24/01/2026
Five or six years ago, Dinagyang was an event I genuinely looked forward to - not for the drinking or the revelry, but simply for the experience of being there, immersed in the energy of the crowd. There was something almost meditative about it: the boat ride across to Iloilo, the streets alive with color and sound, and returning home at 2 AM, exhausted but fulfilled. It was a ritual that felt meaningful in its own way.
Today, that enthusiasm has completely evaporated. The pull of the festival no longer exists for me personally. If I consider going now, it’s entirely for my children - to give them the chance to experience the spectacle, to see their faces light up at the costumes and the performances. But even that impulse is tempered by practical realities: the endless walking through congested streets, the inevitability of carrying tired little ones on my shoulders when their energy runs out, the logistical puzzle of managing children in massive crowds.
The truth is, if it weren’t for wanting to create those memories for my kids, I wouldn’t find Dinagyang - or any similar festival - interesting anymore. The magic has faded. What once felt exciting now feels exhausting. What once seemed worth the effort now seems like unnecessary trouble.
Perhaps this is simply a natural phase of life. Our priorities shift, our thresholds change, and the things that once energized us lose their appeal. It’s not necessarily good or bad - it’s just different. The festivals haven’t changed; I have. And maybe that’s what growing older, especially as a parent, does to us: it reorients our entire framework of what matters and what’s worth our limited time and energy.
The nostalgia remains, but the desire has moved on.
