My memory of Ang Pagtaltal sa Balaan Bukid

By Noel Galon de Leon

My mother is from Guimaras, although they used to have a house in Villa Arevalo. Still, every summer of my childhood seemed to lead me back not to Villa, but to the island where her roots — and eventually my memories — were anchored.

In Jordan, where their old house stood facing the sea, I remember mornings that felt wide and unhurried. The water was a clear, honest blue, where pump boats drifted and children like us swam freely, as if the sea itself was part of our upbringing.

Back then, the waters of Guimaras and even Villa were still clean in a way that feels almost impossible now. Those swims during vacation remain vivid in my mind, and remembering them still brings a quiet smile, especially when I think of my grandmother, my mother’s mother, who was still alive then.

We drank Pop Cola without thinking twice about it, and bread filled with ice cream felt like a normal treat. Afternoons ended in sleep, the kind that came easily when life was simple and untouched by worry.

Now, sleep is not as kind or as easy to find. Many of us lie down with our eyes closed but our minds awake, carrying the weight of uncertainty about what tomorrow might bring.

Holy Week comes not just as a tradition, but as a pause that asks something deeper of us. It invites us to check on ourselves, to reflect on how we have lived and how we have treated the people around us.

It is a time that brings us back to ideas of sacrifice, love and goodness, things we often neglect in the rush of daily life. Maybe that is why it deserves gratitude, because it reminds us of what we tend to forget.

Whenever this season arrives, I think of the Pagtaltal sa Balaan Bukid, the reenactment of the Stations of the Cross. It is not just a performance, but a retelling of suffering that forces you to confront what faith really means.

The idea itself is difficult to grasp, that a God would offer His life for the sake of others. And it leaves me wondering, in a very human way, who among us today could do the same without hesitation.

I remember waking up early, preparing to climb the mountain with simple things like food, water and a cloth for the heat. After watching the play, we would follow the actor portraying Jesus as he made his way upward.

At exactly three in the afternoon, the crucifixion scene would take place at the summit. It was not something you just watched, but something you felt, whether you wanted to or not.

The first time I saw it, I was struck by how powerful it was. Not just because of the story, but because of the people behind it, those who turned it into a vow and made it part of their devotion.

Growing up, I was used to church, novenas and celebrations like Flores de Mayo. But Pagtaltal sa Balaan Bukid stayed with me in a different way, something more personal and deeply rooted.

April used to be my favorite time, not just because of the break from school, but because it meant being with family. It was when I could spend time with my cousins and feel that sense of belonging.

We climbed mountains and went to beaches and waterfalls across Guimaras. Those moments feel distant now, not because they were small, but because life has taken us in different directions.

Some of us have left the country, while others have built lives around work and family. What used to be easy to gather now takes effort, and sometimes it does not happen at all.

Because of how much the Pagtaltal meant to me, I once made a film inspired by it. It was my way of holding on to something that shaped me, while also telling a story about the struggles of Guimarasnons.

That film became more than just a project; it became a reflection of people trying to find opportunities beyond the island. It connected memory with reality in a way that stayed honest.

Now, it is a Wednesday, the last working day before a brief pause. As I water the plants outside my gate, I notice how intense the heat has become even in the early morning.

There are days when the sun feels almost unbearable, as if the world itself is changing in ways we cannot ignore. I have even noticed how the asphalt softens under extreme heat.

Maybe I am just getting older, or maybe I am simply paying more attention. I find myself avoiding things I used to take for granted, like too much sun or unhealthy food.

The body demands more care now, and I cannot ignore it the way I once did. There are limits that remind me I am no longer the child who could climb without thinking twice.

Because of that, I know I will not be able to climb Balaan Bukid this year. It is something I accept quietly, even if a part of me wishes otherwise.

I tell myself that maybe God understands these small human limitations. Faith, after all, is not always about being physically present, but about sincerity.

I carry many memories of Guimaras, especially during Holy Week. I remember the elderly women who played Mama Mary and others, their faces carrying both strength and sorrow.

This year, I will just watch the reenactment online. As I do, I will reflect on my life and on how I have treated others over the past year.

Before I return to my unfinished work, I will message my nieces and nephews. I will ask them to watch, not just out of habit, but to truly understand what it means, because some traditions are not meant to be followed blindly, but questioned and lived with meaning.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at the University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and UP High School in Iloilo. He serves as secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts — National Committee on Literary Arts.