Faith in movements

Showcase of grandeur, pride of the place and the intense religiosity best portrayed the Karansa Dance Festival. Held last Sept. 15, 2013 in Danao City, the festival was part of the annual fiesta honoring St. Thomas de Villanueva for the bounty of harvest and for all the blessings received. Four high schools and four grade schools in the locality competed in two categories: street dancing and ritual categories. I witnessed the ritual category that every year truly lived up to the expectations of the audience.

To the organizers, as verbalized by the local executives, the intention is to showcase each barangay's unique features. Not only for the locals but eventually to lure foreigners and balikbayans to take a look or even have a second look at the place.

But from the display of grandeur, pride and religiosity-beyond it, I have witnessed and heard the works of faith.

Perspiring, she could hardly move from where she was standing. Manang Beding has struggled to advance to the barrier used to block the viewing area. She wanted to see the performers.

I saw Manang Beding's struggle of bracing out from the sea of crowd who equally wanted to see each dancing contingent from a vantage point. But for her it was a search for her daughter Luisa who back in their house was trembling in burning heat of fever. Like looming to the end of hopelessness and that the only option was to call out saints for help.

Luisa was not able to join in their last two rehearsals. Her mother did not anymore think of having her to attend as she pitied her daughter relying only on local medicines in the backyard. She had only few centavos left but only for viand from a nearby carenderia.

Back from buying viand, her daughter wasn't there. Hurriedly, she went to the kitchen to find out if she was there preparing the table for dinner as she normally does. But she wasn't there either. Anxious, she ran to every other parts of the house like a headless chicken. Calling out her daughter's name and filled the entire house with no other voice but hers.

Manang Beding and Luisa have been in the house together just a year after her father died from dynamite fishing. A tragic end that both of them are still mourning and as if this seems to be perpetual.

She rushed out and continued the search in their neighborhood but failed. The search continued up until the Sabang oval where the dancing contingents assembled for the grand showdown.

But her failing eyesight rendered her search in vain. And when her daughter's contingent was announced, she moved forward that the sea of crowd pushed her tiny body to where she could see her daughter-a hope from a desperate search but to no avail.

After several failed attempts, she has found a way to see her daughter. At first, she observed me how I manipulated my tablet to zoom the screen. And there, she asked me if I could further zoom it out so she could see if her daughter was with the group. Responding to her request, I saw each and every dancing participant. Silence from her amid the rousing crowd. I glanced at her and saw tears. And she said quickly, "Ay, tua ras Luisa!" A dancing Luisa with no traces of fever.

Manang Beding's faith has not failed her search and concern for Luisa. The daughter's sickness has not stopped her from moving, from dancing. Faith binds the mother and daughter in spite life's challenges. Though it seems impossible and insurmountable, faith is the spirit behind them.

Faith in the movements sends a prayer of healing, of concern, of peace of mind and love. Movements are offerings of requests and prayers. 

The simple mother-daughter story has moved me. Giving up a challenge that is worth fighting for is not a choice. When all seems to fail and as if the world stops revolving, faith is the fuel that keeps us moving.