Last summer I asked my college students in Anthropology 1, aside from learning anthropological concepts and theories inside the classroom - to explore places, experience cultural happenings, and then apply their learning through writing ethnographic accounts using the method of participation-observation.I am posting in my blog with the writer's consent selected ethnography penned creatively by my students to contribute to the emerging sub-discipline of anthropology called 'Virtual Ethnography'.
Basically, virtually ethnography is also referred to as Webnography. We cannot deny the fact that with increasing use of technology and the Internet, there is now a demand for online spaces on various ethnographic accounts.
Ethnography By Lianne Kristel Belamide
There were tears on his wrinkled eyes as he kept both of his hands in his pocket, trying to conceal the shaking. Behind him was where my father was standing, his best man.
The temperature wasn’t hot but she can feel the sweat on her forehead. Her hands were full and she didn’t have a handkerchief. She got nothing with her but this bundle of fresh tulips on her hands. She looked at my mother and without saying a word; my mother immediately wiped those bullets of sweat and retouched her make-up. After all, my mother was the maid of honor.
The ceremony was about to start and my mother went near her, squeezed her hand, and raised her eyebrow, as if asking her if she was ready. I saw my grandmother smile.
It was a bright sunny afternoon on October 23, 2009. It was a very special day for my grandparents on my mother’s side. They were getting married…again.
It was a very colorful day as well. My grandparent’s seven children, of all which have families already, have decided to be a little more creative with what everyone must wear. Each family had to choose one color for their Barong Tagalog and gowns and no family must have the same theme. In short, the colors of the rainbow were present in the venue.
The church was decorated with different kinds of flowers. Along the sides of the aisle was a long stretched white cloth intertwined to each other and looped around the chairs. My grandparents’ names etched in two big connected Styrofoam shaped in hearts in the very front of the nave.
The organ started to play and all the families were lined up in the lobby. We are such a big family that the place looked like a room full of multicolored human-size candies. Apparently, my grandparents have thirteen bride’s maids and fourteen groom’s men. All of us would walk down the aisle.
We all rehearsed everything the previous night, When to walk, how far you should be walking from the person in front of you, how far you should be walking from the person in front of you, how slowly you should walk, how you should smile, where to sit after the march, what to do while waiting doe the bride, what not to do while waiting for the bride and all other wedding etiquettes. However, I still felt the tension and excitement at that moment. This day was carefully planned for months. Everything should be perfect.
The wedding organizer gave us the cue. It was time to march. I looked at my grandmother one last time and I’m sure I saw a single tear fell from her eyes.
The feeling of walking down the aisle with all your relatives was like having a parade showing or I would rather say boasting how the genes of the bride and the groom have evolved. It was quite a long march that the organist had to play the wedding march twice. We had our seats on each side where the main altar was located. All the women sat on the right side while the men on the left. We were still standing as we wait for the bride to come.
As my grandmother entered the hall, everyone was silent. The solemnity of the organ piece and the voices of the choir were resonating in the church. My grandmother was sixty-five years old and she looked simply beautiful in her long white wedding gown. We were all looking at her. All of the guests also stood as she was walking down the aisle. She was the center of all attention. I glimpsed at my grandfather and after knowing him all these years, he was a strict old man, but right at that moment, I saw a different aura in him. His lips seemed not to get tired from smiling even though his quivering hands wee still pretty obvious.
What all these years had left of them was visible on their physique. As my grandfather reached for my grandmother’s hand, he carefully led her to her seat in front of the Minister. A prayer was said and the ceremony started. It was when vows being said that everyone got all teary. My grandparents never had a church wedding before. It was only after 5o years of being together that their dream finally happened.
One final kiss and they were newly weds…once again…
No comments:
Post a Comment