Monday, April 02, 2007
ONCE UPON A HOLY WEEK
When I was a kid, at the start of Holy Week, every radio and TV station would be completely signed off until Easter Sunday, except for one or two stations that broadcast religious programs, but only at certain hours. All movie theaters and entertainment establishments were closed as well.With going to church in the late afternoon or early evening as the only acceptable activity, the entire city seemed as if in a collective solemn mourning.
Over in our barrio in Subic, it was pretty much the same deal, except on Thursday and Friday when the bartikals and penitensiyas would march barefoot on the sweltering pavement. Both sides of the highway were usually crowded with Americans from the nearby naval base busily taking photographs, or simply watching the entire spectacle as if in awe.
On Good Friday, there were some men carrying giant crosses on their shoulders as they headed towards the hills of the next town. There they would have their hands and feet tied to the cross, not nailed as done in the other provinces. By the late afternoon, it would be over.
Saturday is Sabado de Gloria. At exactly ten o’clock in the morning, the children were often urged to jump as high as they could. The belief was they would grow to be tall adults if they did just that that.
As for Easter Sunday, there wasn't any organized egg-hunting festival back then. There was only an early morning procession in which its highlight was hoisting a child of barely six years of age all the way to the top of a makeshift four-storey tower. It was basically made up of tall bamboo poles tied together like a tripod. Right in the center, a pulley was attached to facilitate the pulling of the rope with the child’s seat at the other end of it.
Almost always, though properly secured in his seat, the child would appear petrified to death; screaming his lungs out as being pulled to the top. However, I’ve always wanted to be an Easter Sunday angel and made no secret of it. I delighted in the thought of being hoisted up in the sky. Unfortunately, my father would never allow it. I gave up all hope when I turned ten. I've become too big.
Right after the Easter Sunday breakfast, all the children were once again allowed to engage in their usual boisterous play, while the teens went back to playing their vinyl 45 rpm rock ‘n roll records. During that time, Easter Sunday ushered in the much awaited fun-filled summer vacation; a perfect reward for having given up so much during the Holy Week.
Nowadays, this time of the year is more often deemed a holiday season in which some families would retreat to a fine resort or travel abroad for a shopping spree. Totally unheard of then and a good enough cause to be excommunicated, I bet.
Oh, well ... times have changed, indeed.
.
Labels: Holy Week
posted by Señor Enrique at 9:57 PM
| 23 comments
