Exploring San Fernando, Pampanga: Arts, Food and Faith (1st of 3 Parts)

We went on a road trip to San Fernando, Pampanga last month, and it was both a memorable and enriching experience.   It took us almost two hours to reach the city, and our day trip gave us a glimpse of the many facets of Pampanga’s heritage, including paintings and religious artifacts, Kapampangan food, and historic churches.

Our morning started with a visit to the Museum of Philippine Arts and Culture, where we explored an impressive collection of works by some of the country's most celebrated artists, including Juvenal Sansó, Ang Kiukok, H.R. Ocampo, Malang, and Magsaysay-Ho.

The museum's collection, divided into two sections, included works by artists who received the Presidential Merit Award and those who were honored as National Artists of the Philippines. While each gallery showcased a different artistic perspective, together they painted a compelling portrait of Filipino life, history, and identity.

One fascinating detail we learned from our guide, Seb, was that artists such as Ang Kiukok and Juvenal Sansó often included a small dot or distinctive mark in their paintings to help identify the work as an original. Some visitors might overlook that detail, but it added another layer of appreciation for the artist's personality.

 

The art pieces are part of the personal collection of former Commissioner Andrea Domingo, and I noticed that many of the paintings celebrated Filipino women. Although expressed and painted in different styles,  they all seemed to capture the grace, strength, beauty, and femininity of the Filipina. The women portrayed in these works were not merely subjects; they were central figures in the story of Filipino life and culture.

 

Another recurring theme in the collection was Philippine rural life. Many of the paintings featured scenes such as farmers planting rice in lush fields, fishermen bringing in their catch, women weaving baskets by hand, and others gathering fruit from trees or carrying the day's harvest. Seb explained that many of the artists drew inspiration from the places where they lived, and it was easy to see how their communities, landscapes, and everyday experiences found their way onto canvas.

 After viewing the paintings, we went to another building in the complex that houses a collection of historical and religious artifacts. Among the most notable pieces were the many images and statues of the Virgin Mary and the Santo Niño. The images reflect the deep Catholic faith that has shaped Filipino’s belief and culture for centuries. 

The collection also included old pots, earthenware, and other ceremonial objects that offered a glimpse into how the earlier generations lived.

While I found the artifacts fascinating, I could not help feeling a little sad as I looked at some of them. Many of the religious images were clearly very old, and several appeared worn, faded, or in need of restoration. Their appearance may give them character and authenticity, but it also raises the need for their preservation.

Nevertheless, these artifacts, along with the artworks of Filipino masters, would someday help us better understand and remember the cultural, artistic, and spiritual foundations of our society.

Original images taken during our trip. No copyright infringement intended.

Kumusta or Kamusta?

It began with a speech that unexpectedly drew attention to a familiar part of everyday Filipino conversation: the simple act of asking, “How are you?” In a session discussing an incident in their office, a lady legislator had a complete meltdown because, according to her, some of her colleagues did not reach out to ask how she was doing. "Wala man lang nangamusta sa amin," she said. Nangumusta is a verb form of "kumusta," or "how are you." That brief comment, almost incidental to the larger issue, quickly spread online, and from there, the conversation took an interesting turn.

People began focusing not just on the act of checking in, but on the word itself. Should it be kumusta or kamusta?

Image generated with AI

At first, it felt like one of those light, almost trivial debates you’d see online. But the more people joined in, the more it became clear that this wasn’t just about spelling. It was about how Filipinos actually use language in everyday life.

Technically, kumusta is the standard form you’ll find in dictionaries and formal writing. Rooted in the Spanish greeting “¿cómo está?” it didn’t stay exactly the same. It changed, adjusted, and eventually took on a form that felt more natural to Filipino speakers. Somewhere along the way, variations like kumusta and kamusta settled in.  Many Filipinos naturally say kamusta in everyday life. It’s what shows up in conversations and casual greetings.

Both are widely used and widely understood.  No one would stop you mid-conversation to clarify which one you meant. There’s no confusion, no misunderstanding. It’s just one of those cases where the “proper” version and the “everyday” version exist side by side.

And that’s really the point: language evolves the way people use it. One form may be more formal, the other more conversational, but neither feels out of place.   

Still, the discussion goes back to something more important than spelling. Whether you say kumusta or kamusta, the meaning is the same: it’s a simple way to check in and connect with family and friends.  Something very important to us Filipinos. 

So in the end, it’s not about choosing the “right” word. You don’t have to overthink it. You can say kumusta. You can say kamusta. Either one works, and most people won’t give it a second thought.
What matters more is to say it and mean it when you do.  Because sometimes, that small question, however you spell it, becomes an act of reaching out and, small as it may seem, keeps that human connection alive.

The Black Nazarene: History, Devotion, and a Tradition That Moves a Nation

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Every January, Manila transforms. Streets fill with barefoot devotees, yellow and maroon banners rise above the crowds, and the familiar rhythm of prayer echoes not only in Quiapo but even across the archipelago. The Feast of the Black Nazarene, reverently called Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno by his devotees, is more than a religious event.  It is a cultural phenomenon that reveals how faith, identity, and collective memory continue to shape Filipino life.

The Black Nazarene is a representation of a dark-skinned Christ carrying His cross on the right shoulder, wearing a maroon robe. He looks up towards heaven with a pained expression on His face.

The story of the Black Nazarene traces back to 1606, when Augustinian Recollect missionaries brought a life-sized image of Christ carrying the cross from Mexico to Manila. Carved from dark mesquite wood, the image’s color has long sparked myths. One popular belief I heard as a child was that the reason for the dark color of the image was that during its trip from Mexico to Manila, the ship it was on caught fire, and the image was burned, but only on the surface. People considered this a miracle. Later on, I learned that its origins are simpler: the wood it was made from itself was naturally dark.

The image quickly became a major focus of devotion from its first home in Bagumbayan to its later transfer to Intramuros.  In the 1700s, it found its permanent home in Quiapo Church, where it later on survived fires, earthquakes, and even the devastation of World War II. For the devotees, its survival through these almost catastrophic events reinforced their belief that the image is miraculous.

Over the centuries, the Black Nazarene has drawn people from every corner of the country: workers, students, vendors, professionals, families, and pilgrims who carry stories of struggle and hope. The church has become a sanctuary for those seeking healing, guidance, or simply a moment of contemplative surrender to the Poong Nazareno.

The heart of the devotion to the Poong Nazareno is the annual Traslación, held on January 9. This reenactment of the historic transfer of the image from Intramuros to Quiapo took shape at the 400th anniversary of the image in 2006, and has grown into the largest yearly expression of Catholic devotion in the Philippines.  I remember that before that time, the procession was only around the Quiapo district and its environs.  I even had an experience when I was in the area during the procession when there was a rush of people wanting to get near the Nazareno.  I had to take cover along with other people inside a bakery; otherwise, we would be crushed by the surge of devotees.

Millions of devotees join the procession each year, many walking barefoot as an act of humility and solidarity with Christ’s suffering. Others reach for the ropes of the andas, a wheeled platform heavily adorned with flowers and lights bearing the image, and pulled by devotees.  They believe that even the slightest touch of the ropes can bring healing or protection.

Even as I write this post, the celebration is already underway, and crowds are already gathering at the Luneta Park for Masses and other devotional activities.  There is even a nine-day novena prayer in Tagalog available from the Hallow app, which I pray after the Angelus. The novena includes the hymn Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, composed by National Artist of the Philippines, Lucio San Pedro, to honor the image.

from hallow.com

The Pahalik, which takes place a day before the Traslación, is an act of devotion where pilgrims and devotees, some coming from far provinces, line up to touch, kiss, wipe with a handkerchief, or just pray before the life-sized statue of the Black Nazarene.   The scale of participation, often reaching millions, reflects not only religious fervor but also the deep cultural roots of this tradition. Devotees would line up for hours, yet they patiently wait and consider this part of their sacrifice and an expression of their faith.

Image generated with AI

The enduring devotion to the Black Nazarene reveals something essential about Filipino spirituality: faith is not a passive act. It is embodied, communal, and resilient. Some experts theorize that the Poon’s dark complexion forms a rich connection to the devotees.  Here is a Christ who looks familiar, who feels close, who understands the weight of human suffering.

In a country shaped by colonial history, natural disasters, and social challenges, the Black Nazarene stands as a symbol of perseverance. Every year, the Feast acts as a reminder that hope is not abstract; it is lived, carried, and shared.