It's the start of the long Easter weekend. Typically, it'll be a long weekend of time-wasting siestas, senseless boozing, long lazy lunches followed by decadent dinners.
Over the years, I had forgotten the true meaning of Easter. Easter became that beautiful Sunday when we ate chocolate bunnies and painted eggs. Years later, I am still looking for that rabbit in the stories within the bible.
Brought up as a roman catholic by very strict parents beamed down by the Pope himself, I thought, as a child, that they were sent down to earth to make my life miserable particularly on Sundays when I was forced to go for catechism classes. You know that trick Joel pulled by skipping Catechism classes for weeks and was caught whiling his time away at the church canteen instead? I did that too.
As a young adult, I have graduated from my childish antics of attempting to escape going to mass and catechism class. Instead, I had resorted to calling every church on the Friday before Easter, to find out how many candidates were going to be baptized at the Easter Virgil mass. Then I would attend mass at the church with the least number of baptismal candidates - hence, a shorter and less agonizing duration at mass before I headed out to the clubs.
So I had decided to revisit my spiritual side tomorrow on Good Friday. I am going to fast. Yes, I remembered Mom and Dad teaching me the importance of fasting and abstinence during Lent. I have to admit I had never quite understood its significance. And I don't think I can ever fully appreciate the meaning behind it. But I thought I'd give fasting a try. I can't lie. The need to get on the fast track of my diet plans was also a compelling imperative for me to attempt a fast.
Life will get back to normal on Easter Sunday when a smorgasbord of exquisite food and champagne greets me at the annual family Easter champagne brunch. I will be looking forward to the ubiquitous chocolate bunnies at the buffet table followed by an afternoon of egg painting. I can't wait.
However, for now, I have plans to start my Good Friday by making the family miserable when I drag them out of bed at 5.30am to join me as I meditate at the beach to the gentle sounds of the slowly rising tide and the glorious sight of breaking dawn - the start of my fast.