As a child, Holy Wednesday was my least favorite day during the Holy Week. For what kid would love seeing a bloody-faced Jesus? A crown of thorns on a the head of a pitiful Christ? A heavy cross forced on the shoulders of a helpless Messiah?
Trikes ground to a halt to give way to the Lenten tradition
Little altar boys led the procession
St. Peter
Agony in the garden
Scourging at the pillar
Crowning with thorns
Carrying of the cross
Jesus and the evil-looking Roman soldiers
Townsfolk attending the procession
St. John the Evangelist
The "mambabasas" and their megaphone
Closer look at the "mambabasas"
Veronica
Mary Magdalene
Image unknown to me
Blessed Virgin Mary
Last of the procession-goers
Engines sprang back to life after a 30-minute wait
I was born at what I would call an ideal time. When children were free to roam the streets and come home unharmed. When grilled windows were unheard of because crimes were not in fashion. When the sun was never too harsh sunscreens were superfluous. It was a good time all in all. Too bad my little girl came a little too late.
One Fine Sunday
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It was a good time for Indie to go around the UP academic oval in her
motorized bike. Sun was setting. The summer heat was just dissipating.
After some ti...