I was once living in a bucolic rural place where people knew all about you such as what time you lighted your house for dinner, what you've eaten for lunch or did or not taken your breakfast. No need for status updates like what we are doing now in facebook but our neighbors that time can orate memories not one year ago but past years memories even your expired grandparents or great grandparents.
December was considered a very relevant month. It is the time where neighbors expect someone coming from the city to offer something memorable or special. Things like a bar of bathing soap, a pair of slippers, or a repacked assorted biscuit was something of extra special . Life was so simple then where people never expect too much for christmas but a bit of love gestures will do.
"December oh December"
My "nanay" (mother) was a devout catholic. Her life was not complete without mass on Sundays. She used to have novenas of any intention. When she did the 9days ritual she even memorized the pages but still scanning the papers to read. She always told us to hear masses or our souls will be imprisoned in the purgatory according to her. She even demanded us her three daughters to do the "Simbang Gabi" or dawn mass. Then she said perfect attendance equals wishes granted.
One day, it was like the 2nd day of dawn mass , 17th day of December, rain came like cymbals on the roof coupled with thunders beating like drums. I was 15 or something, still growing up and loved sleep. I have this colorful idea not to attend mass and so pretended to be a log. My nanay woke me up with stern hands touching my shoulders.
"Don't you hear nanay, it's raining hard? The moment we reach church we will be drenched."
She looked at me with the "makuha ka sa tingin" eyes. (follow her command even when she looks)
On our way, the wind started to blow coldly on us shutting off the bamboo torch that she held. We had no idea of our path to follow. Cold mud was splashing since we passed the sugar cane field that were already cleared. The dried leaves crashed in our barefoot legs as we tiptoed our way. I felt watery mud in my lips as we approached the national road which was the only asphalted and lighted road that time. We were just relieved from our tortured journey when we reached the artisian well to clean our muds. Going to church in rainy December days that period was considered a struggle for a devout church goers who also struggles for his or her wishes.
When we reached church, the mass was about to begin. The choral were singing very lively. There was this huge star of Bethlehem at the top of the altar with its ever changing colored lights heading its way to the entrance. The lights were glamorous from every corner and every symbol. It was like a bit of heaven to me maybe even more to my mother. When i looked her that moment she's half crying and smiling faintly. I never knew why? Maybe she prayed that someday I will be better or life will be better for me. And when the choir started singing "Hark the Herald"... I became an angel.
fin
