As Aimee Joyce Silva was getting ready for her combination birthday and graduation party at the Hale Koa Hotel, she had to make sure she had everything.

Dress? Check. Shoes? Check. Orchid centerpieces? Check.

Eighteen candles, 18 roses and 36 people to carry them? Check, check and check.

Silva, 18, of Pearl City wasn't preparing for your typical party. The June celebration thrown in her honor was a Filipino tradition called a debut, a birthday party especially for 18-year-old girls.

In the Philippines, 18 is, much like in the United States, a landmark age, particularly for a girl. At 18, a young woman is considered an adult, and that means she's expected to be a mature and responsible member of society.

To mark this once-in-a-lifetime event and to formally introduce the girl to the world as a woman, the debut was created.

FOR RICH AND POOR

The origins of the debut are likely rooted in the 300-year Spanish occupation of the Philippines, said Belinda Aquino, University of Hawai'i-Manoa professor of political science.

At first, the debut was a tradition reserved for the elite families who could afford such a lavish celebration, Aquino said. Now, "it doesn't have to be for rich people anymore."

That's good news for Filipino immigrants to Hawai'i, many of whom didn't have a debut but who now have the means to give their daughters one.

Gertrude Silva, Aimee's mom, did have a debut in the Philippines, but it was a simple one. Silva, 48, said debuts for upper- and middle-class girls in the Philippines were "still the same, but the fanciness (level) was different."

It remains the same way in the Philippines today, said Amanda Galang, 18, of Manila.

"The elite people would have the more expensive, lavish (debuts) where everything is made by a designer," said Galang, who was in Hawai'i for summer school.

Though extravagance is what debuts are known for, said Galang, who didn't have a debut herself (she turned 18 while in college at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles), less expensive debuts are not unheard of.

In Hawai'i, however, many families appear to go all-out for their daughters' debuts.

That's understandable, Aquino said, since "the person can only turn 18 once."

For Heather Sales' debut at the Filipino Community Center in Waipahu in June, her parents paid about $25,000 for everything from the dresses for the girls in Sales' court (18 of them, all from the Philippines) to lessons for the court's cotillion, or dance.

Krystal Tabora's debut last November cost about $15,000. Tabora, 18, said that was "75 percent of all-out" thanks to "a lot of bargains and discounts." Among the costs? Around 200 party favors and a $600 birthday cake.

What it all boils down to, though, is not the cost of the debut but rather, according to many girls who have them, the opportunity to sustain traditional practices and mark such a significant occasion.

"I wanted to uphold tradition and debut myself as a woman," said Tabora, 18. "You don't want to let (the tradition) die ... you want to let it live on."

"It's only a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing," said Maile Cabugao, 18, whose debut was in July. "It's a really big event ... and I can't do it again."

Debuts are also important for the families of the girls, said Dean Alegado, UH professor and chair of ethnic studies. Debuts, along with graduations, weddings and funerals, are "occasions to bring the community together."

They are also responsible for connecting generations, Alegado said.

"These more family-oriented activities are the main ways that Filipino tradition and culture are passed down," he said.

CULTURAL TWISTS

Though the meaning and significance of the debut itself never changes, how it's put on does, depending on the society in which it's set.

In Hawai'i, for example, it is common for debuts to be held in conjunction with graduation parties, meaning some girls — like Sales, whose birthday is in March, and Cabugao, whose birthday is in April — can wait several months after their actual 18th birthday before officially celebrating.

But in the Philippines, this variation of the tradition is unheard of, said Galang. She said the debut is always reserved for the girl's 18th birthday.

The basic elements of a debut, however, transcend societal variances and are present no matter where it is held.

Though one or two parts of a debut may be sacrificed due to constraints of time or money — Gertrude Silva said there should have been a court and escort at her daughter Aimee's debut, "but it was too much already" — one element remains constant: 18 candles and 18 roses.

The 18 candles and 18 roses represent 18 females and 18 males, respectively, selected by the girl (who is called a debutante during the affair) to be in her court.

The candles are said to represent the debutante's friends and loved ones, lighting her way as she becomes an adult, and the roses are said to represent courtship or, as the emcee of Silva's party put it, "the sweet essence in life of being 18."

During the debut (see inset, Page D1 for an outline of the party), the 18 candles and 18 roses approach the debutante one by one, offering wishes or comments (the candles) and a brief dance (the roses). Then the objects are placed in candleholders and vases, or simply held on to by their carriers.

Again, variations on how to perform this part of the ceremony are common. At Silva's debut, the candles were lighted when their bearers approached her, and she blew out the flame after each person made a wish for her.

At Sales' debut, she lighted the candles after each bearer's comments. Each candle was then placed in a candleholder by her birthday cake, resulting in Sales' 18 birthday candles.

The honor and attention showered on a debutante is enough to make anyone yearn for a debut, but Tabora cautions against girls wanting a debut for the wrong reasons.

"Don't take advantage of (the debut) just to be popular," she said. Girls should be aware of why they want a debut, and it shouldn't be "so they can brag or just to have a party."

They "should do it (have a debut) for themselves, to debut yourself as a woman," Tabora said. "It's something special."