17 April 2006
HOW TO LOSE A SUNDAY (the ultimate baduy easter special)San Isidro, freakin Nueva Ecija has been for the past xx years of my life the setting for my lenten adventures. It is a quaint and ignored town north of Gapan (which is not a destination spot either) and there my ancestors proceeded to live abundantly against the backdrop of colonial abuse and deprivation.
Now, we are facing a land reform case and is condemned to spend at least three days in a year inside a mad, almost decrepit stonehouse (bahay na bato) and the biggest irony about this and every bahay na bato is that its first floor is made of stone while the second floor--the floor which matters, where the rooms and the general living area is--is made of wood. So among creeking doors that lead to mysterious places, dust that has settled upon relics and fading black and white photographs of men in intimidating suits and tophats or ladies in yards upon yards of lace, I and my cousins endure both the heat from the awkwardness of not having spoken much before that faithful weekend, and the sunshine on central luzon.
Three years ago, i started going with the sons of our caretakers to these holes in the wall for beer. I would come back to the house crawling out of intoxication both from alcohol and ultimate baduy experiences. (The most important component of an ultimate baduy experience, something ever present in the bucholic night spot, is the videoke machine. this videoke machine looks like an arcade booth with a microphone attached to it. To accompany it, a filthy, yet thick book of songs is passed around.)
But last weekend was different. For the first time in my life, i spent the holy week(end) in Quezon City. Since my skin asthma was once again unleashing its ugly and destructive menace, and my uncle on the other side of the family is vactioning from the States, I volunteered to stay. To keep him company, primarily. Keeping him company meant driving him around and going shopping with him.
But then this was Quezon City, and i have never ever in my life seen it on a holy wekk. It could not be taken away from me to be curious and kind of indiffirent. I was curious and indifferent in my airconditioned room while my kin were melting like candles in a far-flung crevice of our rice granary. But it suddenly hit me on Sunday morning, while I was popping in the third disk of the OC season 2.
There was no band by my window blaring unchained melody, waking me up, beckoning us, to the church, forcing us to wear our best shoes and to trudge on the dusty dusty sidewalk. I was not blinded by our caroza's million lightbulbs and the "maidens of the virgin mary," or whatever they are called, who gathered around our gate to pick up the mater dolorosa.
I did not lack sleep. I was well-rested and spectacular. I hadn't the comfort of home to look forward to. Nor had I the cruelty of another home to go forth from.
Next year, I swear that I will never skip Easter.
***
San Isidro used to be the the capital of Nueva Ecija. During its heydays, it was called "Factoria" and the books say that it was dubbed as such because there was a huge mill which the natives refer to as, well, "paktorya." Modern interpreations could squeeze out rude and imaginative reasons why it was called paktorya. My grandparents, that ultra conservative pair, yielded ten children.
But then, this is an anchronism.
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