BBQ.

The bells are silent as the night goes. Voices of agony, of pain, of reconciliation were muted in the atmosphere.

At the age of five, my Mom and I goes to the church to pray and listen to the dull words in the sermon: salvation, forgiveness, love. At that age, I thought that the cruets in the offertory were fish sauce and vinegar – instead of water and wine.

But among those Saturday nights of fulfilling an obligatory task for Christians, I know one certain ritual while on our way home. A kid wouldn’t want to perform religious rituals that needs utmost contemplation of thoughts and deeds. A kid would always want food, and I myself admit that fact.

To go to church is to buy Barbecue for dinner.

With the narrow streets of the slums, all I remember is the cheapest yet great-tasting barbecue ever in my life. With the amount of five pesos each, you could enjoy the chunkiest barbecue ever. Not just chunky, her barbecue didn’t have the usual fat chunks but pure pork.

Every Saturday, expect me to buy at her barbecue stand. Until now, I could still remember the face of the vendor; a middle-aged widow who would religiously fan her grill to cook the finest barbecues ever. She would brush the barbecue continuously with her marinate.

On our way home, traces of charcoal and barbecue sticks would always be evident in my cheeks. A kid’s imperfection.

We left Lolomboy and lived at Marilao for a better living. With that sudden change, I missed the barbecues I buy at the stall. Now, my Mom and I would be dealing with mosquitoes in the village chapel. At that time, I’ve been longing for my delicious Saturday night dinner.

As I grew up, I forgot that ritual already.

Not until First Year High School. On the way home, our service ride would drop by in the filthy streets of Lolomboy to unload a passenger. My ritual started again. Her stall became bigger, but still – she subsists on selling barbecues for five pesos. That was 2004. Compare it with the price last 1996, it was still the same. With the backward economy and the economical regression of life in the Philippines – who wouldn’t buy a Barbecue for five pesos? (The usual value of Barbecue is ten pesos)

I’d always buy 4 or 5 sticks. I’d even ask for vinegar for a better taste.

The taste was definitely the same with that of 1996. The smell, the oil dripping from the barbecue stick, the juicy substance.

My ritual was revived.

Yesterday, while in the service ride – I suddenly remember the barbecue stall and planned to buy sticks of it for my dinner. Sadly, it was closed. Bankrupt, maybe. Rumors tell me that she went to another place in Bulacan; Guiguinto, to be specific.

I sighed with dismay. My rituals are gone forever.

~ by utakgago on October 11, 2006.