Fiesta!

Netnet Camomot .

IT was Saturday, 6:35 am, and I woke up to the concert-like volume of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.”

The sound system for the annual fiesta concert at the garage of my father’s ancestral home requires lots of prepping that starts on the eve of the fiesta and continues to the next morning. It’s the best alarm clock in the world, it shakes the whole house. And this is an old house, the kind that a historical society will preserve as a heritage place.

Recorded songs played non-stop: “This one goes out to the one I love,” “I hear the secrets that you keep when you’re talking in your sleep,” “Another one bites the dust,” “That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight, losing my religion,” “Move yourself, you always live your life, never thinking of the future.”

This was the appetizer. Cebu’s bands would perform these songs live later at the garage concert from 10 am to 6 pm. Yay! This has also become an annual tradition for the family, in addition to the fiesta.

But the worst alarm clock happened earlier, at 4 am, when I woke up to the cries of a pig as it begged to be spared from being the fiesta’s centerpiece.

For Pinas, it’s lechon. For thanksgiving in the US, it’s turkey. Vegans must be looking forward to a world that has learned to have veggie salad as a feast’s centerpiece.

The day before, on Friday, I woke up to the sound of the phone’s alarm, at the ungodly hour of 2:45 am for the 6:15 am flight to Cebu where we then spent hours at a Jollibee branch, pretending to have breakfast and reading newspapers while waiting for 10 am when SM City Cebu would open. Its Trade Hall was the venue for National Book Store’s Book Binge Bazaar Cebu where I then spent two hours browsing through books. Reading the first paragraph, reading the back cover, reading more pages—choosing a book is not a wham-bam-thank-you-Ma’am quickie. But it’s an absolute bliss.

I knew I was adding more books to my unread collection, but I figured I would be reading these once I’ve finished reading the old ones. Hmmm. We can dream, can’t we? Yeah, dream on.

Meanwhile, it was fattening time at the fiesta. Like as if I needed more fattening. Haha! The menu as usual was pork, pork, and more pork. Humba for breakfast. Lechon for lunch. Paksiw for dinner. Luoy kaayo ang piggy.

While having that breakfast, my cousin told me, Net, giniwang lagi ka.

Aguy. Wrong message gyud for me for the fiesta. Being told you’ve lost weight could make you believe there’s room for more. More humba, more lechon, more paksiw. As the soundcheck at the garage went, “Run to me if you need a shoulder.”

Braised pork shoulder. Roasted pork shoulder. Garlic pork shoulder. Waaaaa.

When did this start? Killing pigs for a feast? A meme for Thanksgiving in the US has a painting of a pig with the words, “Today I am thankful that I’m not a turkey. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” But the friend who posted it on Facebook captioned it with, “Well, soon enough you’ll be scared out of your wits, Christmas is fast approaching!”

Carcar’s annual fiesta also serves as the family’s annual reunion. Msgr. Teofilo Camomot’s—Tito Lolong—siblings have all passed on and it’s now us, his nephews and nieces, who have continued to celebrate the tradition. My sis and I are almost always assigned the room where Tito Lolong used to stay. Except last July when my bro and his family stayed there because of its three beds, while we were in the smaller room nearby.

We’ve noticed that sleeping in dad’s ancestral home is the best sleep we could ever have, we wake up refreshed and ready to face another day, despite the pig’s cries and the soundcheck.

We look out the window from Tito Lolong’s bedroom, and there’s the garage below, with Cebu’s best bands and singers performing and jamming.

My sis and I almost volunteered to sing a la karaoke years ago. Until we heard the guests sing. What’s with Cebu and great voices? Which convinces me that we’re indeed half Cebuana only. Not 100-percent pure.

We almost volunteered to sing, too, at some of Cebu City’s bars and lounges whose bands would always ask for audience participation. Until we heard those participants sing. At least my sister could dance. Me? I know how to make pa-cute while trying to dance. Oh, well.