Do you get that kind of itch inside of you when you are fasting from Maundy Thursday to Black Saturday? That feeling where you can’t wait for Jesus Christ to resurrect just so you can finally have the feast of your life?
Don’t get me wrong, Binignit and other Lenten foods — like seafood-heavy diets and kakanin — are good, but you eventually get tired of eating them every day. You start to crave that freshly chopped Sinugbang Baboy your dad just grilled, served with a sauce full of onions, plenty of chilies and a vinegar that has the right kick to it.
While many Cebuano Catholics choose to abstain from meat throughout Holy Week — especially the older generation who grew up with stricter traditions — Church laws actually only prohibit it on specific days: Ash Wednesday, Good Friday and the Fridays during Lent. Good Friday is the only day that falls within Holy Week itself.
For centuries, the Catholic Church has maintained the tradition of abstinence to honor the crucifixion of Jesus. Because he “sacrificed his flesh” on a Friday, church law historically required followers to avoid eating meat every Friday of the year. In modern times, this rule has been revised to focus primarily on the Fridays of Lent.
During the rest of the year, Catholics are encouraged to choose their own meaningful form of penance instead. However, many observant Cebuano Catholics choose to go further, abstaining from meat for the entire duration of Holy Week as a way to deepen their reflection on Christ’s passion and death.
Signal to feast
But you know the wait is over once your aunties and cousins shout, “Finally! Nabuhi na gyud si Hesus!” That is the signal that you can finally chow down on meat dishes with a steaming plate of rice. That Adobo your mother cooked looks like an oasis in the middle of the desert, practically winking at you. After the sacrifice of eating Binignit that has been reheated God knows how many times, you can finally have a truly hearty meal.
The atmosphere shifts completely when the whole family packs up for the beach, bringing a crate of soft drinks and an icebox full of beer. You know it’s about to get real when you smell the sizzle of fat hitting the burning red charcoal. There’s a common Cebuano folk belief that you shouldn’t swim on Good Friday because “the water is dangerous” while God is dead. On Easter Sunday, this is completely flipped — everyone rushes to the sea to celebrate the “New Life.”
Breaking the silence
By midday, the somber silence of the past week is officially a memory, replaced by the relentless, upbeat thumping of a portable karaoke machine. In every beach hut or backyard, there’s always that one uncle who has been waiting all week to belt out an Air Supply song, marking the return of music and noise to the neighborhood.
Even the streets, which were ghost towns just 48 hours prior, are now alive with the roar of motorcycles and the laughter of reunions.
Beyond the festive atmosphere, the true essence of a Cebuano Easter Sunday is the salo-salo, no matter what your background is. It’s the sight of neighbors sharing their food with the family in the next cottage, or kids running around with sticky fingers from too much Biko.
Modern traditions
Some families go to resorts and celebrate Easter while their children hunt eggs — even though it’s a Western tradition, it’s all for the “funsies,” right? — and enjoy an intimate dinner. It’s truly amazing how, from the days of mourning, the mood shifts so drastically to the vibrant celebration of Christ’s resurrection.
But whatever your version of Easter is — whether it’s spending time with your family and taking a well-deserved breather, or just cooking yourself a meal while watching a movie you’ve been dying to see — cherish those moments of rest. Whether you are with yourself or with your loved ones before going back to reality, one thing about Easter Sunday rings true: it feels like new beginnings are coming, in whatever shape or form they may take.
The homecoming
It is the “Sugat” — the dawn ritual of the meeting of the Risen Christ and the Sorrowful Mother — giving way to the bright, loud chaos of the afternoon. In Cebu, “New Life” isn’t just a religious concept; it’s a sensory explosion of food, family and the salty breeze of the sea. After the long, quiet days of reflection, the chaos of the Sunday feast feels less like a distraction and more like a well-deserved homecoming.
Whether it’s over a shared plate of Sinugba or a shouting match over the karaoke mic, this is where our real strength lies — in the messy, beautiful bonding that turns a religious holiday into a lifelong family memory.