.

I started to wean myself from my circle of friends. Especially when I knew they would spend their off-hours going to a club. I began to plead excuses, real and imagined. They didn't believe me after that. Even if I told them the smell of alcohol completely sickened me. Even if I showed them my blisters.

"Ever heard of how to increase your alcohol tolerance?" One of them asked me. I didn't bother to search for it because I didn't have any intention to increase it. I was better off with my current situation.

It was not until I met my Austrian husband and lived with him. Austria is virtually a beer and wine country. Every province has its own Brewerei (brewery) and Weingut (vineyard), private or otherwise. More often than not, one can spot numerous beer and wine factories in just one place.

The locals can down three to five liters of beer and one-and-a-half liters of wine like I down one-liter of Coke in just one sitting. I always associate the need for alcohol to the weather just to give justice that alcohol-drinking is as natural as breathing in Vienna. A Schnaps (brandy) here, or a Sturm (fermented grape juice, but not yet wine) there. Or beer and wine all-year round don't hurt either.

"If ever you would be trapped in an island, what are the things you would bring?" It was a mental quiz posed by my professor in college. One of the things included on his enumerated what-to-bring list was a bottle of Vodka. I chose a plastic, wood and I don't know what else but never a Vodka. It's only in the end that my professor explained that Vodka is often used to keep the body immune from the cold temperature. I laughed at his suggestion. But my husband told me how the Russians are the complete winners when it comes to drinking Vodka. The Irish compete with the Austrians, and the English and Australians are catching up when it comes to beer-drinking contests.

Whenever my husband's friends invite us for a get-together, I always see everybody drinking beer. As for me you can find me happily drinking my apple juice. Everybody asks ("Don't you think Apfelsaft is boring already?") and everybody wonders ("You never hang out in the Philippines?"). And each time they ask me these questions I just say, "It's just not my thing. I feel safe in my carbonated apple juice." Then, everybody shuts up.

That sort of separates me from their world. Sometimes I get worried if I give them a negative impression. But what can I do? Anyway, my husband assured me that he accepts me for what I am and that I don't have to prove anything to anyone. And as always, that calms my ebbing self-esteem. I don't need a spirit to whisk me away; I only need to be myself. And, I believe, that's intoxicating enough.
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Elen P. Farkas, 28, used to work as an editorial assistant in a publishing company and now lives in Vienna, Austria.
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:: Bing Tuesday, October 08, 2002 [+] ::
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