Carnival Queen

 

Carnival Queen 2025
by Penn T. Larena

In the sultry twilight of May 1937, the town of San Vicente shimmered with light, music, and the scent of dama de noche. Beneath buntings and brass bands, the townsfolk prepared for their grandest celebration of the year—the Fiesta Carnival Queen, a spectacle inherited from the American era, where beauty, wealth, and power danced in delicate disguise.

All eyes were on the grand pavilion, where a queen would be crowned, her smile brighter than the rhinestones sewn onto her terno. Rumors had swept through cobbled streets and coconut groves: that the Carnival Queen had already been chosen long before the ballots were cast.

At the center of the gossip was Catalina Teresa Aguilar Molas—poised, elegant, daughter of Don Lorenzo Molas, the wealthiest sugar planter in San Vicente. But no one could say for sure: Was Catalina the queen in waiting—or was she simply the hand behind the curtain?

Children whispered her name like an incantation. Old women shook their heads, recalling how she never joined any beauty contests, yet sat beside every crowned Reina in the photographs. The mayor’s wife often consulted her, the priest tipped his hat when she passed, and seamstresses stitched their best ternos under her quiet instruction.

As the marching band struck the first chord and the queen’s float rolled in, veiled in gold and orchids, the crowd leaned in—breathless. Was it Catalina behind the mask? Or had she again chosen another to wear the crown, while she ruled from the shadows?

One thing was certain—no Carnival in San Vicente ever happened without Catalina Teresa Aguilar Molas

 

The town was buzzing with electricity. It was the night of the Annual Coronation, the glittering crown jewel of the fiesta. In every household, the only question was: Who will be the Carnival Queen? Backstage was a whirlwind of silk, sequins, and lace. Local artisans and Manila’s premier designers had outdone themselves, crafting gowns that shimmered like liquid gold. Among the hopefuls stood Catalina Therese Aguilar Molas. She sat before the mirror, her face a canvas of perfect makeup, waiting to step into an elegant gown that felt more like armor than silk. Following the tradition of mystery, each candidate wore an intricate masquerade mask, turning the stage into a sea of hidden identities.

The music swelled as the candidates were presented, each escorted by a handsome partner. They moved with grace, a dance of shadows and light. Finally, the moment of truth arrived. The host’s voice boomed over the speakers, announcing the runners-up until only the title remained.

"The Carnival Queen is... Catalina Therese Aguilar Molas!"

The reveal was a shock that turned the cheering crowd silent, then sour. Boos began to ripple through the audience. The people knew the truth—the crown hadn't been won; it had been bought. Behind the scenes, power and wealth had pulled the strings, dictating a verdict that ignored merit.

As the disappointed crowds headed home under a darkened sky, Catalina stood on stage, smiling like a thief in the night. She wore the crown, but the glory was hollow, stained by the "evil" of those who placed it there.