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Being born and brought up in the Philippines, I know for a fact that the rosary is an important part of growing up as a Filipino Catholic. A rosary is a string of beads that we use to keep count of the number of Hail Mary’s said in the Holy Rosary prayer. However, as I look down at my palms holding my rosary I realized that this means more to me than just my faith. Moving to the U.S.
I came to an understanding that my rosary also symbolizes my culture, my values, and my upbringing. It is my most prized possession, not because of its monetary value, but because it represents my identity as a Filipino Catholic and because it helped me deal with my homesickness. I vividly remember the day when I first got my rosary.
I was seven years old when my family and I decided to do the Visita Iglesia, where you basically visit seven churches on the eve of Maundy Thursday, which is the Thursday before Easter.
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This was the first time that we were doing this type of Filipino Catholic tradition. In my mom’s defense, she told us that we were too young and rambunctious back then to go with her, and I guess I have to agree with her. It was half past eight at night when my family and I got out of our car and arrived at Quiapo Church. It was the first out of seven that we were visiting.
We had to park a mile away since the designated parking was already full. Quiapo Church has always been a center of commerce and transaction as rows of small shops — all beautifully decorated with Christmas lights and colorful wreaths — were seen on both sides of the street. As we were nearing the church I quickly noticed the sea of people trying to get inside the church. I also noticed that there were a lot of sellers trying to sell their goods and shouting all over the place. There was even a man dressed in neon clothes, dancing and yelling in his salesman’s voice, “come get your rosaries and novena prayer books! Yes, ma’am, it’s fifty pesos for the pearl rosary.”
Every part of this place was full of life. Even though this day commemorates the last supper of Jesus Christ, people in a way were celebrating. People were laughing and smiling and trying to get a picture of themselves with the church as the background to post on their Facebook page with the caption, “#Blessed #VisitaIglesia #HolyWeek”. However, as we were entering the church the ambiance inside was the complete opposite. There was a hush of silence inside the church that murmurs of prayers were the only thing that you could hear. Candles were lit around the room where it illuminated the Baroquesque elegance and beauty of Quiapo Church. As you enter you would be faced with a tall arch-shaped door with a clear view of the hall on which you could see the magnificent High Altar, with the Black Nazarene — a wooden image statue of a dark-skinned, kneeling Jesus Christ carrying the cross — enshrined above it. A dome ceiling could be seen above the altar edged with four golden significant carvings, walls painted cream and the floor was made out of marble. The church was full of people praying in the pews and some were walking around the church to pray at every station of the cross. Even as a kid I knew that this place was Holy, and that talking out loud was something that you should not do. As we were sitting down to pray my mother realized something very important – we forgot to bring our rosaries from home. My mother quickly grabbed her bag and fetched out a hundred-peso bill and gave it to me and my older sister saying, “Could you guys please buy four rosaries from the seller who was wearing neon clothes. I think he’s by the front of the gate, just buy the ₱20 rosaries,” as her and my little sister stayed behind to reserve our seats. After searching for about ten minutes it was clear that the “Neon Guy,” a nickname that my sister and I gave him, took a break from his dance number and was probably at some carinderia eating dinner. We had no choice but to look somewhere else to buy the rosary, but every small shop that we went to was either selling rosaries that were too expensive or was flocked with other patrons. I knew that we only had a couple more minutes left before my mom would come looking for us ready to drag us by our ears because we took too long and worried her. We were about to give up when we spotted an old woman selling rosaries by the pillars of the Church. I quickly dragged my sister to her small corner shop and asked how much she was selling the rosaries for, and her answer shocked us because her rosaries were priced twenty pesos apiece even though her craftsmanship was worth more than that. Her rosaries were made out of white pearl-like beads that were smooth to touch. Connecting it was small chains that seemed to interlock infinitely. At the centerpiece was a photograph of the same Mother Mary that was inside the church and on the back of it were the words, “Ruega por nosotros”, which means “pray for us” in Spanish. On the bottom was a small emblem of a dove and the details on the crucifix were just magnificent. The way she made her rosaries were really beautiful that my sister did not even ask for the change in appreciation of her work. And as we were walking back inside the church, with my rosary in my hand, I knew that this rosary would become really important to me.
As the years passed, my rosary became my most prized possession. When I moved to the U.S. my rosary’s representation in my life became more than just my faith. I first realized this when I first felt homesick. It was a feeling that I could not forget; it felt like there was a ball of anxiety in my stomach waiting to explode. I was tossing and turning every night, and the smallest of tasks made me feel like I was drowning. At first, I repressed those feelings, thinking that they would go away, but they did not. Leaving my country was the hardest thing that I have ever done. I did not just leave my family and friends behind, it felt like I left my identity back in the Philippines. In the end, I guess all of my emotions piled up when I felt it; fat tears were suddenly running down my cheeks, I was breathing heavily but at the same time repressing my cries so that nobody would hear me, lips trembling and eyes pooled with tears. I was a blubbering mess. I did not know what to do. I could not find any solutions to stop me from crying, but I remembered my mom saying that “if you ever find yourself struggling or in a hard situation, grab your rosary and pray. It won’t solve your problems right away but I promise you that it would make you feel better,” and she was completely right. I grabbed my rosary from my drawer and kneeled in front of my bed and started praying, and as I was praying, memories of my family and friends back in the Philippines kept playing through my head: me and my friends eating at the best “fishball/squidball/kwek-kwek” stand near my school, me and my family singing karaoke during Christmas, and even the little things like my sisters’ and I playing traditional Filipino games in our backyard.
Memories that I did not know helped me cope with moving here. My rosary reminded me of my culture. So now every time I would feel homesick I would just grab my rosary and I would remember all my memories back in the Philippines. Everywhere I go I would have my rosary with me, no matter where that may be: at school, work, or just me going out. I would always have it in the pocket of my bag or wallet ready to use for when I was faced with situations where I wanted to feel safe or comforted: commuting home late at night, missing my family, or praying for those in need. I just always felt secure when I have my rosary with me. It is kind of like a security blanket for me, always making me feel protected.
My rosary is significant to me because it reminded me of the country that I left. Moreover, it also helped me cope with my homesickness. The rosary I have in my hands makes me feel connected to my faith and reminds me of my culture. It laces every puzzle piece that makes up who I am, and reminds me of my identity, both in the past and present and connects them all.
Rosary: Important Part Of a Filipino Catholic. (2024, Feb 07). Retrieved from https://studymoose.com/rosary-important-part-of-a-filipino-catholic-essay
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