Lent and Karaoke
„From the bounty of Bukid-non,“ I heard my gardener telling my cousin as he emptied on the kitchen table the contents of his buri garden basket: pechay, sun-ripe tomatoes, sweet potatoes, eggplants, herbs, sweet-smelling balubad (cashew), etc.: The pechays were crispy to the touch; their stalks break easily with a crunching sound. They were enormous, unlike those I usually find in the market. „I used abo (ashes from burned leaves) and organic soil, those we got from our Mayor,“ he said when I asked how he did it. I imagined they will make good side dish for the huge talakitoks I got from our local market. I wish talakitoks (big eye trevalli fish, according to Google) grow in the fresh waters of the patubig (agricultural irrigation canal) in front of my house, just a few steps from the front gates. No, they don’t but in the lake-waters surrounding the Taal volcano. If I didn’t have them I can settle for dalag (mudfish) and hito (catfish) which are available in the market any time of the year. With my leafy greens the dalag is succulent when prepared as pesa (mudfish and ginger stew); the hito I prefer fried super crisp that even the fins become edible especially if you have a dip of burong kanin/isda (fermented rice and fish), also from the local market. I am risking another bout of gout here but I don’t do this very often – a very hard thing to do when you are home in the Philippines.
Balubad (cashew fruit) from my balubad tree
Newly harvested pechays (bok choi), also from the bounty of my Bukid-non, and talakitok fish
Oven-grilled talakitok fish wrapped in banana leaves
Let the fasting begin.
It’s Lenten Season, it almost slipped my mind! Time for reflections, and fasting. And for karaoke – Oh, no!
I woke up this morning at 7 to the howling of dogs and the blast of karaoke noise – not again! – coming from my neighbor’s house on the other side of the agricultural water canal. This will last until after midnight, I know, despite the ban at the strike of 10. My sister had a hard time listening to her Korean telenovela so she sent our gardener to the neighbor with a message to tone down the volume of the sound system. Stop at 10 p.m, or face consequences – police banging on their door. It’s a useless threat I know but I keep on trying nevertheless. No one really listens to the authorities, especially after one too many. And the authorities don’t really care. They didn’t do anything, I supposed when I called to complain about that cacophony of noise coming somewhere not too far from my house. Yes, they always have to be in the area where I live! A church congregation, my gardener told me, was commemorating some church event– a kind of foundation day or something. It didn’t stop until I heard the roosters crowed the third time, reminding me of St. Peter denying knowledge of his master. With their exaggerated worshipping and adoration of their gods, St. Peter, I am sure, would deny knowledge of this congregation. I shut my bedroom windows tight and buried my head in my pillows lest I get converted just hearing the leaders and conned members screaming Allelujas and Amens over and over again. Aren’t we supposed to be spending a period of time in silence and prayer?
I was transported back to the Lenten seasons of my childhood when we were not allowed to make noise, especially on a Good Friday. We can listen to the radio or watch television, read books and komiks as long as they were about saints – and occasionally about sinners who repented and got an A for good behavior and eventually became saints. Listening to their stories, we were enlightened as to how the description „overnight saint“ came about – a title befitting heaps of my friends. I am a believer but I cannot say that I had much of a holy life, despite having attended a Catholic school. I had, however, an overdose of stories in my childhood to last me a lifetime — about saints and sinners, about fallen angels becoming demons – thanks to my catechism teacher, I wet my “banig” (buri mat) until puberty when the nightmares evolved into fun dreams. Wet dreams, you know, or maybe you don’t know.
How many times have my brother and I watched Moses parting the red sea and remained fascinated by the story each time? I like the one about Salome seducing King Herod with her erotic dance of the seven veils, and eventually getting what she wanted – the head of poor John served in a dish to please her wicked, wicked mother. As a child I had a fixation with Salome – the Bible’s Lolita gyrating her way to the heart and loin of her powerful stepfather. The thought of an old stepfather spanking a young stepdaughter – a schoolgirl not yet sixteen – would send me running to the confessions. While the priest was giving me my penance of five Our Godfathers and five Hail Marys, my mind would wander to the bedroom where the whore of a stepdaughter ran for cover, the horny stepdad running after her. Hail Mary, full of grace …
The karaoke was getting louder and louder. I could hear a twink (I bet it was!) getting passionate with her birits (belting). “Share my life, take me for what I am …“ Paying tribute to Whitney and insulting her at the same time.
„Torete, torete … „ a little child was singing or was trying to sing. I could not take this song anymore. I was tempted to go over and drown that ugly tortoise in the patubig, and I don’t care anymore if I had to recite a million Hail Marys for my penance. Better this punishment than torture by karaoke.
„Sayang na sayang talaga …“ the same bastard – as off-key as ever!
Much as I’d like to convince myself that the karaoke was my temporal punishment for the sins I may have committed while on earth, the other Virgilio in me says I must not let myself become a victim of neighbors who think they were alone in the village. „It may be Lent but don’t be a martyr,“ my conciencia buggers me. „Violence and bloodshed may happen but see to it that it’s their blood, not yours!“ The Temptation of Virgilio.
A friend went to the Barangay Hall to lodge a complaint on my behalf. The karaoke is now running two consecutive days. I let them have fun the whole day yesterday until midnight, ignoring speakers in full blast. I think I had been a considerate neighbor – still am – but a night and two days of mental flagellation were all this ex-Dominican altar boy can take.
Our Father who art in heaven … forgive my trespasses, as I forgive those who trespass against me but, please, take their karaokes away!
*video clip from youtube
How time has changed! We used to go to Tondo to watch “penitensiya” and talking loud was a no no.
Next year, go somewhere to escape your neighbours – karaoke, like penitensiya” has become a tradition
during holy week.
Indeed, time has changed and santos have designer costumes. Imagine, even Christ’s skimpy wrap-around is sequin and pearl-studded, and Mary’s trail was meters long, glistening with gold threads :)