What just happened?" I ask aloud, shaking my head to dispel the fog
clouding it.
"Pa?" "Honey!" I called out for my husband. "Paaaa!" I shouted, my voice slicing through the stillness, desperation lacing each syllable.
Silence hung in the air, a hea...
Ayu refused to go, preferring to stay at home rather than socialize. She objected to her relatives and friends touching and ogling her. They seem to believe that by so doing, some of her magic would rub off on them.
Still, Inang urged Ayu to come along and attend the wedding ceremony at the babaylan's home.
She did so with a scowling face, ignoring the gawking children following and surrounding her.
On the other hand, I was thrilled. I found it mind-blowing that I would be able to witness and personally attend a genuine primeval wedding in real time. Can you imagine that? I've only read about this in history books or heard it discussed in a history class, and now I'm here! I am actually here, experiencing something so outlandishly novel again!
Come to think of it, I actually felt grateful to Nai!
"You heard that Nai? Where are you?"
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Ayu and Inang were given a special place to sit inside the babaylan's house together with the chieftain and his wife. Whereas I'm an entity, remember? Teehee, I can sit wherever I please.
Tokoh was nowhere to be seen. But later, I spotted him outside, gathered among his young warrior friends. These brutes had no interest whatsoever in what was going on.
Finally, these two have something in common with Ayu: complete disinterest!
The event took place over three days. The entire tribe was present to witness the nuptials and participate in the celebration. It was a circus of an event, lively and chaotic with children running around-babies nursing, toddlers bawling, and teens laughing and shouting while the men and women were cooking, gossiping, drinking, or clearing the grounds. It was a hubbub of activities for three days.
I thought the couple was a nice fit; the man was older, calm, and a widower. According to Inang's account, his wife and child died at childbirth. The bride, on the other hand, appeared a little too young and nervous, with downcast eyes.
On the first day of the kasalan, we watched as the babaylan blessed the couple with their hands clasped over a bowl of uncooked rice.
On the second day, the priest pricked their chests to mix their blood with water. The babaylan then served the pair linung-ag na kan-on, freshly cooked rice, from a single bowl as they continued to hold hands over uncooked rice. They then declared their love for each other three times.
"Ihalad ko kanimo ang bulan ug mga bituon," I heard the guy professing his pledges.
Observing alongside Ayu's expressionless face, I found it intriguing that, even at this earliest age, the man presents his sweetheart with offerings of the moon and the stars!
Shyly, she promises to bear him many children, stay faithful, and follow him to the ends of the earth.
How typical. I chuckled. In modern times, we still do it. However, modern women have become more pragmatic, wanting something more tangible-not just romantic promises, but something more binding, down-to-earth, practical, and realistic-such as a contract, properties, and personal effects-jewelries, house, lot, and car. We deserve it.
I noticed the young bride smiled. I laughed. For millennia, you've been jipped! The crowd responded with catcalls and jeers.
The couple then received the blood-water mixture to drink and swallow.
Then two old women of the tribe, who were the couple's relatives, arrived and began to weave and entwine the couple's long hair, or using a string if it wasn't long enough, to join their hands and necks with it as a final symbol of connectiveness and oneness.
And ultimately, the shaman declares the couple married.
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The banquet took place on the third day. Everyone was in a festive mood. I wandered around curiously to see what was happening outside.
Kasalan seems to be a community effort. Groups from both families were busy preparing food. Everyone contributed something, like a potluck.
On the ground, laid out on large banana leaves, were various fruits, including a huge banana bunch, recently chopped, with all its clusters of hands still attached to it. I recognized the knotted sticky rice, known as puso, which Nai had previously explained to me, along with steamed corn, root crops such as boiled camote or sweet potatoes, and cassavas enough for the whole crowd..
Large clay pots filled with strange-looking vegetables and mushrooms, stewed in coconut milk, were cooking on one side; in another corner, some women were broiling fish. Then, at the far end of the grounds, a group of men was roasting a whole goat in the fire pit. There were no plates or utensils, just piles and piles of banana boats-that is, made from the bark of the banana tree trunk-that served as bowls or plates. Everyone ate with their hands.
After the festivities, they instituted a series of gift-giving customs to counter any negative signals from the bride, such as her refusal to enter the bridal chamber, participate in the marriage meal, or ascend the stairs to her new home.
I saw some of the bridal gifts. Inang gifted her a bagul, or coconut shell, filled with ready-to-plant garlic bulbs; she also received beaded trinkets, a carved wooden comb, and woven baskets. This new bride seemed happy enough as she ascended the stairs to her new home.
That evening, while we walked back home with Inang, Ayu had been very quiet, deep in thought. She seemed to have something on her mind.
