Early Sunday mornings make me feel nostalgic
Early Sunday mornings evoke poignant memories of my childhood at home.
During Saturday nights, Tatay would instruct us to turn the TV off early in the night. We can't afford to be late for church, he'd always say. But we, his wretched children, would complain. All the great shows are shown on Saturday primetime. Movies premiere on Saturday primetime. Manong, Sean and I would even wage the Who Gets The Remote Controller War. I wonder if we've ever exasperated him, but he would always reason out: only once a week do we go to church for worship, and we always get to watch TV every night. He would shut if off himself, turn the lights off, and we'd all fall asleep, wondering what happened to the TV show.
And so it has been the routine: Tatay would wake up very early to have his personal preparations (he's part of the church worship team), followed by Nanay (who often volunteers to arrange the flowers in the sanctuary). They would sip their coffee in the garden, and talk for at least 30 minutes. I heard them at times, in my state of half-asleep-iness. When they'd realize that they've spent much of time already, Nanay would go to the room and wake us up with the words, "Wake up, sweetheart." But years of experience warned us that that was but a prelogue to these statements:
Sometimes, we would jokingly comment: but aren't we supposed to be like Mary, who sat at Jesus's feet, and not be like Martha, who did the household chores? After ages of complaining, we'd get the chores done, take quick baths, don our Sunday bests, and go to church on time.
It's never the same here in the dorm, when everyone tires himself out watching DVDs all Saturday night. During early Sunday mornings, not a single soul is stirred awake but mine, and the silence can be deafening and almost nostalgic.
TAGGED AS: meditation
During Saturday nights, Tatay would instruct us to turn the TV off early in the night. We can't afford to be late for church, he'd always say. But we, his wretched children, would complain. All the great shows are shown on Saturday primetime. Movies premiere on Saturday primetime. Manong, Sean and I would even wage the Who Gets The Remote Controller War. I wonder if we've ever exasperated him, but he would always reason out: only once a week do we go to church for worship, and we always get to watch TV every night. He would shut if off himself, turn the lights off, and we'd all fall asleep, wondering what happened to the TV show.
And so it has been the routine: Tatay would wake up very early to have his personal preparations (he's part of the church worship team), followed by Nanay (who often volunteers to arrange the flowers in the sanctuary). They would sip their coffee in the garden, and talk for at least 30 minutes. I heard them at times, in my state of half-asleep-iness. When they'd realize that they've spent much of time already, Nanay would go to the room and wake us up with the words, "Wake up, sweetheart." But years of experience warned us that that was but a prelogue to these statements:
"Ralph, wake up na, sweetheart. You wipe the windows clean, okay?"
"Lance, you fix the room, okay? Make sure to sweep the floor thorougly."
"Sean, trim the grass. Sige na, while the sun's still rising, and it's not yet hot."
Sometimes, we would jokingly comment: but aren't we supposed to be like Mary, who sat at Jesus's feet, and not be like Martha, who did the household chores? After ages of complaining, we'd get the chores done, take quick baths, don our Sunday bests, and go to church on time.
It's never the same here in the dorm, when everyone tires himself out watching DVDs all Saturday night. During early Sunday mornings, not a single soul is stirred awake but mine, and the silence can be deafening and almost nostalgic.
TAGGED AS: meditation
posted on July 09, 2006
1 Comments:
nice entry
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