At A Grand Fiesta While On A Strict Diet & My Story of Faith

Sunday: In front of the family's carrosa bearing the Sto. Niño de Vida Eterna
owned by our nephew Arlo Carsi Cruz Aniag, and his parents Beto and Rina. 

If you asked around, you will hear many stories of little miracles taking place with help from the Sto. Niño, especially when it comes to his fiesta.  Last year, my sister in law Rina, was in pain, and couldn't walk much. But she was going to be the coming year's Hermana Mayor, and had a duty to join the procession.  She managed to walk all over town - her debilitating pain disappeared as though by magic.   This year, she invited us to join the procession, it seemed like it was going to rain, and for a tense few minutes, it started to drizzle...but the sky held together, and the dark clouds disappeared.  I had my own little miracle too.  A very little one, almost not worth mentioning, but it's important to me!  It has to do with my Filipiniana terno, made for me some 15 years ago - a tailor-made, body-hugging red number.  Last minute, I tried it on for size, and to my utter astonishment, it fit me! It's a miracle! 

I'd given up on fitting into that red terno long ago.  I had packed it up for good in a storage box up in the attic at my parents' house.  I was going to wait 15 more years before retrieving it, so I could pass it on to my daughter Narra when she turns 18.  I figured, it would be cool to give her a heritage piece, a vintage terno she can wear to formal Filipiniana affairs.   I last wore that terno in 2003.  Now, some ten years and two kids later, I had the gall to try it on again - that's one thing I love about being on the Cohen Eating Plan, it gives one renewed confidence to revisit old favorites...I have special clothes I couldn't bear to throw or give away - they are stored in the attic in that special place I save for history - which now, with the Cohen Program - has become a space for attires to consider in the near future!!!  As though time warped, I see past, present, and future, collapsing now that the Cohen Program gives my body's growth a chance to follow a non-linear path. Prior to this diet, my body's evolution was set on a discouragingly predictable course: each year meant another inch added to my waistline!  Not this year though. I've lost 4 inches in 4 weeks.  In many ways, I see in a fiesta, the same principle of time collapsing ...  yes, this fiesta is about tradition, and heritage - but it is also a lot about what's current, about trends today, and those to come. In some ways it's about anticipating the future - whether in fashion, floral arrangements, and event styling.  

The hermanas mayores Rina and Bianca Aniag in dramatic Filipiniana gowns.

This year, my sister-in-law wanted a Venetian-themed fiesta, and her Filipiniana terno on Saturday was hot pink and festooned with ostrich feathers. The rest of the gowned ladies in the processional entourage used vibrant hues of deep reds, rich purples, royal blues, shimmery ochre, and emerald green.  I thought Filipiniana meant jusi and piña, and other muted hues similar to parchment paper in old archives.  I was wrong. The prevalent interpretation of Filipiniana at the fiesta was as colorful as glossy pages of the spring issue of a high fashion magazine.  The fiesta felt old and young at the same time; historic but also faddish; solemn and deeply devotional on one level, but also subversively licentious and carnivalesque. That Saturday, I wore a new gown, purple in hue, with a sparkling beaded strap - for the Venetian-themed masquerade-like Testimonial Dinner.  I saw how colorful the palette was, for women's wear, and I knew the traditional piña gown I planned on wearing for the next day, Sunday - the main fiesta day - was possibly going to be out of place. I called my mom in the middle of the night - my ever supportive mom - whose life is modeled after our Lady, Ina ng Laging Saklolo; I asked her to climb up the attic, get my red terno, so I could pass by for it the next day. Sure, it's an old piece, but a bold choice of color back then, but oh, so appropriate now! I prayed it would fit me. Last minute, we passed by my dress on the way to Malolos. I fit it...one button closed, then another, down to my post-pregnancy belly. Moment of truth. Will it fit my waist? It did! Because miracles happen. Because I had faith. In God, in the Sto. Niño, in the Cohen Program!

Saturday procession before the Venetian-themed Testimonial Dinner.
Behind me (left), Rina in her feathered hot-pink terno.

The thing about faith is, it gets stronger if you nurture it.  My faith in the Cohen Program was growing every day, and fitting into old clothes has strengthened my resolve even more. It wasn't too hard to resist all the appetizing food at the fiesta.  There were the usual favorites: Lechon (whole roast pig; and whole roast calf), Kare-Kare, Chicken Galantina, Lengua, Lumpiang Sariwa, Grilled Tuna, Sisig...among others - and sweets! - Leche Flan, Buco Pandan, Fruit Salad, and Sago't Gulaman.  There were festive street food offerings along the procession's path: popcorn sold outside the church; freshly roasted salted peanuts, still hot in their little brown paper bags; cornick! - done Malolos style... I looked at them all and savored the memories they evoked, and admired the way they looked.  Did I regret not eating the food on offer? Nope. Not only because I had faith in the Cohen Program, but also because I had faith in the efficacy of sacrifice as a means to gain divine favor.  Like many other practitioners of folk piety, I joined the rest of Pinoys with their own personal panata (sacred vow).  I offered my little acts of sacrifice - going through the trouble of finding an attire that seemed suitable, even if it meant going out of the way; walking in the heat for hours, in heels, and formal wear, while hungry; and joyfully abstaining from partaking of the sumptuous feast spread before me. 

Fiesta food in abundance - food I did not eat.

I brought my own Cohen-compliant grilled chicken salad and arranged it on a plate - and because it was a fiesta - I made sure to bring festive condiments to match: a bottle of balsamic vinegar, my olive oil spray, and a salt mill - just so I'd have pre-meal rituals to perform, in flavoring my food, while my fellow diners were lining up at the buffet.  I enjoyed my dinner, and crunchy apple for desert - and drank in the atmosphere.  It made me think of the relevance of a fiesta. Observers of a different persuasion may see a lot to criticize.  How can the faithful find God in all this pageantry amidst real poverty? In thinking about this question, I remember an old friend telling me about the etymology of the word "enthusiasm", coming from "En" and "Theos" or, translated, means "in God".  This friend said to be enthusiastic is to be infused with the breath of God.  And there in Malolos, in the unwavering patience of the ever-growing crowd - in their willingness to stand for hours to watch more than 230 carossas snake their way through narrow streets, I saw an unmistakable enthusiasm, so fervent, gripping, and palpable - it made me rethink Marxist notions of the role of religion in keeping the poor in perpetual poverty.  The stories of the most opulently decorated carossas are not always about the landed class and old rich cementing their stature; many (if not a majority) of the grandest carossas are from deeply grateful families with stories of rising from poverty and achieving prosperity.

My Grilled chicken breast with salad (dressed with balsamico and olive oil)
right across from me is the chopping table for the lechon :-D

Motivations for participating in the feast are varied: mostly for thanksgiving, and supplication for prayers to be granted; but also for atonement for sins. There is a desire to restore balance: hermanos gives back to the community after having received so many blessings. Whatever their personal motivations, the enthusiasm is overflowing.  It is seen in the beautifully decorated carrosas, the spirited dancing, frequent fireworks, festive lights and continuous music.  Those with money, spend for food, flowers, fireworks, and fashion - those without money, offer their presence, voice, movement, or skills...and everyone, rich and poor alike, come together for collective prayer.  All these acts of devotion (church-sanctioned or otherwise) change the energy of the city, shaking the vibes of even the saddest corners of the town.  Elsewhere in Southeast Asia, festivals are also held to restore balance - in Bali, to name just one example, the island resets during Nyepi, and establishments close, and everyone takes a break from serving tourists, as the locals focus on performing rituals in honor of the spirits.  In Malolos, too, one gets the feeling of the city re-charging. Old houses have their windows open, with their residents out on the  balconies. Santo Niño images hidden indoors in private altars, are taken out to the streets to be recharged with the energy of fervent and publicly displayed collective belief.  Fiesta time is an opportunity for renewal of the public and private kind.

Oliver and I, on stage, watching the grand procession of more than 230
uniquely decorated carros  pass before us. We were hungry, but happy.

This too, is how I view my Cohen Program - it is like my own personal fiesta - a means to restore balance, and change the energy of my body, and shake up the saddest corners of my being.  I am only a month into the program, and already, I find myself enthused, as I haven't been in a long time.  The fact that I was able to fit into an old terno from long ago isn't the only miracle... there is an even bigger one.  To be enthused is to be infused with the breath of God. And wearing my red gown, at this fiesta, was not really about clothes - it was about restored faith... (and this time I am not referring to my belief in the science of Dr. Cohen)... I am rediscovering my beauty from within, and I am truly believing again, that I am made in the image and likeness of God, and I am rediscovering dormant aspects of my spirituality.  To have fatty parts is to be human. To have faith and enthusiasm, is divine.  I thought going to a grand fiesta while on a strict diet was going to be hell. But in the end, it turned out to be a heavenly experience. The spirited participation of everyone present, myself included, permeated my skin, and I feel fired up inside. I want to do so many things right now - to work, to move, to write, to learn, to love, to live!  It's a miracle. Thank you Santo Niño! Viva!!!  

Pinoy Piety: Highlights of My Holy Week

A penitent on Good Friday, along a national road in Pampanga.

It started with the Pabasa. I kept hearing the Pasyon being chanted in unexpected places.  Holy Wednedsay. I was at the Makati City Hall applying for a Business Permit, and as I made my way to the City Engineer's office, I could hear the unmistakable melody, a chorus of women singing, answered by a chorus of men, alternating in their delivery of the verses.  The sound wafted through the stairwell, coming from a few stories down. I skipped the elevator, and took the stairs, following the enchanting sound... and there they were, City Hall employees, appropriating office space (and work time), to fulfill a sacred vow to honor Christ.  Makati's Municipal Government takes pride in running the most professional of City Halls, and in many ways the City Hall has indeed clothed itself in convincing corporate garb - looking and feeling ever so efficiently run. On Holy Week, however, the veneer of professionalism gives way to a persistent piety so deeply rooted, it surfaces spontaneously in every available space.  This was my experience of Holy Week last week. I saw everyday spaces being made sacred by collective acts of sacrifice.  Everywhere I looked, I saw ordinary Pinoys  performing acts of devotion. And it touched me, to the core, and led me to prayer.

Makati City Hall employees turned an office hallway into a "backyard Pabasa"

Maundy Thursday. Oliver and I invited his family to join us for the traditional Visita Iglesia. We had an epic journey planned for the night, a pilgrimage to the most visited, and most loved churches of Manila: Baclaran, Malate Church, Binondo, Quaipo, San Sebastian, San Beda,  - and the relatively new church where we got married and started our Christian family, The National Shrine of St. Therese.  But even before we embarked on our official Visita (which involves visiting 7 churches), Oliver and I took our kids to a few other churches ahead.  It felt a bit like "holy cheating", like dipping your finger for a dollop of icing before the cake is served.  I felt like we were visiting churches too early, before the "right" time sanctioned by tradition.  It was good to take our little baby boy to churches early in the afternoon, way before the crowds swelled to impossible proportions.

We stopped at the convent of the Pink Sisters along 11th Street in New Manila. And a wave of nostalgia swept through me. I used to live on 11th Street, and this was where my mother often came to pray for big petitions - the kind that the were too big for a simple rosary at home.  From martial law in the 70s to coup d'etats in the 80s, to calamities in the 90s, this was where we went to pray for our country.  Just watching the backs of the contemplative nuns while they prayed was enough to inspire me to want to pray better. How instructive they were in their stillness.  I understand why our country's leaders choose to come here for discernment in tumultuous times.

Contemplative pink sisters "behind bars" where they can pray in peace.

We also visited Mt. Carmel church, and its hall of saints. I visited my patron saint, St. Anne, mother of Mary, and the patron of Mothers. I am one of those Filipinos with a legal name in my birth certificate (Nikki) that is different from my Christian name in my baptismal certificate (Nikki Ann). Oh my, these two identities gave me problems when I was applying for a marriage license with the City Hall using my legal name, and my church required that I use my Christian name for the papers to be signed in church.  Long story made short, I had to drop my Christian name "Ann"(and the priest gave me hell for doing that), so I am now just "Nikki" legally and officially. In spirit though, I will always be Nikki Ann, and I never will never stop praying to my patron saint, more so now, that I am a mother myself.

I brought my daughter, Narra Teresa, to the image of her patron St. Therese; and I also said a special prayer for my son Guijo (Guillermo Jose), in front of his patron St. Joseph.  I felt like I was visiting family, and introducing my children to them. Psychologically, Mt. Carmel was once "home", it was our family's parish church throughout my childhood years.  Visita Iglesia gave me the opportunity to touch base, and regain my bearings.

The image of St. Anne, patron of Mothers, my patron saint.

Later that evening, we went to Baclaran with Narra (we left baby Guijo), and caught the solemn procession as the Blessed Sacrament was exposed. Thousands of people were there, on their knees.  I was surprised to see so many flat LCD screens mounted on the church's posts.  Apparently, it's been a while since I was last here. My mother has prayed here in the "prescribed" way of the folk a few times, making her way down the aisle from door to altar on her knees,  as is the custom.  I even joined her once, though I forget now what it was that we were praying for.  Baclaran church encourages a kind of piety different from what one observes at the Pink sister's convent where the pious seem to solemnly surrender their troubles and their will... there is an air of acceptance, and quiet contemplation of God's will.  In Baclaran, prayers are muttered with urgency, with faces scrunched up in earnest, in heartfelt supplication that God may grant what is so fervently requested.   

Procession of the exposed Blessed Sacrament, Baclaran church.

The separate building outside the church dedicated for candles offered to Our Lady of Perpetual Help is one clear indication of Baclaran's special place in people's minds. It is a church where intercessory prayers are deemed even more efficacious.  I felt all sorts of heat inside that building. Physical heat from the flames from so many candles; Human heat from too many people converging in the same place; and the heat of burning faith.  If lukewarmness is the work of the devil, then he's nowhere to be found in Baclaran where even silent prayers are rendered audible by transparent gestures and postures. People touch the images of saints with hands that are heavy with hope; they bow their heads and close their eyes, as though to beg; Everything about their stance screams "please, please, please, Oh Lord, please". Empowered by such fervor, I found myself doing the same, scrunching up my face, and with eyes closed, I too, said my own desperate "please, please, please, O Lord, please".  We had Narra with us in Baclaran, but she fell asleep. Oliver and I took turns carrying her, and it was a welcome burden. Bearing her weight added a sense of sacrifice to our trip.

The annex outside Baclaran church (a view of one side of the long room)

Later, even after Narra woke up, we still ended carrying her most of the time.  The task of getting from Point A to B had become more difficult as we ventured deeper into the heart of Manila, and deeper into the night. We went to that beautiful old church in Binondo, at the end of Ongpin street in Chinatown.  There was a sea of humanity inside the church, a sea fed by several rivers flowing from various directions. It is funny how this makes a lot of sense to me - having this much people in this place - after all, this is Divisoria country, the heart of commerce, where every day is a "crazy sale day".  I found the church "abuzz"...I could still hear the buzz in my head as I write this... the noisy, active, energetic bustle of a busy, excited crowd.  I had a prayer book in my hand, and I strained to hear myself pray. I imagined myself shouting inside my head so I could hear my own prayer, that's how noisy it was.  

Beautiful Binondo church, abuzz with activity.

The church in Binondo is plugged into a network of historic churches in close proximity, which pilgrims can easily navigate by foot.  You can tell by the choreography of the crowd, that they are here by habit, following a sacred sequence to fulfill their panata, or devotional vow.  We didn't have a specific sequence in mind - we just followed the herd - and found our way without having to use our GPS or google maps. We just went were the people were... which meant ending up in Quiapo. Here, I felt something different. Yes, it was also crowded, and frenzied - but it was also Christ-centered, most especially on Christ's suffering. You could tell that Quiapo church was home of the Black Nazarene. The devotees here exhibit a certain sturdiness and propensity for physical hardship and suffering. If, in most churches, people walk to the altar - here I saw people kneeling, and even laboriously crawling on the ground;  We saw pilgrims who walked the streets barefooted, from great distances - and on grimy Manila pavements too! We saw groups of people wearing special edition t-shirts, some were really cool, with graphic art featuring Jesus (one striking design had the word "Saved" written on the back; with an artistically rendered and powerfully moving image of Jesus in the front).  In Quiapo church, I felt solidarity with Jesus - I saw people participating in his struggle for our salvation - there were many acts of sacrifice and suffering.  There was an air of remorse and repentance that was distinctly peculiar to Quiapo church.

A penitent, crawling on the ground, with kneeling companions.

From Quiapo, we headed to gothic San Sebastian, which loomed large in the distance as we approached it by foot. The glorious architecture outside, was echoed inside, as the crystal chandeliers, the shiny altar, and vaulted ceiling inspired awe.  From the depths of suffering in Quiapo church, I felt my spirit soar in San Sebastian.  Narra looked like she entered a castle.  There was an image of Christ with his crown of thorns, and it seemed to me, to look like a triumphant Christ, the Redeemer and Savior.  The church was of course, full to capacity, but there were no devotees kneeling their way to the altar here.  The vibe here, is very different, almost glorious.

Narra and I outside San Sebastian church, enjoying its Gothic facade.

Inside San Sebastian, the chandeliers and altar, lit up.

From San Sebastian, we proceeded to San Beda. It was our last stop for the night, and by then, our night was reaching its climax. The street leading up to San Beda was completely blocked for vehicles and completely dedicated to pedestrians.  The vibe was exuberant!  There were groups of youth cheering!...and dancing! as they made their way to the beautiful church in San Beda. There were  vendors selling tempting treats (all of us in our group noticed the "crispy chicken skin chicharon" cart parked right by the entrance).  It was our last church for the night, and we were happy to have completed our task of visiting 7 churches. 

A gay bunch heading happily towards San Beda, with cheering and dancing!

The beautifully decorated ceiling inside San Beda church.

We ended our prayers before the stroke of midnight. Narra, who was sleepy and lethargic earlier that night, was recharged by the energy in San Beda. It was a peculiarly fitting way to end a rewarding journey through Manila's classic Visita Iglesia trail.  I was happy to expose Narra to her cultural heritage. I was very satisfied with what we saw on Maundy Thursday. 

Narra and Oliver, at the end of our Visita Iglesia. San Beda.

Little did I know, that there was more to see on Good Friday. We had a trip to Pampanga, planned out. A not-so-religious vacation at Fontana Leisure Parks and Casino. On our way there, we saw so many penitents along the road: flagellants with bloody backs; and "Christs" carrying their crosses, on their way to being crucified.  We ended up spending the afternoon watching The Passion of Christ. Even though we all knew the story, we were still glued to the screen, wincing in pain, and looking away when we couldn't bear to see Jesus suffer some more.  This made me think of the penitents we saw on the road, who partake of Christ's suffering by subjecting themselves to physical pain.

A penitent's bloody back from flagellation.

It didn't seem to me as though there was a lot of pageantry and fanfare, or spectacle - nope.  With or without an audience the penitents were performing a sacred vow, an act of devotion, a personal panata offered to God.  I was moved by their sacrifice.  I have seen documentaries on television painting our practices in an unflattering light, as a form of juvenile fanaticism, a folk Catholic practice on the brink of being a vice, rather than a virtue. I know that most of these traditions and devotions are outside the Liturgy; but they are commendable in cementing our piety, in leading us to deep prayer, and in keeping our church animated with a burning exuberance.

Good Friday, on the way to the "Crucifixion", as the clock approaches 3 pm

I have dreams for my children, that they will grow up steadfast in faith, and rooted in their Pinoy culture.  I don't think it will be hard to achieve this.  I am sure they will learn proper doctrine and practice from Religion teachers in Catholic school; and they will learn folk beliefs and practices from the streets.  Pinoy piety is alive and well, and thrives everywhere, inside and outside churches, vibrant and ever so relevant.

Kid-Friendly Places: Barbara's Cultural Dinner Show

Details for Barbara's Cultural Dinner Show.

Growing up, I had fond memories of enjoying Filipino food while watching folk dances. We would often bring to these cultural dinners our guests who are balikbayans, family and friends who have migrated abroad and are back for a visit after many years of not seeing the Philippines.  They would usually be hungry for Filipino food, and the accompanying folk dances and music would unfailingly bring about a sense of nostalgia. Last week, my uncle Fr. Manuel Serranilla, arrived from Canada. I invited him to dinner at Barbara's in Intramuros.  I knew the area would trigger recollections of the past, after all, my uncle was ordained at San Agustin Church just across from Barbara's, and he knew the area well for he frequently walked the historic streets of the walled city as a young seminarian training to be a priest decades ago. 

The ensemble of dance scholars performing the jota.

I made sure to bring Narra, it's her turn now to tag along the way I did with my parents in the 80's whenever they had guests.  When I was young, we would drive to Taal Vista Lodge in Tagaytay, where the hotel's restaurant regularly held performances. A nearer destination was Josephine's restaurant in the Greenbelt of old, which had dinner shows nightly. I was so happy to hear Barbara's has such a show now. I used to associate Barbara's with stiff fine dining, the type of place that induces diners to sit up straight. But now, with the cultural show and buffet set up, I felt comfortable enough to bring my toddler. I knew there would be lively music, and a lot of people moving about - the combination of a  buffet and a show gives people license to stand up, walk, and take photos - so I knew Narra wouldn't be a nuisance in such an environment.  

My mom Sonia, carrying Narra to give her a better view.

My mom absolutely loves cultural performances. Watching shows brings her back to her early days as a young teacher who directed various types of school shows and student theater productions. A night of music and dancing always makes my mom glow. She carried Narra off to the side, to give her a better vantage point. She was whispering explanations to my daughter as the show went on, personally bequeathing to her grandchild history and heritage as she knows it.  

Fan dance from the Southern Philippines.

The dance scholars who were performing that night were very engaging. Their youthful enthusiasm was infectious, and they easily filled the dining space with their energy. The audience was quiet as they performed the Muslim dances with the required emotional distance and regal decorum; then they made the audience cheerful with their exciting fiesta dances: sayaw sa bangko, binasuan, pastores, and the perennial favorite, tinikling!

The exciting sayaw sa bangko.

Binasuan, similar to Pandanggo sa Ilaw.

Narra was enthralled! Her eyes were glued to the dancers the whole time. Narra could normally eat by herself already, but that night, my mom had to feed her, delivering periodic spoonfuls as the show progressed. My little girl couldn't sit down!  The rest of us adults, got to enjoy our food: Almondigas soup, ensalada, palabok, bacalao, classic adobo, pinakbet, and beef kaldereta. 

My mom trying to feed Narra.

Narra, mesmerized with the dancers.

By the end of the show, the dancers posed with diners. My dad and my daughter excitedly ran to the dance floor.  Narra was just in high spirits. Our guest for the night, Father Manny, was likewise energized. He was videotaping the dances, and he even participated in the tinikling when volunteers from the audience were invited to give the dance a try. 

Lolo and Apo posing with the dancers.

Our guest for the evening Fr. Manny Serranilla from Canada.

When one thinks of a kid-friendly place, an elegant restaurant in a 19th century building isn't usually what comes to mind. But with a dinner show featuring Filipino dances, it's a different story.  Our folk dances are colorful, vivid and vibrant - alive and exciting, charming and inviting.  Performed by energetic dancers, they have a disarming effect. Imagine this: we were stuck in nasty traffic, it was raining, and there was a procession going towards San Agustin church! Malas naman! I thought to myself how unlucky our timing was. I carried Narra, walking nervously on slippery cobblestone streets making my way to Barbara's, only to discover she only had one shoe on!...the other one was left in the car! I had to go back in the rain for that other shoe and my mood became as gloomy as the weather.  That night had all the makings of a terrible evening. But by the time the show was over, we were in good spirits. There's nothing like a good round of tinikling to snap one out of a bad mood.  I was infused with the fiesta spirit, and the procession that irritated me just an hour earlier, already looked to me like a cause of celebration! What luck that my daughter gets to witness a procession of devotees braving the rain in the name of faith.  What luck that she sees this historic part of town abuzz with activity, alive!

I was thrilled that Narra loved watching the performances that night. I love our folk dances, and so does my mother, and her mother before her. And that night, on Dec. 8, we got to introduce another generation to the joys of Philippine folk dance.

Barbara's Official Website:

http://www.barbarasfood.com/events.htm

Related Posts:

Nick's Cafe Filipino Merienda Buffet

http://nikki-mama.blogspot.com/2011/12/kid-friendly-places-tower-inns-filipino.html

Treasures of Las Piñas: The Bamboo Organ, The Boys Choir, and a Filipino Christmas

The famous Bamboo Organ.

There it was. The Bamboo Organ. One of the more beautiful reminders of the colonial encounter - the meeting of Europe and Asia embodied in an instrument.  Engineering know-how and musicology from the West combined with the local craftsman's innate musicality and intimate knowledge of indigenous wood.  Oliver took me to a Christmas Concert held at the famous church in Las Piñas so we could marvel at two of the area's musical icons:  The Bamboo Organ and the Las Piñas Boys Choir.  European compositions were being played on the organ, and Christmas carols, even in German, were being sung by the adorable boys.  Foreign material as interpreted soulfully by the Filipino artist.  The concert we watched was entitled Silent Night and it was the type of concert that moves you to be still.

Posing with the Las Piñas Boys Choir. Little did I know
that I was carrying my own tiny boy in my belly.

This was Christmas last year. I was just suspecting I was pregnant. I bought a pregnancy test kit, and  was disappointed when the results came out negative. I really felt pregnant, I was sure. It wouldn't be until two weeks later, when I took a second test that my intuition would be  proven right. Sometimes, the heart, or the gut, knows ahead and with conviction, what science can only affirm later.  So there I was at the concert, with pregnancy's gift of heightened senses. I was seeing, hearing, and feeling everything - the church, the music, the lighting and the decor - and I saw connections and creations - of beauty and balance, history and harmony. I was in love. With my husband for bringing me here to Las Piñas, for knowing me well enough to anticipate that I would love a night like this. With my country for everything good it is capable of, past, present, and future. A night of revelation, in the old center of town.

The altar decorated with abaca lanterns.

I marveled at the Church's altar. At how finely crafted it was, brick on brick, in delicate layers, from the floor to the ceiling - ah, the ceiling, it was another awesome sight: supported by beautiful stone arches, and done in bamboo. How many hours must have gone into selecting only the best pieces of bamboo, to be perfectly positioned, side by side, to cover the entire length of the church.  I've seen many churches in my travels, and craned my neck upwards countless times to admire painted ceilings and domes - but never like this. I have never been awed by simplicity like this - how could one be made to stare so long, at one material, done in one color, with only one thing happening: it's just bamboo lined up - but how I marveled at it, at its grand expanse.

The church's bamboo ceiling.

Then there were the grand chandeliers made of capiz shells, and festooned with garlands made of abaca. The bamboo, the capiz, and the abaca, all gave me a strong sense of place. I am here. I am home. I am no longer a young graduate  student lost on a lonely Sunday in some European city, desperately seeking comfort in a cold old church, dreaming of home. Now, the situation is reversed. I am in a warm (nay! hot!) church in the tropics, but also no longer young, already wife and mother, reminiscing about my  days of freedom in cold Europe. Watching a concert, even a silent one, really makes the mind dance.

Capiz chandeliers.

The church on any normal day, is already a sight to behold, but at Christmas? Even more so! I loved the hanging abaca lanterns against a backdrop of centuries-old grills and stained glass.  I loved the elegant garlands and understated Christmas lights above the windows' deep stone frames.  

I loved the parols, also done in abaca. Floating silently from the ceilings. What gracious solemnity. I often associate Christmas with gaiety, and Filipino decorations with loud colors to the point of being garish and gaudy- but that night in Las Piñas church was a silent night, for the ears, and also for the eyes. And most importantly for the spirit. I wonder if the music of that night imprinted on my son, and helped create his calming demeanor.  My son has that kind of energy signature, his star shines like an abaca parol, big and grand, beautiful and glorious, but peculiarly quiet and subtle. Just there in the background, while being there at the center. It is part of my baby boy's appeal, his unobtrusive, gentle magnetism. 

The church after the concert.

I write about last year's concert now, because it is Christmas once again. From Christmas to Christmas, things change, sometimes for the worse - like when loved ones die - sometimes for the better - like when you welcome a precious baby boy into the family. This year, more than at any other Christmas in my life, do I feel the passing of generations. It's been quite a year of changes, of funerals and baptisms. And I thought of this old church built in solid stone, a building that houses an eternal Christmas, where carols from foreign lands will always sound strangely Filipino when played on a bamboo organ; where the same Silent Night will always be sung by choirboys to the ever-changing generations of churchgoers who people the pews beneath the hanging abaca stars.