Simbang Gabi

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   I miss out on a lot of bibingka and puto bumbong because I don’t attend Simbang Gabi, or the nine days of early morning Mass to celebrate Christmas.  In hindsight, I never once attended Simbang Gabi: not that I have anything against the Catholic Church, but I’m not a morning person.  I’d rather catch up on much-needed sleep than to brave the cold and lethargy of the wee hours of the morning to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ for nine days.

   Ooops, I hope that didn’t sound offensive.

   Simbang Gabi is a time ripe – and perhaps even rife – for chick-hunting under the guise of piety.  It’s also a time for dates on early mornings: perhaps there’s something remotely romantic about Mass being some form of romantic interaction, or sharing puto bumbong with your significant other while waiting for the sunrise.  And they accuse me of being a sinner.

   Among different forms of special masses, I would rather look forward to flaying and self-mutilation come Good Friday, when my sadistic tendencies get the better of me.  You won’t see men whip themselves with barbed and knotted leather straps on the time when Jesus is born in a cave (or stable) in Bethlehem.

   Whatever.

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