SUBSCRIBEInfanta flagellant-penitents, 4
Continued from Infanta flagellant-penitents, 3
Break of dawn as the first rays of the sun is piercing the sky and already a throng of curious onlookers have gathered ogling at the spectacle of 
skirted men with floral hoods flagellating themselves as blood oozes out from rows of neatly lined cuts. Some are leaving the group to walk the streets to the church, bow their heads, kneel and supplicate while others just came from doing that. At a given signal unknown to me, one by one, the men started walking to the other direction following the highway north.
What a scene! The first golden rays of the rising sun touching the earth and grasses and leaves still wet with dew as the flagellants, now a seeming throng, are trudging along a narrow dirt road with the saturated colors of the flowers and green hoods contrasting with the brown skirts and bloodied backs. Their individual panghampas swinging in every direction, unsynchronized but strangely choreographed. A few vehicles and people followed with those in the cars snapping photos.
The image of the flagellant is something that stays in your mind, searing deep into one’s consciousness, ever present, like an apparition. I can’t just forget the sight: a starless and moonless night, the rather narrow streets illuminated with the yellowish glow of sodium lamps while people, albeit few, are going about their pre-dawn business. Some are tricycle drivers, smoking a few sticks of cigarette while chatting with fellow drivers while some are just lying on the top of their motorcycles, dozing off. The bakery is already well lighted, busy as the first batch of fresh pan de sal is finding its way to the glass display. Farther off the road, much less lighted, a lone figure, skirted with wilted banana leaves and hooded, is slowly trudging, hitting his back and bruising it. The click clacking breaks the silence as the flagellant turns left at a dim corner on his way to the church.
Continued from 
I came to this westerly town in the upper reaches of Quezon province, crossing the Sierra Madre to witness and document the flagellant-penitents. Unlike what one sees in most of Metro Manila and Central Luzon, those in Laguna wear skirts of dried banana leaves (but unfortunately, as what I saw in the Laguna towns like Pakil, Siniloan and Kalayaan, this practice is slowly disappearing). The ones in Infanta goes further: besides wearing these skirts, a floral headdress is donned, a stunning visual indeed!
