Holy Week had passed, but I never felt the sanctity of it. From Monday to Friday, I worked just like any ordinary day. I was oblivious in the world wherein surviving (financially) means so much. It was only when I was at home, and took the time to call my folks in the Philippines that I realized that it’s the week that everything stops in the Philippines. No meat. No parties. No loud music. Scorching heat of the summer sun. These all flashed into my stressed mind. It’s but all opposite to what I had experienced here.
God, I missed my home country so bad, that it ached like a dagger stuck in my heart. What did I do to make the week “holy”? None. My guilt is so magnanimous. I should be crucified.
On a lighter note, a family gave a very heart-felt sacrifice for our family. They’re very nice people. Truly, a gift to their friends and family. Thank you.