There's no moon tonight, just the sound of children's laughter in the streets and random explosions of fireworks. I can smell my aunt's roast chicken, uh, roasting downstairs. My cousins are whipping up a riot on the patio, making up a dance for the street party tonight.
The house is literally shining and bright, what with lights sprouting from every possible surface. Daddy's playing his old Christmas records; songs from many years ago that never fail to bring that fuzzy feeling back to me. My cats are sniffing the smoked bangus like they always [always] do, and my sister is chasing them away with her plastic water-gun, the one she got from the kid's party earlier. My hands are soiled from handling barbecue marinade and fruit salad, and the food set grandly on the table smell just as good as my apron.
The smaller kids gather around the tree, shaking and rattling the presents. The boxes sit neatly beneath the prickly green branches, but their happy silence is disturbed by the small, impatient hands. They're all in different shapes, wrapped in various, gaily colours: blue, red, green, gold.
People flock to the churches, holding candles and greeting each other. After services, they flurry around wishing each other well, hurrying to get the most essential Noche Buena fares -bibingka, puto, bico, chicharon- from the humble vendor's stalls. Everyone's hurrying to go home to their families, to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The colourful parols and fireworks light their way home...
It's Christmas.
Never forget the reason for the season: JESUS CHRIST.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Kapre
A lot of things slip past you when you're, say, about seven years old.
.............................
"Are you thsure thith ith a good idea, Annemarie?" James asks, struggling to achieve proper pronunciation despite his missing front teeth.
We're in the garden, collecting small bugs for a brand-new experiment.
"Calm down, Jamesey. Mama thinks we're in the tent."
"They might hear us."
I pause and look at him cautiously. "Who?"
"The night monsterth and the kapres. Daddy thsays they thsmoke big pipes and thsit in big treeth. Like that one."
"Kids? Where are you?"
I run through the house screaming bloody murder and dive inside the camp tent that stands pitched on the patio. He dives in after me.
The black of the night makes the tent's interior even darker than I'd like.
"You're the one who's always scared, anyways, meathead." I hiss.
"Then why did you ruuun?"
"Because our mamas are gonna hear us."
"They'll hear uth even more 'cause you thscreamed."
We bicker on for a while, until the sound of our mother's voices cut in.
"JAMES! ANNEMARIE!"
Quickly we slide under the tent blanket for refuge.
"I'm sorry for making you scream, Annie! I'm sorry sorry sorry..."
What a baby.
My mother rips the tent door open. She's standing there with James's mother, whose hands are planted on her hips. I've got the feeling that they're gonna start calling us by our whole names and stuff.
They don't, but they lecture us on a very consequential matter: that of digging through the garden without permission or a pair of rubber gloves. At night. In pajamas.
After they leave, I turn to James.
"I believe in your kapre," I whisper. "we should go hunt for it!"
He brightens. "Yeah! But maybe we should bring along flashlights. It'ths dark."
Nodding, I start to rummage through his backpack for a torchlight. Then suddenly he tugs on my arm, looking rather beseeching.
"Annemarie, promith me now that if the kapre gets uth, we'll help each other out. Okay?"
"Yes, and through anything else, too," I whisper back.
"Spit oath," he says. I reach my hand out to him, and he spits into it. I do the same-most gracious-favor for him, and we shake.
[Eugh. Slimy.]
He smiles at me, so I can see the gap where two new teeth will be sprouting out soon. And I smile back, because somehow, I know he isn't going to fail me.
.............................
Ah, only a true kababata knows just how important and meaningful a spit oath is. It's for life and for death, for sun and for rain.
No, seriously.
Don't you think so? :)
.............................
"Are you thsure thith ith a good idea, Annemarie?" James asks, struggling to achieve proper pronunciation despite his missing front teeth.
We're in the garden, collecting small bugs for a brand-new experiment.
"Calm down, Jamesey. Mama thinks we're in the tent."
"They might hear us."
I pause and look at him cautiously. "Who?"
"The night monsterth and the kapres. Daddy thsays they thsmoke big pipes and thsit in big treeth. Like that one."
"Kids? Where are you?"
I run through the house screaming bloody murder and dive inside the camp tent that stands pitched on the patio. He dives in after me.
The black of the night makes the tent's interior even darker than I'd like.
"You're the one who's always scared, anyways, meathead." I hiss.
"Then why did you ruuun?"
"Because our mamas are gonna hear us."
"They'll hear uth even more 'cause you thscreamed."
We bicker on for a while, until the sound of our mother's voices cut in.
"JAMES! ANNEMARIE!"
Quickly we slide under the tent blanket for refuge.
"I'm sorry for making you scream, Annie! I'm sorry sorry sorry..."
What a baby.
My mother rips the tent door open. She's standing there with James's mother, whose hands are planted on her hips. I've got the feeling that they're gonna start calling us by our whole names and stuff.
They don't, but they lecture us on a very consequential matter: that of digging through the garden without permission or a pair of rubber gloves. At night. In pajamas.
After they leave, I turn to James.
"I believe in your kapre," I whisper. "we should go hunt for it!"
He brightens. "Yeah! But maybe we should bring along flashlights. It'ths dark."
Nodding, I start to rummage through his backpack for a torchlight. Then suddenly he tugs on my arm, looking rather beseeching.
"Annemarie, promith me now that if the kapre gets uth, we'll help each other out. Okay?"
"Yes, and through anything else, too," I whisper back.
"Spit oath," he says. I reach my hand out to him, and he spits into it. I do the same-most gracious-favor for him, and we shake.
[Eugh. Slimy.]
He smiles at me, so I can see the gap where two new teeth will be sprouting out soon. And I smile back, because somehow, I know he isn't going to fail me.
.............................
Ah, only a true kababata knows just how important and meaningful a spit oath is. It's for life and for death, for sun and for rain.
No, seriously.
Don't you think so? :)
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