In the Spirit of Easter

The Easter period has always been a holiday I looked forward to. Growing up, it was like a ritual to sit in the sitting room on Good Friday watching Jesus Crucifixion with my sisters crying in the background.

“Oh! Jesus suffered!” My sister would always exclaim in tears as if it were her first time watching the movie.

And any year we didn’t get to watch the movies, that was because we left home for our church Easter retreat. Now, this is the main gist.

I grew up as a church girl. By age 5, I was already in the choir, happily filling my thick back notebook with songs that I should and must know by heart.

Guess the funny part… being in choir came with this popularity; everyone in the church (and other branches) got to know you by merely seeing you stand to perform. In my choir, we not only sang, but we also danced.

Can I dance? No. Did I learn? Of course! I needed to. It was so important to me at that time. Who wanted to get kicked out of that precious line?

A day before Good Friday, it was always the excitement that woke us up, preparing for the Easter retreat. As we happily watched our parents pack our bags with provisions; we ironed our choir uniforms, packed them, and, most importantly, collected our pocket money.

Everyone would be so happy that they would get to stay without their parents for a few days. That thrill of leaving home to meet strangers was beyond comprehension, but we hardly created new friendships at the end; it was all a competition. Which group sang better? Which group danced better?

That night, we would happily share stories and gists, no one bothering to drag for food or to complain about our lodging—happiness is the best meal.

On Good Friday, the giddiness would continue, smiling at each other as if we had won many trophies. We got to eat junk in ways we knew might annoy our parents.

We stood in long queues to get our food; when we finally got the food, everyone would complain about how bad it was. We watched time pass by, praying for the sermons to end so that a new group could sing.

Did we learn anything? No.

By Friday night, we would be regretting our choices. Junk can’t save us anymore, we need good food but from where? Happiness now seems like a foreign language. We earnestly prayed for nightfall.

On Holy Saturday, we would wake up searching for our voices. Hunger has stolen it, we stared aimlessly into space, disappointed at life. We no longer feel any form of giddiness to collect food, or to talk to one another. We would pray for Sunday as if our life depends on it, now eating junks but this time without excitement.

Lunch would come late in the afternoon, no energy to join the long queue but we can’t afford to stay hungry. The food would finally get to us and it’s Beans. Many people would shift it angrily. And for the first time, we would question the concept of living. Hunger has that power!

At dinner, we would plan to use our last strength to drag for food. It would be Eba and soup. We would stand in queues again but luck might have a different plan. On one occasion, before it got to our turn, the soup finished.

“The soup is finished?”

In the light of this, some sneaked into the adult camp and found out that they were given more soups than we ever imagined. They were even given meat when we have nothing.

Well, nobody would tell how courageous hunger can make you until you are in a dire situation. That was the reason for the courage.

“We will not keep quiet unless we die of hunger.” a shrieking voice said and everyone shouted in agreement as we carried our empty iron plates, pick stones on the ground, matching heavily and shouting, “Soup, soup, we want soup!” We screamed, forgetting our tiredness so soon. This continued until we were finally given food. We ate to our fullest, for the first time in a day(hahaha), and went to bed happily.

On Easter Sunday, the voices we thought had been restored during the protest had gone for another vacation. The only excitement was that we were leaving that day.

And when we put on our uniform that has rested at the bottom of our bags for days and were called to sing, the loss of voice did no justice to the song we had spent months rehearsing but our choir was already popular for our dance so, no matter how shriek our voice sounded, people would still cheer us up.

The most exciting part was how we would run to the hall to pack our bags as we waited for our parents to come pick us from hunger’s den.

Did we learn any new things?

Next year, we forget the struggles, remember only the good memories, and repeat. It’s a wash-rinse repeat.

Happy Easter, loves!😌💃