Let it be

Good Friday this year finds me working. I am not complaining. When you’re living in a non-Christian country, religious holidays like these are not really felt, except perhaps, by the really religious, which I am clearly not.

Nevertheless, Good Friday this year finds me reminiscing on how I spent the Holy Week in the Philippines. Growing up in Baliuag, Bulacan, two highlights in the Holy Week were the Palm Sunday mass and the procession on Holy Wednesday. The Palm Sunday mass, commemorating Jesus’ triumphant return to Jerusalem, is celebrated with young palm fronds folded and fashioned into decorative pennants that are gaily waved in one part of the mass. These fronds are then hung on a wall outside the house as protection from evil all year, until it is replaced with a fresh frond at next year’s Palm Sunday.

I’m not sure if the procession on Holy Wednesday is done in other parts of the Philippines but it was a regular event in my old hometown. Floats or carozas depicting scenes from the life of Jesus, from annunciation to resurrection, parade in this procession. Each float contains life-size statues dressed and decorated according to the scene they were depicting. Affluent families own at least one caroza. No family in Baliuag can claim prominence (be it old or new) without a caroza in the Holy Wednesday procession.

This realization came to me later, but as a boy I delighted in watching this visual treat before my eyes. Some of the caroza, aside from being splendidly costumed and decorated, also came with other effects to heighten the scene. For example, the caroza depicting the crucifixion had lights that flashed like lightning and the sound of thunder. The evening heightened this particular effect very well.

By the morning of Maundy Thursday, my parents and I are off to my paternal grandparents’ home in Candaba, Pampanga to spend the rest of Holy Week. In Candaba, my clearest memory of spending Holy Week was the silence. This was a time when all television and most radio broadcasts stopped during Holy Week. And my grandmother was adamant about spending the Holy Week, especially Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, in prayerful silence. Children like me weren’t allowed to play during these days. Laughing was verboten as well.

The only thing one can hear during these days is the pasyon being sung/recited from the parish church, and broadcast by megaphones to the town at large. Ima (my grandmother) took me along once in her turn as a pasyon reader and I was struck by the camarederie shared by these gaggle of older women who were at once happy to see a young face and serious in going about their duties. Even now, this memory remains at the heart of my body of memories on my strong and aloof paternal grandmother.

On Good Friday noon, my cousins and I would usually sneak out of the house to the main road to watch the townsmen who were doing penitensya (penance). Penitensya in this sense involved carrying a wooden cross or self-flagellation. Although Candaba is not known for men who let themselves be crucified during Good Friday, it has its share of men who do the same. Usually there is a buzz on who is carrying a cross or who will be crucified, said buzz accompanied by a bit of small-town gossip on what this man has done for him to seek this form of punishment/atonement.

On Black Saturday, because Christ is dead, I was taught to reflect on my sins and on forgiving those who sinned against me. I’ve always found forgiveness to be a very tricky thing. I can forgive those who have wronged me. But I need an apology. I have a problem with forgiving those who have wronged me spontaneously. So in this sense, I can’t say that I’m the most forgiving person. I am very patient. But once my patience has been abused one too many times, there is no turning back.

From friends, I have experienced varying degrees of wrong-ness, from something as mundane as ’stealing’ my housekeeper from under my nose to something as deeply hurtful as betraying my trust and friendship with duplicity and lies. I am not counting on the possibility that any of these people will apologize to me, but in case they do, I think I can forgive them. But as far as resuming our friendship, I think that is simply impossible. These people cannot simply be my friends again, ever.

Easter Sunday was always a happy event in my childhood. The mass is always a jubilant affair. Begining with the salubong (meeting), a re-enactment of the first minutes of resurrection morning. Easter Sunday is when television and radio become alive again, in synch, it seemed, with the risen Lord. It was also the time when we can resume playing, when ‘normal’ food is served again, and when the summer vacation officially started, for me at least.

These days, of course, Holy Week is observed much differently in the Philippines. It’s more of a holiday now, than a religious holiday.

On Easter Sunday this year, I will still be working in my home office. My only respite is a trip to the beauty salon to have a long-overdue pedicure with one of my oldest friends here in Cambodia.