SANTACRUZAN
Homes: Marbella 2, 87 Gentle Street




The merry month of May signals the start of the Santacruzan season.

Now, I have to admit that in all my 37 years, I am still in the dark as far as Santacruzan is concerned. I am not deeply religious, or even Catholic for that matter. In fact, my father was a devout Muslim while my Mom was an agnostic-turned-follower of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, which left us children pretty much clueless in the way of quasi-religious Roman Catholic processions.

Nevertheless, I thought they were pretty. I remember seeing my first Santacruzan when I was about four or five. The procession filed slowly past 87 Gentle Street as I craned my neck to see the many beautiful maidens and their handsome beaus, their smiling faces illuminated by candlelight. I secretly envied the little sagalas, wishing I was one of them just so I could finally wear make-up. My parents didn't even have to buy me a new dress, I could just wear the one I wore as a flower girl to my uncle's wedding!

I thought it was unfair that nobody asked my Mommy to make me a sagala. Why, I was prettier than most of those little girls I saw, even without makeup! Some of them even missed their front teeth. (I was vain, even as a child.)

It was only a few years later when I realized why. See, even though my Lolo Maning and Lola Elvie religiously went to mass every Sunday (well, my Lolo Maning anyway!), they seldom brought us with them. And since it was the parish which organized the annual Santacruzan, that effectively reduced our chances of being sagalas to close to nil.

Oh well, by then we were spending most of our summers with our grandparents in Mindanao anyway, so I never really missed it after that. Besides, I dismissed the whole lot as hypocritical, since year after year, my pretty next-door-neighbor, Joy , would be marching as Emperatriz. The same Joy who usually sneaked out in the middle of the night to engage in some pretty heavy petting and necking with the rich boy next door. (I lived in the other side of their house, with an unobstructed view of their nocturnal trysts.)

And so life went on, and I grew older, eventually accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, which effectively closed the door at my chances of reigning as Reina in any of the Santacruzans at my village.

My social circle also grew to accommodate many boys and girls from the area, mostly schooled in nearby Claret and Holy Family, where the parish usually harvested its latest batch of Reynas and escorts. But by then, I was already starting my career as a radio newscaster and, at the ripe old age of 17, couldn't be bothered with such trivial pursuits.

Fast forward fourteen years, one ex-husband, and one son later.

It was 1999 and Lorenzo and I were living in a chi-chi Roxas Boulevard condo, far far away from the old parish in 87 Gentle Street. I was enjoying my prime-time stint as co-anchor for RPN's "NewsWatch EveningCast" while Lorenzo had so many commercials under his belt, they would sometimes run back-to-back with each other during station breaks. We were deeply in love, both with each other and with life. And did I mention expecting our first baby, whom we would eventually name Lance?

You could imagine my consternation when some officers of a community organization in Malate approached me, asking if I could be Reyna de las Flores in their Santacruzan! I don't know if they already had an escort in mind, but the organizers took one look at my hunky fiancee and immediately asked him to be my escort as well!

I was still in my first trimester, so I wasn't showing yet. In fact, when I invited them to our condo in Marbella, they wouldn't believe that I was pregnant. But I assured him that I was very much in the family way, and was surprised and flattered that they wanted me anyway.

"That's all right", they assured me, "we'll work around it."

And so preparations were under way for my first Santacruzan appearance. I didn't mind it happening this late in my life. I was just flattered that they would even consider me, at the ripe young age of 31! They told me this year's Reyna Elena was Glydel Mercado. Heck, I didn't mind playing second fiddle to her!

But there were the logistics of accommodating my growing waistline. Obviously, the measurements they took down for fittings wouldn't stay the same for long, and since fashion designers rarely stock clothes with sizes above anorexic, we were in a real dilemma as far as wardrobe was concerned.

Enter long-time designer Tony Galang, who fortuitously had the perfect baro't saya in my size, pregnant tummy notwithstanding! He even had a beautiful Sarimanok-inspired barong for Lorenzo which matched my dress perfectly. And the best part of it all? I had comfortable shoes to match.

And so, on that Sunday afternoon in early June, we set out for an undisclosed place in Malate (actually it's more unremembered than undisclosed). We parked in a quiet street and proceeded to the beginning of the procession. My octogenarian grandmother, Lola Luz, tagged along to watch the festivities, and so did my alalay, Belen, who was also pregnant at the time. My driver, Sam, doubled as videographer, while my bodyguard, Regan, reprised his duties as "hawi-boy".

I never realized how much hard work it took to march in a procession AND look pretty AND smile at the thousandth time somebody said "Don't Forget the muffins" to Lorenzo, all the while pretending your feet are all right when in reality they feel like a couple of bricks. And then there is the odd firecracker or two exploding nearby which causes you to nearly jump out of your skin. By the time the procession ended, Lorenzo was practically supporting my weight.

But there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and it came in the form of a delicious buffet at the four-storey home of one of the community leaders. I felt bad that only VIPs could avail of the food. Even the ordinary rank-and-file of the community organization weren't allowed inside. Sadly, after a few hours of co-mingling and rubbing elbows, the haves and have-nots were separated once more.

But I had the added responsibility of eating for two, so I settled down to the task at hand: nourishment for me and my baby. Besides, I had to fortify myself because our duties weren't over. Earlier that day, the organizers asked Lorenzo and me if we could act as judges in choosing the best korona among the different barangays. Designer Tony Galang, whom we thanked profusely for providing our wardrobe, was one of the judges as well.

(Glydel didn't stick around for long after eating her VIP meal.)

And so we proceeded to the contest site. There were speeches and presentations, and, (I was happy to notice), food as well. It was good to know provisions were made for the rest of the community, not just for us "VIPs".

Lorenzo and I sat and visually dissected each korona , dazzled at the display of creativity from our neighbors in Malate. In the end, our choice was also that of Tony Galang's and we declared the winner. It was touching to see the barangay's members rejoice and congratulate each other, the very picture of teamwork and pagkakaisa.

It was a heady experience, one that I would always remember. I will forever treasure the memory of my one and only Santacruzan, which came late in the day, but at just the right time when I could appreciate it most.

Best of all, I was able to share it with the man I love.




(PLUGGING: "Pop-sicles", my Father's Day offering in The Prada Mama Chronicles. Also check out my newest blog, Sightings.)