Triduum thoughts of a young boy

Part of my youth was spent under enemy occupation, an experience that hopefully most of our people will never have to undergo in their lifetime.

For me it all started with my first-ever sight of an airplane hovering over the city, flying so low that one could see the pilot in his open cockpit. It carried the markings of a red ball on its wings and fuselage. It didn’t stay very long. Perhaps, it was on a reconnaissance-type mission, its home base an aircraft carrier offshore.

This was followed a week later with the arrival of strange-looking soldiers in dun-colored uniforms with puttees wrapped around the legs from ankle to knee. They wore canvas boots, split-toed with the big toe separated from the other toes. Their headgear consisted of a peaked cap with cloth flaps at the back hanging over the neck.

After a few days, I was bowing low from the waist whenever I passed a group of these men. It was never clear to me why I had to do this. But you learn and accept easily in an atmosphere of fear and the unknown.

At school, I started learning a new song called the “Kimigayo,” the Japanese national anthem, and a whole new alphabet with strange and exotic characters was introduced to the class.

For a young boy, life under the enemy was not too bad. We were never hungry. We always had three meals a day. Fried camote in the morning, boiled camote for lunch, and a choice of fried or boiled camote  (depending on the leftover), for dinner. It was not always the sweet potato variety. Most often, the camote was bland and stringy. But camote was always filling. Perhaps, too filling at times. We had to let go of some of the air that accumulated inside.

Of the occupation years of my youth, two were spent in the small town of Sarrat in the province of Ilocos Norte. The town was divided into two by a small river that served as the boundary between the haves and the have-nots. We were on one side of what Americans would refer to as “the railroad tracks.” The poor were on the other side. Today, life in the sleepy old town has completely changed. The poor on the other side of the river are now the new rich, with wealth derived mostly from remittances from overseas workers. Many of the old rich have moved away either to Manila or to where the Green Card has brought them.

In the two years of enemy occupation spent in the province, what caused me distress and agitation was not the presence of Japanese soldiers. As long as I stayed away from them, they did not represent a problem.

My great discomfort had to do with the annual rituals of the Triduum, leading up to Easter Sunday.

Let me explain.

The town was dominated by old women who set the tone for all festivities, religious or secular. During Holy Week they frowned on any kind of activity, except those that were Church-related. In the runup to Easter Sunday, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday were spent entirely in church.

On Maundy Thursday, we had the Mass of the Lord’s Supper and after the homily, the ceremony known as the Washing of the Feet, which involved the well-known personalities of the town, was carried out. This was followed by the procession of the Holy Sacrament, and by the tradition known as Visita Iglesia.

On Good Friday, we had the Seven Last Words followed by the Veneration of the Cross.

Black Saturday was the saddest day of my life. We were prohibited from doing anything, and I mean anything—no playing, no talking loudly, no laughing, no unnecessary moving around, no picking of fruits, no swimming in the river; all the things I enjoyed doing most were taboo for the whole day. I felt like I was itching all over and was not allowed to do any scratching.

As a young boy, my great pleasure in life was running to the banks of the nearby river, throwing off my pants and jumping into the water. I also devised a primitive way of fishing and when I was able to catch anything as big as my thumb, it was some great achievement and brought me immeasurable joy and happiness. I also enjoyed gathering fruits straight from the trees, berries from the forest, and all kinds of insects from the fields.

For three days leading to Easter Sunday, I was prohibited from doing all these on pain of mortal sin and eternal damnation. For me, the Triduum represented the longest and most difficult days of my young life.

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Last week, Penny and I received an invitation for dinner on Good Friday. In my whole life, Good Friday was always spent at home, fasting and abstaining (except as senior citizens now). So I asked my wife to please double-check if the invitation was really for Good Friday or perhaps, some other Friday.  Sure enough, it was for Good Friday.

It was a small group and I asked the host why Good Friday? I think she just smiled and I left it at that.

I’ve been thinking about the Good Friday dinner, and it dawned on me that it was the most appropriate activity for the day. By our customs and traditions when we attend wakes, there is music and laughter, food and drinks are part of the evening as we recall the goodness or the naughtiness of the deceased.

Our Lord died on Good Friday. We gathered with friends to mark the occasion with food and laughter. Thank you, Belen, for opening our minds to a different way of celebrating Good Friday.

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Congratulations to the CAAP (Civil Aeronautics Authority of the Philippines) team of Willy Hotchkiss, John Andrews and Joy Joya, for the recent Federal Aviation Authority upgrade back to Category 1.

Hotchkiss is the CAAP’s face in the international community, while Andrews. handles the local coverage. This explains why most often, it is Andrews who makes many of the announcements that impact on domestic policies and activities.