The Sinulog is in Us All

I WAS not born to dance the Sinulog, but it is not what matters; it is not even the pomp and the grandeur associated with the celebration. It is something much more personal, which I realized through my work.

For years I had been covering the Sinulog writing for a Cebu paper, often going home at past one in the morning so readers would know the next day the result of the Grand Parade.

I must say it was a tough task. Not only that I had to keep a sharp eye for sidelights to pen a sidebar story on, I also had to endure watching the whole spectacle unfold, starting from the opening speeches in the early morning to the fireworks in the night.

It is a whole different experience if you are there at the grandstand just enjoying the presentations compared to actually keeping attention to all the details, including which contingent recycled costumes and which mimicked the steps of another, so I can write a more engaging story despite time being not on my side.

I was not there as a tourist or mere spectator but as a chronicler.

That is why it was normal after all the dancers, floats, higantes and puppets have paraded before me to see dizzying colors when I close my eyes.

The work does not stop there, because we had to huddle, dead tired, in a room below the bleachers late into the night to wait for the judges to hand down the verdict.

We had to ask them why this contingent won and not this, as it happened to be the crowd favorite and not another. We had to ask questions we think readers might have, and this requires a clear mind despite the fatigue.  

Afterwards, coupled with the exhilaration of being among the handful who knew firsthand the results, was the euphoria of finally having the day end, so I can cover the awarding ceremony the next day. 

I had endured it, though, for half a decade or so. And it was not about being compelled due to the demands of the job. It was not about not having the option to say no.

It was because I had come to see it as my tribute to the Sto. Niňo-- as my little way of showing gratitude for the blessings.

An interview with the chairman of the panel of judges one time made it so. What he most wanted to see and pay attention to more importantly is how each dancing contingent display the reverence for the Holy Child.

“I like to see them dance in genuine homage to the Sto. Niňo, and not execute their steps flawlessly with the image merely as part of their props,” he said.

That was enough to give me pause and look into the meaning of all that I was doing every third Sunday of January; and from that moment on, my whole perspective of the job changed.

I was no longer bothered by the dizzying colors, by the heat and by the long hours of sitting there like a librarian cataloguing masterpieces.

Writing for the newspaper became my own way of venerating the Baby Jesus, my opportunity to show devotion, my thanksgiving.

Being there was no more about seeing and writing, or watching and enjoying, but of helping glorify the Child Jesus through the Sinulog.

In the same vein, those who dance the Sinulog said it is neither about staging a show nor winning the top plum.  Past winners could attest they spent much more compared to the cash prizes they received.

Dancers I spoke with, while there may be those who say it was required of them by their school, likewise said the Sinulog is like a personal journey through the heat and the rain, like a cleansing of sort after a ritual of praise through the dance.

It is because the Sinulog is really about offering what you do to glorify the Holy Child, no matter how small or insignificant you may think it is.

I have left my job early last year to embark on another calling outside the country and will miss the Sinulog this year. 

But I will have my own in this foreign and unfamiliar country I found myself in.

I still cannot dance the Sinulog, but I know by heart what it is, and in my mind I am already doing the trademark two steps forward, one step back, shouting “Pit Senyor!”