At daybreak of Sundays I would wake up
excitedly to take shower and take my favorite polo out of the dresser and I
would drink my milk or coffee. My mother or my elder sister would iron my polo
and let me dress with baby powder underneath my polo to make me fresher. When
I’m done, I would wait for my parents outside the door until they would come out
and ready to depart and attend the first mass at the parish church four
kilometers away. I would jump excitedly to the tricycle to take a ride with my
parents and other siblings. And every Sunday in the early morning we would go
to the church for the Holy mass. Every time I would hear the bells from the
altar servers I would enthusiastically look at the far end of the Church to
follow the solemn procession from the church’s door to the sanctuary. I would
look intently at the last person of the procession admiring and dreaming of the
colorful vestment of the priest. When the priest would be in the sanctuary I
would always imagine that I am at his side with a colorful dress that differs
from time to time from green, violet, white and red. After the mass, I would
eagerly run near the sanctuary to struggle with other children to take the hand
of the priest and receive his blessing. Then I would run to my parents and
demand to buy me a balloon.
This
repeated custom in the family had brought me into a deep awareness that I have
this kind of particular faith. Although my parents are not highly active in
other church’s activities and obligations, we children were raised to be
oriented of our faith. During the month of May, which is dedicated for Mary I
was always excited to go to our nearest chapel and join other children for what
we called “Flores de Mayo” or flowers of May. So, in the morning with my
younger brother and other playmates we would go to our neighbors where we could
get some flowers to offer to Mama Mary in the afternoon. After lunch, my
brother and I would wait for our neighbors to come and join them to go to the
chapel. For the whole afternoon we would receive catechesis with some games and
snacks afterwards. At the end of every catechesis before the snacks we would
offer our flowers to the altar where Mama Mary was situated for veneration.
With other children, I would follow the procession going to the altar with my
cute box made out of “lion-tiger katol” filled with different flowers. We would
all do those while singing the song “O Maria, Rayna sa Pilipinas” (O Mary,
Queen of the Phillipines), when we approached the altar we would kneel and
offer our flowers before the statue of the Our Lady of Fatima. And this
practice during the summer would excite me always and I would always wait for
the next coming May.
It
was during this time that I became aware that I want to become a person who
would lead other people in prayer. And so, there was a time in our place that
our elderly people whom we called the “antiques” successively left this life.
And every month or two months there would be like a feast day. There was always
a banquet prepared for those who would go to the funeral which I really
enjoyed. I learned how to play cards that time and even on how to play mahjong
and other sorts of gambling. Nonetheless, there was a significant experience of
mine this time that had greatly influenced my dream in life. Since these
funerals were always there, by tradition there should be a prayer for the dead
from the first day of the funeral wake until the end of forty days. The “mananabtan”
or the prayer leader for the dead is the respected person and celebrity of this
kind of custom. We have only few mananabtans and one of them was our close
neighbor who happened to be the mother of my close playmate too. The mananabtan
would get always an invitation not from the dead but from the family (of course). And it
became an opportunity for me to join with her and with my other playmates in
the prayers. There, we would help in uttering the responses of the rosary and
the novena for the dead while silently playing, teasing, and giggling at the
back. Those days were very funny and I enjoyed it going to different houses and
praying to different dead people, listening to the way the prayers were chanted
and most especially enjoying the hot coffee or cold soft drinks and hard bread
afterwards which was really my intention. Joining these prayers were my good
excuses to my mother also to delay my study time which I really hate most
before.
It
was around this time too that I was in the third grade in elementary and I took
seriously my classes in catechesis once or twice a week. This time I had a
deeper sense of my faith perhaps significantly shaped by our economical
situation in the family. Financially, we struggled, especially my parents when
my three sisters were all in college and the salary of my father couldn’t
support their tuition fees satisfactorily. However, my mother found another way
to help my father and that was in making homemade Filipino delicacies such as
suman, puto, enfanada, pilipit, banana que and etc. My younger brother and I
radically helped also in this by taking those homemade delicacies around our
place. Nonetheless, this story had helped me to articulate what I want in my
life. I could animatedly still remember what I answered to my religion teacher
that time when she asked me, “Unsa’y imung pangandoy inig dako nimu?” (What is
your dream when you grow up?) And I answered with enthusiasm in the class,
“mahimong pari!” (To become a priest!) And she appreciated my answer and wished
that I would pursue that dream.
However,
what made me think of this kind of dream? When I was younger, I have admired
priests already. The way they spoke and deliver their homily would always amaze
me. I would always spectacularly look at the priests wearing their
vestments though they looked like wearing old women’s dusters. Moreover, I
always noticed that people would laugh, nod their heads and listen attentively
to the homily and sometimes my mother would shed a tear listening to a pitiful
story that would make me wonder. Priests are respected always. People would bow
to them, say something nice, greet them enthusiastically, listen to what they
are saying and providing them the best thing people could offer. Indeed, there
is a high regard for someone who is a priest. During barrio masses, the priest
arrives in the chapel with an empty car but after the mass he would have a
heavy and full of loads in his car. People always love to give the priests
anything they can offer from the simplest vegetables to a big amount of money.
And that’s how priests are treated. And I imagined, I want to be like that!
Nevertheless, that dream of a grade
three pupil had slowly being abandoned. I told my parents and my sisters about
it but they said to me that to become a priest is very expensive which we
cannot surely afford. I have to study at least for ten years and I have to be
intelligent. I remember my second elder sister saying to me; “all your grades
should have to be eighty-five and above.” Unfortunately, I struggled to have
eighty.
to be continued...
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