I first heard of the word “Panata” and witnessed it all at the
same time when I was in college. My classmate and I were 15 minutes early for a
Mass and as soon as we arrived in church, a harmless decrepit woman dressed in
white caught our attention. She was doing the Way of the Cross in her brown and
wrinkled bare feet. When the congregation stood for the entrance of the priest,
I was surprised to see her parading behind the good father, her hands solemnly
clasped in prayer and her eyes fixed on the cross by the altar. She kept her
distance from the priest by standing a few meters away, but when he delivered
his sermon, she stood behind him again, all the while bobbing her head up and
down in agreement to whatever the priest said. It was a peculiar sight: she, an
old woman who could probably only speak and understand Hiligaynon agreeing to
the Irish Reverend whose English had been garbled by the flawed acoustics of
the church. Since most churches in Iloilo are frequented by the most bizarre
worshippers, I dismissed her as another “buang.”
My friend however, explained that she’s simply doing her panata.
My
poor grasp of Tagalog never made me think that the word has something to do
with vows as in Panatang Makabayan. I
later discovered, though that the word has a religious significance and the
examples border from the simple like lighting a candle before the Virgin Mary
on one’s birthday to the extreme like crucifixion and self-flagellation during
Holy Week. I could not find a seemly equivalent Hiligaynon word for it, but it is
synonymous to the “Panaad” of Cebuano
which means ‘act of promise.’
I
would like to share to you how I made my own panata. Just like the old woman, mine is also doing the Way of the
Cross, though not on my bare feet because mine involves climbing a mountain with
a rather browbeating name - Agony Hill. For six years now, my faithful trek to
Agony Hill on a Holy Thursday has become my spiritual retreat, a purging of the
soul as I endured the summer heat and a yearning of the heart as I offered
petitions. Because of these, the mountain has become my friend, a silent
witness to my struggles of rising and falling and rising again.
Six
years ago, I first climbed the mountain after making the most liberating
decision of not continuing my teaching contract in a Chinese school. I was no
longer happy with my work so when March came, I felt freer than any of the
graduates. I was still high on the feeling of being emancipated from schoolwork
that I jumped at every chance of getting invited to go anywhere, thus, I ended
up going with my roommate to Agony Hill, a rolling valley towering over the
quaint town of Alimodian 25 km off of Iloilo City.
For
many years, Agony Hill had been cleared to serve the faithfuls in their Via
Crucis during Cuaresma. To make the penitential rite more meaningful for the
visitors, the local government of the town and the parish church erected huge
imitations of each station of the Way of the Cross.
As
soon as I was greeted by icons of the first station, I whispered my petitions.
I was in between jobs, so not knowing where my next paycheck will come from, I
prayed that I be given a job that will financially get me by. When I reached
the summit, I stood before the giant cross, invisibly opened my chest and laid
forth all the desires of my heart. Suffice it to say that when June came, I was
given not only a teaching job in my alma mater but to my surprise, I was also
given a person to love. And so, my panata
of climbing Agony Hill every Holy Week came into existence. I’ve also learned
to love the mountain not so much for the expiation of my sins nor for the
request of favors, but for the sheer joy of climbing it.
My
2009 visit of the mountain was the most blissful climb that I did. I hiked
Agony Hill with the person whom I thought was the One. We did the obligatory
Way of the Cross, but my eyes were set on him and him alone. That time, I had a
job that thoroughly gave me professional pride and I was secure in the arms of
this man. What could go wrong?
My
climb the next year gave me that answer. Around February 2010, our differences
took a toll in the relationship that I decided to end it. But for old time’s
sake, I asked him that we climb Agony Hill again hoping somehow that we could
piece back our broken hearts together. He did accompany me, but we no longer
held hands and the conversations were punctuated by awkward silence. Still, I
hoped and prayed that our relationship be given a second chance.
By
2011, I was still in denial and I was still longing for the man who once
trailblazed Agony Hill with me. With a heavy heart, I trekked the mountain with
some colleagues. Again, I stood by the giant cross and prayed that he be given
back to me.
My
prayer wasn’t granted.
Last
year, I’ve finally accepted the fact we’re no longer going to climb mountains
together. Trekking Agony Hill with the colleagues who became good friends, I
realized that it was I who was given the second chance - a chance to meet other
people, to discover my passions, and to love myself again.
This
year, I’ll once again scale Agony Hill on a Holy Thursday with friends and I’ll
continue to do so up until these able knees will allow me. It has, after all
become my panata. But perhaps I’ll
invite that guy who gave me flowers last Valentine’s Day to join us. And before
the giant cross, I’ll once again send my petitions to the heavens, but this
time like the old woman, I’ll be clasping my hands in prayer and I’ll be fixing
my eyes on Him and only on Him.
Agony Hill, 2012
Agony Hill, 2011
Agony Hill 2010
My ex was the one who took my 2009 Agony Hill photos. I'd rather die than ask for copies.
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Agony Hill, 2008
