Hey there!
Last week, I found myself sitting at my Lola’s house while the Pabasa filled the air—slow, melodic, and unmistakably Holy Week. 🎶 I wasn’t reciting, just listening. Letting the rhythm and familiar voices set the tone for the days ahead. Maybe you’ve had your own version of that moment too—whether it’s your mom lighting candles, your siblings prepping the lugaw, or the titas bringing out folding chairs for the neighborhood. 🕯️
Food, of course, is always part of the gathering. My tita’s fried chicken made its expected, glorious appearance. I didn’t even try to resist. Some dishes just taste like childhood, right? 🍗 And then there's the crispiest fried fish you’ll ever eat, biko, palitaw, and endless variations of pansit. Somehow, Holy Week still ends up as a food trip—with fasting and feasting dancing around each other. ⚖️
On Maundy Thursday, some of us go on Visita Iglesia—trying to hit all seven churches before midnight, which usually turns into some kind of family road trip slash pilgrimage. 🚗 Picking a province to travel to or the churches the family feels drawn to, and pray. Stopping by that dinadayo restaurant because, well, we’re already there and we have to try it.
Then comes Good Friday, where many of us will find ourselves walking through town, joining the procession. Maybe your family goes early to get a good spot, or maybe you all just fall into step when it starts. 🚶 There’s something about walking with everyone—candles in hand—that reminds us we’re not alone in our sorrow, or in our hope. I’ve seen people walk barefoot. Others carry small crosses. Even kids stay up past bedtime just to follow in silence. ✝️
Black Saturday is quieter it has always had that air around it ever since I was young. No music, no parties, just stillness. I think of it as the long inhale before the joy. 😶 It’s usually the day we clean, prep clothes, boil eggs for Salubong, and well…in my family, we swim. 🏊️
And then, the early morning Salubong—when we wait in darkness until the angel lifts Mama Mary's veil of sorrow. I never thought any of it when I was youn ger but the older I get, the more I appreciate how symbolic, and Filipino it all is. Tears and joy, suffering and reunion, all in one week. 😌
Somewhere in the middle of that rhythm, I’ve started adding my own beat. A few minutes here and there with my Oleia Oil, quietly massaging tired legs or my shoulders before the long walk. It’s not a big ritual, but it’s become a steady one. All my titas have it in their bags, you can ask anyone from my family for some oil. 😝 Someone brings out their bottle and it gets passed around between prayers and plates of food. It’s always more healing if it’s not yours, you know? Lol jk 😂
Maybe you’ve got your own little wellness rituals tucked into these sacred days—a thermos of salabat, a massage, a quiet moment before the crowd arrives. These small acts of care matter, too. They don’t need to be loud. They just need to be yours. 🥰
Whether we’re spending Holy Week by the beach or by the altar, hosting Pabasa or joining the Salubong, watching Senakulo or packing for a mountain retreat, this season brings us home—to each other, to our roots, to the traditions that hold and heal us.
Let’s honor those. Let’s keep adding our own.
Show me your bottle and I’ll show you mine? 'Til next time.
xo, L
