Mum’s inherent Catholicism proved to be the harbinger of our demise.
Going to church is something that I can do only when I go back to the province since Mother always nags us to do so. And since today was a beautiful Sunday morning — well at least in our time zone — she hauled our sleepy asses off the bed before the clock even ticked six. Everything was going smoothly until a certain realization shook us as we made our way home from church: it’s June 24 *ominous music here*.
For those who are unaware, June 24 is the feast day of St. John the Baptist. And as far as Philippine customs go, it’s that one day when citizens are free to splash passers-by with water without getting thrown off to a loony bin or a police station. Well, that’s the ideal situation but of course there will always be some hot-headed creatures who’d punch someone in the face. Moving on. We hailed a jeepney, the inside of which was already wet, then braced ourselves.
Lo and behold. The moment the jeepney turned the first corner, we were met with buckets and dippers of water. Good thing nobody used hoses. And I sincerely pray that the water in those buckets were clean. As of writing this post — and it’s 5.30 in the afternoon — I haven’t grown an extra limb or had gooey stuff oozing out of my skin, thank God. This water-splashing spree went on for a good 15 minutes until we finally reached home where we were greeted by our very kind neighbor with a big smile on his face and a bucketful of water in his hands. By the time we landed on safe territories, we were already wet to our knickers.
I took out my phone, checked if it still worked, then dried my hair and changed my clothes. After hanging our dripping garments outside, I sat by the door and contemplated whether I should take my revenge or not.