Peñafrancia

The last time I was there was almost five or six years ago. Human memory has its own ways of making you forget some of the few precious things which you would always want to remember, and this is not one of the few exceptions. The things I do recall, though, have something to do not with the when, except for September, but with the what. It’s that month of the year when the streets of Naga City turn into an ocean of humanity, and the people are proof to the idea that there’s more to life than mere living. The Peñafrancia festivity has always been something worth anticipating, something worth the wait, something worth going back to time and time again without ever losing sight of what it stands for, or getting tired of it. It calls upon the flock of local folks and draws the outsiders to leap straight into it, something that has been so decades of years before. Personally, I find it at the very center of my being a Bicolano, without which I would have easily forgotten all about from where I came. It’s enough to say that it is one of the many sources of regional pride that I have, parts and parcels of which have a lot to do with the countless things I have dealt with in the full brush of a young boy’s life.

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