Because my father is one of the members of the Pastoral Council in the St. Michael Church, the official church of the Fort Bonifacio camp, my whole family (except for Lael who manned the store in place of me) was compelled to join the Good Friday Procession.

The parade proceeded after the theatrical mass, where some of the Pastorals have worn sashes bearing the names of the 12 disciples and acted it out. We passed by the Fort Bonifacio clusters where some of my classmates in grade school lived. I even felt certain that I saw one of them but I never had the nerve to ask. At one stop (there were 14 stops, if I’m not mistaken, representing the Stations of the Cross), we prayed right in front of a Protestant church. Funny.

But what’s more funny is that, my sister told me she and John had gone back together. I knew it would happen, but not that soon. I know I should have known better.

Passing the Philippine Army Gym, my father asked me to push the cart containing the laid image of Jesus with them. I fiercely refused excusing myself for being dizzy. I don’t know why, but I felt bad after that.

I know the Alay-Lakad could have been a hundred times longer than the whole procession but I felt so tired back at the church and I’m still feeling bad about not getting to that Alay-Lakad. I know it was too ungrateful of me but the truth of the matter is, I’m not that used anymore being out with my own family.