ANG MORIONES! / EVERY HOLY WEEK! =D

Growing up, we were not allowed to go out-of-town during Holy Week. Noni (my fave grandmother) and especially Lola Sinay (my great grandmother) laid the ground rules. To go on vacation during Holy Week is sacrilegious; everyone must stay home and pray. It was made clear that one will be allowed to leave the house only if he is attending a retreat or going to church for mass, the Stations of the Cross, the Washing of the Feet or the Seven Last Words. My childhood memories—and those of my siblings and cousins—therefore revolve largely around speaking in hushed tones (Mga anak, huwag maingay. Naghihirap ang Diyos!), moving about carefully, as Lola Sinay sang (yes, SANG!) about the suffering of Christ as she read from the Pasyon in a melody so forlorn, there was no mistaking that the entire thing was about something tragic.

The traditional Holy Week is considered sacred in our household that long after both Noni and Lola Sinay are gone, we continue to stay home or leave the house only to go on retreats or church—this time with Mother as our guard. Haha! Good Friday would typically find us waking up to boiled bananas, and that would be it for the day. Patay ang Diyos. Bawal kumain. =) But, yes, we are at least now allowed to speak in normal tones and watch TV. Haha! =D

The only exception to this family rule that was ever deemed acceptable--but only because I positioned it as a religious festival *sheepish grin =D*--was when my parents miraculously allowed me to go to Marinduque with Then-Boyfriend-Pa-Lang Sweet.Whereas Manila becomes a practical ghost town during Holy Week, it is ironically the only time the sleepy province of Marinduque wakes up from its stupor. Tourists (both local and foreign) troop to this little heart-shaped island off-Lucena for only one reason: THE MORIONES FESTIVAL.

I admittedly did not know much about it when I first went. I was too starry-eyed back then, too giddy at the idea of “traveling home” with my BF of two months (haha!) to really bother with the religious significance of the festival. It was only when I got there did I fully understand its richness. Whereas the tourists only see it is a colorful fiesta to be watched, the Moriones Festival is actually a panata to the Marinduquenos.To those who have never been there, the Moriones Festival is basically a week-long cenaculo (passion play) that is played out on the streets within the major towns. Although the Moriones tradition supposedly started in Mogpog, we would always witness the festivities in Boac, the provincial capital, where the Hubby’s family also lived.

I soon found out that as soon as Holy Week starts, Moriones would start coming out of the woodwork to walk all over town, effectively converting the streets into a practical stage. Some march alone. Some walk around in groups, converging in the town plaza. Others go around in chariots drawn by big horses. All of them will be walking around in “full battle gear”, keeping guard as the ancient Roman soldiers once did. Little kids would inevitably chase after them and taunt them shouting, "Morion, bunge!" (Toothless Morions!) only to scamper in all directions like headless chickens (the entire time giggling) whenever the Moriones decide to chase the kids and taunt them right back with their spears. I thought it was hilarious, the first time I saw it happen. =) I wanted to taunt the Moriones too, but thought I'd better behave first. Haha! 'D

Maundy Thursday and Good Friday is when the festival really reaches fever pitch. The Maundy Thursday celebration starts with a procession of all the participating Moriones, allowing the townsfolk to see all the different costumes in one long parade. I was told that each mask is painstakingly made by the person who wears it. No mass-produced, store-bought varieties here. Each Moriones costume is unique. To make one's own mask or to hand it down from one generation to the next is a tradition-panata-and-source-of-pride all rolled into one. In the olden days, I was told, the masks were made in full secrecy; no one must know who the person is behind the mask. These days, I suppose, the rules are a bit more lax. After all, I've seen the Hubby high-five a few Moriones because they were supposedly buddies in high school. Haha! 'D And yes, they do now stop for souvenir pics. Still, the richness of the image of a lone man carving his mask out of wood using basic tools is not lost on me, especially when you see the details of each mask, having found myself up close to a Morion. In addition, it is also not lost on me that it takes a supreme level of self-sacrifice for one to agree to wear the wooden mask and the Roman costume while parading about town in the middle of summer, sometimes even under the noonday sun.

On Good Friday, the cenaculo is played not on some stage in the town plaza. It is played out on the streets with the Moriones whipping Christ and the two thieves as they each carried their crosses, the entire time walking barefoot on the hot concrete pavement followed by several flagellants. In the bible, Jesus Christ fell 3 times on the way to the cross. In the Moriones version, it is inevitable that sometimes from sheer heat and exhaustion, even the robbers fall down--and while they are careful to have "Christ" fall only thrice, it is inevitable that everyone stop several times along the way. (Imagine carrying the weight of a wooden cross as the concrete pavement burns your feet and someone whips your back. Yikes.)

The Good Friday rites culminate on the small hill next to the river that flows through Boac. There, the three are crucified as the whole town watches from below, effectively replicating the scene at Golgotha. The first time I watched the entire thing play out, I honestly almost cried, because for some strange reason, I felt like I was being part of the "real thing". My Savior hung on the cross and I did nothing to stop it. =(

















The rest of Good Friday is spent preparing for the procession where some 20+ life-sized Santos in Carosas are paraded over town. Yes, 20+! Fully-decked with flowers and lit up by the families who have owned them for generations. Having spent Holy Week in Manila all my life, I was actually impressed by the length of the procession the first time I went to Boac. Watching the procession go by from the second floor window, and realizing that almost an hour has passed already with the tailend nowhere in sight, I remember asking the Hubby why the procession is soooooo long. He explained that it’s because practically everyone in town joins the procession as part of their panata. To which I ignorantly replied, “Ha? If everybody joins, eh sino na manunuod ng prusisyon?!” He laughed and explained, “Tweet, ang prusisyon, sinasamahan. Di pinapanood.” HAHA! 'D Stupid Manila girl. Ngek. Tanga. =)

Black Saturday is relatively quiet in Boac with no official rites scheduled—save for preparations for the Easter Vigil at midnight and for the Salubong at 4:00 a.m., Sunday. Patay daw kasi ang Diyos bago ang Linggo ng Pagkabuhay.

Then again, the Moriones Festival flows from the story of Longhino, the Roman soldier who pierced the side of Christ as He hung on the cross. Legend has it that Longhino is blind on one eye and that the blood that spurted from the side of Christ made him see. This miracle then prompts him to run all over town, fully converted, declaring to one and all that the Crucified Christ is truly the Son of God. And so after the Crucifixion on the hill (which happens at noon instead of the traditional Good Friday 3:00 p.m.), the Moriones switch mode from guarding Christ to running all over town in search of Longhino to stop him from declaring his newfound faith. From the afternoon of Good Friday and all through Black Saturday, therefore, the townsfolk (particularly the children) take turns in trying to divert the other Moriones’ attention, to the point of sometimes hiding Longhino inside their homes. Everything culminates at Easter noon when Longhino is finally captured, paraded before the townsfolk then finally “beheaded” at the town plaza, signaling the end of the Moriones Festival.

Its a different way to experience Holy Week, and worth going to at least once in your life. If you do decide to go, however, I caution you to travel to Marinduque AS EARLY AS HOLY MONDAY, and simply use Monday and Tuesday as "free days" when you can visit the other points of interest in the island (the beach, the falls, the caves, the butterfly farms, etc., etc.!).

The ports and roros fill up quickly Holy Tuesday onwards. Last year, the Hubby and I thought we were being smart about leaving Tuesday (so we can avoid the REAL Holy Wednesday mad rush). We got to the Dalahican port at 6:30 p.m., and only managed to ride the roro at 8:30 a.m. the following day! Que horror!

My aunts, uncles and cousins who decided to go to the Moriones Festival last year, but could only leave Wednesday because of work concerns, did not even make it. They arrived at the port Wednesday evening and was in line until noon Thursday with no hope of getting on the roro in sight. Umuwi silang luhaan (haha, loko lang) Maundy Thursday.

Now, that is a real Lenten sacrifice! Haha.

Oh, well. Maybe next year! =D

***************************************

All the pics are mine, except for the pictures of the Dalahican Port. I lifted those off cousin Day's Kodak Gallery album. Haha! (Thanks, cousin Day! =D) They were taken on the morning of Maundy Thursday while their cars were waiting in line to board the roro. Pretty much the reason why they decided to abandon all hope and turn back. Naku! =D