Our Spring Break (Part 2): The Release
After forty days of restraint, Hallelujah Saturday was our explosion
After forty days of QuaresmaâLentâwhen parties were considered sinful, when the priest might be tipped off about any gathering and call it out on the church megaphone (âEnd that party, itâs a sin!â)âwe were more than ready.
Hallelujah Saturday was glorious.
That night, we danced like no one was watching, though of course we were watching each otherâespecially our crushes from the weekâs processions. The room was packed. The 90s music was magnetic. When âMacarenaâ came on, the whole place jumped. Everyone knew the moves. Everyone was laughing. Arms swung in perfect chaos like we were shaking something off.
It felt like being let out of something.
Like we could finally move without being measured.
We stayed until late, half-hypnotized by freedom and sweat and the feeling that anything could happenâeven if nothing really did.
And then, just a few hours later, we got up to make the carpets.
On Easter Sunday morning, before the sun was fully out, the streets came alive again. Our high school teachers had partnered with the church to assign sections of the main procession route to different groups of students. Each group was responsible for a stretch of road to decorate, and we took it seriously.
We designed intricate street rugs made from flower petals, sawdust, coffee grounds, colored sandâwhatever we had. Some were full of religious symbols: chalices, doves, the sacred heart. Others were more abstract: flames, suns, radiant crosses. A few had real artistic ambition: an angel with real dimension and shadow.
People ranked them in whispers.
âDid you see the one in front of the bank?â
âOurs was too rushed.â
âHers looked like a real painting.â
We were half-tired, half-thrilled. Some of us still had glitter on our faces from the night before.
And then, at noon, the priest began the final Easter procession. He walked carefully across our creations, robe gleaming in the sun, flanked by choir and incense. Everything felt quiet again. Fulfilled. Glowing.
After that, it was over.
The visitors left. The shops quieted down. School started again. The bell rang like always.
But for one weekâour spring breakâLagoa Dourada became something more.
It became alive.
And so did we.
These days, a lot of that has been watered down. The crowds are smaller. The traditions faded, or forgot their way.
But I saw it before all that.
Before the color bled.
Before it turned into memory.
That week lives in me still.
ⶠThis essay is part of From the Beginning, a personal series built from my diariesâone memory at a time. Youâre reading 1998. Each piece revisits the girl I was, the world I came from, and the details I didnât know I was already saving.
