I grew up with the color of coffee, in a manner of speaking. I was dark – “latak” (the sediment at the bottom of the kapetera or coffee kettle) and youngest in a family of four girls. My three older sisters are quite fair-skinned being of my mother’s stock (she of the Katigbaks and the Lasins). I am more my father’s daughter and skin (he being one of the darkest too among the Mercados and Hernandezes). As youngest, I was also my father’s last hope to have a son. I was his spitting image and even if I was a girl, I was called “Little Benny” instead of Girlie which was my nickname.
Whenever the family went to church and us four were in our Sunday best, my father’s friends often teased about the little dress that was walking with the family. But I took all that nonchalantly. I had so much more going on in my head to be bothered by all the teasing. I thumbed my Filipino nose to all of them at a time when beauty was measured by one’s fair skin – a social “malady” that persists to this day of white dreams and whitening creams.
One particular source of strength for me was playing the role of the Easter Angel after my three older sisters – Dely, Cora and May – had their own stints as “E.A.” one after the other. I set a record of sorts by playing the coffee-colored E.A. twice – when I was six and seven years old.
What does an Easter Angel do? This E.A. or the “mag-a-Anghel” was given a short three-week training in lifting the Lady of Sorrow’s long and heavy gold-edged black veil to signify the end of Lent. After removing the pins holding the veil on the Lady’s head, one twirled a good portion of her veil on two index fingers, tightly clasping with two hands in adoration to press on the twisted patch of cloth. A loose white angel’s garb would be sewn if my sisters past costume(s) didn’t fit anymore or had developed yellowing patches from storage. Completing the angel’s ensemble were a halo made of crepe paper-covered wire standing from a rounded wire base worn around my head, angel wings and a rope support to be strapped around my body. A pair of socks covered my feet – the right sock lessened the pressure from another wire tied around that foot and held aloft with the rope to evoke a half-kneel as the angel appeared from heaven. The night prior to waking up early for the tableau, my straight hair would be set in curlers, and I get to wear a little lipstick and face powder.
I knew I felt excited and anxious as D-day approached (it was also big news in the neighbourhood and at school). Two days prior to the Day of Ressurrection, a small 15-foot-high wooden stage would be built at the front of our Cathedral, and the E.A. would have a dress rehearsal a day before the early dawn ritual. The rehearsals always happened at mid-morning: Ka Paterno Hidalgo, Lipa’s choirmaster, and a helper would carry me up the stage. They would hoist down the E.A. through a square opening on the stage platform with a rope held securely around a crank directly atop the stage. The statue of the veiled Lady would be waiting three to four feet down the stage and I would twirl a part of her veil around my index fingers. Presto, practice was a breeze.
But the actual rendering each time would have their respective surprises.
The first time, my angel curls easily straightened as the cool (actually cold) dawn winds blew into them. I felt the jitters being carried up the stage which now looked so imposing too with its full cover of palm fronds and some sweet-smelling kamia and kalachuchi flowers. Seeing so many eyes fixed upward on this E.A. distressed sleepy me even as the choirmusic kept me awake. Well, I also had a job to do and I knew I wanted to make my Tatay(father) and Inay(mother), my sisters and friends – including Ka Paterno proud of me!
The lights from the caro (the Lady’s carriage) blinded this E.A. as I descended three or four feet down onto the gathered morning crowd. What should I see but like a thousand pins holding the Lady’s veil on her head. The veil too was very especial and new, lined and velvet, with gold sequins all over its edges. First the pins pricked and momentarily, I was at a loss whether to let them fall into the eyes and faces of the flock immediately around the stage. It was a good thing that I heard Ka Paterno’s booming voice over the choir – “Just put each back into the top of the Lady’s head where it is softest.” After what seemed like an eternity – was the choirsong getting agitated - I twirled the Lady’s veil – ooohhh, was it doubly heavy now – around my two little index fingers. My hands were now balled into fists, but tightly, as best as I could. I smiled to the audience (did I see all of them smile back?) as Ka Paterno and his helper gingerly pulled me up through the hole and up the stage, to safety.
I must have been a lovable little angel as my initial mishaps didn’t discourage Ka Paterno from
recommending me as next year’s E.A. This time, I was prepared for any surprise, my hands were also stronger – what a difference a year made. To get my hair to hold the curls, more setting lotion was used and my hair was all in curlers much earlier the day before. I also wore a sweater under my angel garb to keep the cold out, and I knew what to do with the Lady’s pins. I didn’t realize that at six years, I would start to develop a fear of heights even from a height of 15 feet only. When Ka Paterno and helper carried me onstage, alarm bells went off for me – I heard the makeshift wooden stage creak and my nervousness just froze me. The choir must be on its third rendition of the Ressurrection song while Ka Paterno pleaded with me to get through with the tableau. So I heaved the biggest sigh out of my lungs and with my angel pose stepped into the square hole for my descent.My halo’s wire base seemed to cut through my forehead, and my right foot felt like it was about to be severed by the wire wound around it. I think my eyes were also at their roundest from fright. I was busily going about my E.A. chore when one reveller exclaimed, “Bakit maitim ang Anghel?” (Why is the Angel dark?) Thank goodness I was on my last pin to pull; I lifted the veil from the head of the Lady of Sorrow and up I went to makeshift heaven. I was feeling my fear subsiding when “Thud!” my head hit the edge of the stage opening. Ka Paterno quickly scooped me up and said, “Bumibigat ka na, eh!” (You have grown heavier.)
At home, my mother Purit comforted her retired little angel. I told her about the “maitim” remark I had heard during the tableau. She massaged my head, and as always, eased my young torment by saying that being brown means I was baked just right. I was a“Kayumangging Kaligatan.” Romantically, it refers to a perfect brown race!
“LISTEN TO YOUR EYES & HEARTS & TASTEBUDS, 
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