Seven in the evening.
After being stuck in traffic for one hour because of a holy procession, we finally found our way to the main road leading out of Navotas. Every time we visit my late dad's hometown, we get stuck in traffic on the way out.
The last time it happened was during last year's All Saint's Day. I was fuming mad at my mother for insisting that we should park our car near the memorial park, when I don't mind pushing her wheelchair on narrow, bumpy alleys just to avoid parking in places where people passed their way to the cemetery. I lost in our argument and as a result, it took us two hours to get out of that wretched town because we got stuck a mile away from where the people assemble before heading to the cemetery.
But things are different nowadays.
Instead of getting upset at our predicament, I told my mom to pray the rosary to pass the time. We could consider the little delay as our bonding session. However, when my mother started praying, I got nothing else to do. So I left the car to join the crowd watching the long and somber procession pass in front of us. After all, it was the Senor who is being paraded and that icon of Christ is the reason why we went to Navotas in the first place.
---
They say, holy relics can answer a faithful's most fervent prayer.
Somebody must have told mom about this relic they call Senor and that is the reason why we went all the way to Navotas to make a pilgrimage.
When we arrived at the Senor's chapel, his devotees have already carried him to his stainless steel karwahe for the procession later that afternoon. He was lying peacefully inside an encased glass. His carved wooden face and body was buried under bouquets of fresh flowers placed earlier by the faithful. Throngs of devotees waited around the wheeled altar for the slow march to begin. Since it was our first time to see Senor, we felt like outsiders to the people who gathered around him.
But it didn't stop us from sending our wishes and praying for those we cared.
It doesn't matter whether my prayers would be answered by Senor or not. I could pray anytime, if I'm in dire need of divine assistance. What is important is that I made my mom very happy by being her escort and bodyguard today.
Such opportunity comes rarely these days.
---
I was surfing the cable when I stumbled upon an interview in the Iglesia Ni Kristo channel last week.
The lady being interviewed appears to be a newly kaanib. She was talking about her conversion to INC and how it changed her life for the better. I do not see anything wrong about her testimony, except that in one part of the interview, she began to question the practice of the Roman Catholic Church of giving great importance to relics and believing in the interceding power of the saints.
"Dati-rati, Katoliko rin ako. Sumasama kaming buong pamilya sa mga prusisyon sa lugar namin at humahalik rin ako sa Santo Nino... Nalaman ko pala na bad yun at against sa teachings ng Bible. Tapos naging member rin ako ng isang evangelical movement, tapos sa Methodist rin napasama ako. Tapos naging Born Again rin ako panandalian... Pero sa Iglesia ni Kristo lang ako namulat sa tamang interpretation ng Bible..."
From what it appears, the lady being interviewed has been jumping from one Christian movement to another. What pains me is that her apparent reason for moving is her never ending quest of looking for the most relevant interpretation of the Bible, which she herself, I believe, doesn't understand at all.
Don't get me wrong. I do not wish to sow anger because of this interview. But I think that to mock other people's faith and practice and question them openly is an act of disrespect. Wars, hatred and suffering begin when intolerance finds its way to a person's heart. In the quest to find the real meaning of our existence, I believe that religious comparison is not important. What truly means to be faithful is that you know in yourself what you believe in and that you have the compassion to understand others on what faith means to them.
If I was there in the interview, I'd politely remind the elder lady that if she doesn't want her faith to be questioned, it would be better for her not to question other people's faith.
---
Speaking of faith.
He compared our existence to a tiny flea residing in a dog's fur. In his words, "the dog doesn't give a shit no matter what the flea does to the beast." I cannot deny that my spirit sinks every time he reminds us of what he believes in.
Do you know the reason why?
It is perhaps because I look up to him as a great person. Maybe it's because my faith and my self-proclaimed spirituality isn't that strong enough to stand up to his ideas. Perhaps it's because I do not know any person who strongly shares my beliefs. Maybe it's because I'm still struggling to find my path and that his atheism reminds me that my journey has a possibility to end in futility.
His belief sometimes forces me to question my direction.
Good thing, Gripen is around to speak of miracles whenever I begin to feel that my integrity is collapsing. He may not be aware of it, but during my early attempts to reestablish my faith, his stories of unexplained phenomena strengthens my resolve to follow directions that would make me closer to the divine.
---
And so Good Friday ends and I felt unusually nostalgic for things I never appreciated when I spent most of my waking hours during the day.
The first sign of nostalgia appeared when I never complained of the unbearable heat inside my room when I woke up this afternoon. In the first place, who am I to complain that it's terribly hot when I almost cursed myself for being alive during the coldest months of February?
The second sign of nostalgia appeared when I texted my blog friend Brian about how blissful it felt to be seated in the front passenger seat of your car, the rays of the late afternoon sun toasting your jeans while you look outside your half-open window envying the masa gentlemen while they make tambay naked in front of their barong-barong and looking for something better to do than idle around and wait for the nightly inuman to begin.
The third sign of nostalgia appeared after I texted Punked telling him that I could close my eyes and see myself basking under the sun in a secluded beach somewhere in Ilocos when in fact, the only body of water I could see with my two eyes is the stretch of Manila Bay along the shores of Navotas, the sun ray's glittering like gold amidst the clear blue sea.
Finally, I realized that I am suffering from a serious case of nostalgia on our way home after we got stuck in a procession. The entire stretch of C3 Road from Navotas to Dagat-Dagatan in Caloocan was unusually unlit for a Friday evening. I thought that maybe, since it's Good Friday and there were very few cars on the road, the local government could save money by leaving those main roads in the dark.
Despite the pitch black darkness, the tepid yellow full moon shone brightly above the eastern sky. The air was warm and humid. On the opposite side of the road, a procession was being held with flickering long candles and altar boys and pious old ladies leading the slow march around the neighborhood.
In the serenity of my surroundings, my memory pulled me back to a time when all those things I saw, or imagined were still accessible to me. I remember joining processions in our neighborhood when I was still a kid. I remember being seated in front of my dad's L300 delivery truck as it speeds its way in those same streets when we drive home my aunt at 3 in the morning. I remember the last great family outing in Batangas, where I wrote a four-part entry about how I followed the sun.
And I remember getting sunburned all the time after my shift at work ends in the afternoon. In those days, I am free to go whenever my feet wish me to be.
But now that I am stuck in a swirling, monotonous cycle of waking up, going to work, and then going home only to sleep through another day,
It sometimes makes me wonder, could there be a more meaningful life now that I feel trapped in my present existence?
After being stuck in traffic for one hour because of a holy procession, we finally found our way to the main road leading out of Navotas. Every time we visit my late dad's hometown, we get stuck in traffic on the way out.
The last time it happened was during last year's All Saint's Day. I was fuming mad at my mother for insisting that we should park our car near the memorial park, when I don't mind pushing her wheelchair on narrow, bumpy alleys just to avoid parking in places where people passed their way to the cemetery. I lost in our argument and as a result, it took us two hours to get out of that wretched town because we got stuck a mile away from where the people assemble before heading to the cemetery.
But things are different nowadays.
Instead of getting upset at our predicament, I told my mom to pray the rosary to pass the time. We could consider the little delay as our bonding session. However, when my mother started praying, I got nothing else to do. So I left the car to join the crowd watching the long and somber procession pass in front of us. After all, it was the Senor who is being paraded and that icon of Christ is the reason why we went to Navotas in the first place.
---
They say, holy relics can answer a faithful's most fervent prayer.
Somebody must have told mom about this relic they call Senor and that is the reason why we went all the way to Navotas to make a pilgrimage.
When we arrived at the Senor's chapel, his devotees have already carried him to his stainless steel karwahe for the procession later that afternoon. He was lying peacefully inside an encased glass. His carved wooden face and body was buried under bouquets of fresh flowers placed earlier by the faithful. Throngs of devotees waited around the wheeled altar for the slow march to begin. Since it was our first time to see Senor, we felt like outsiders to the people who gathered around him.
But it didn't stop us from sending our wishes and praying for those we cared.
It doesn't matter whether my prayers would be answered by Senor or not. I could pray anytime, if I'm in dire need of divine assistance. What is important is that I made my mom very happy by being her escort and bodyguard today.
Such opportunity comes rarely these days.
---
I was surfing the cable when I stumbled upon an interview in the Iglesia Ni Kristo channel last week.
The lady being interviewed appears to be a newly kaanib. She was talking about her conversion to INC and how it changed her life for the better. I do not see anything wrong about her testimony, except that in one part of the interview, she began to question the practice of the Roman Catholic Church of giving great importance to relics and believing in the interceding power of the saints.
"Dati-rati, Katoliko rin ako. Sumasama kaming buong pamilya sa mga prusisyon sa lugar namin at humahalik rin ako sa Santo Nino... Nalaman ko pala na bad yun at against sa teachings ng Bible. Tapos naging member rin ako ng isang evangelical movement, tapos sa Methodist rin napasama ako. Tapos naging Born Again rin ako panandalian... Pero sa Iglesia ni Kristo lang ako namulat sa tamang interpretation ng Bible..."
From what it appears, the lady being interviewed has been jumping from one Christian movement to another. What pains me is that her apparent reason for moving is her never ending quest of looking for the most relevant interpretation of the Bible, which she herself, I believe, doesn't understand at all.
Don't get me wrong. I do not wish to sow anger because of this interview. But I think that to mock other people's faith and practice and question them openly is an act of disrespect. Wars, hatred and suffering begin when intolerance finds its way to a person's heart. In the quest to find the real meaning of our existence, I believe that religious comparison is not important. What truly means to be faithful is that you know in yourself what you believe in and that you have the compassion to understand others on what faith means to them.
If I was there in the interview, I'd politely remind the elder lady that if she doesn't want her faith to be questioned, it would be better for her not to question other people's faith.
---
Speaking of faith.
The great Milflores admitted to class that he is an atheist for the longest period of time. He said that he doesn't believe in god and that the universe exist to be chaotic.
He compared our existence to a tiny flea residing in a dog's fur. In his words, "the dog doesn't give a shit no matter what the flea does to the beast." I cannot deny that my spirit sinks every time he reminds us of what he believes in.
Do you know the reason why?
It is perhaps because I look up to him as a great person. Maybe it's because my faith and my self-proclaimed spirituality isn't that strong enough to stand up to his ideas. Perhaps it's because I do not know any person who strongly shares my beliefs. Maybe it's because I'm still struggling to find my path and that his atheism reminds me that my journey has a possibility to end in futility.
His belief sometimes forces me to question my direction.
Good thing, Gripen is around to speak of miracles whenever I begin to feel that my integrity is collapsing. He may not be aware of it, but during my early attempts to reestablish my faith, his stories of unexplained phenomena strengthens my resolve to follow directions that would make me closer to the divine.
---
And so Good Friday ends and I felt unusually nostalgic for things I never appreciated when I spent most of my waking hours during the day.
The first sign of nostalgia appeared when I never complained of the unbearable heat inside my room when I woke up this afternoon. In the first place, who am I to complain that it's terribly hot when I almost cursed myself for being alive during the coldest months of February?
The second sign of nostalgia appeared when I texted my blog friend Brian about how blissful it felt to be seated in the front passenger seat of your car, the rays of the late afternoon sun toasting your jeans while you look outside your half-open window envying the masa gentlemen while they make tambay naked in front of their barong-barong and looking for something better to do than idle around and wait for the nightly inuman to begin.
The third sign of nostalgia appeared after I texted Punked telling him that I could close my eyes and see myself basking under the sun in a secluded beach somewhere in Ilocos when in fact, the only body of water I could see with my two eyes is the stretch of Manila Bay along the shores of Navotas, the sun ray's glittering like gold amidst the clear blue sea.
Finally, I realized that I am suffering from a serious case of nostalgia on our way home after we got stuck in a procession. The entire stretch of C3 Road from Navotas to Dagat-Dagatan in Caloocan was unusually unlit for a Friday evening. I thought that maybe, since it's Good Friday and there were very few cars on the road, the local government could save money by leaving those main roads in the dark.
Despite the pitch black darkness, the tepid yellow full moon shone brightly above the eastern sky. The air was warm and humid. On the opposite side of the road, a procession was being held with flickering long candles and altar boys and pious old ladies leading the slow march around the neighborhood.
In the serenity of my surroundings, my memory pulled me back to a time when all those things I saw, or imagined were still accessible to me. I remember joining processions in our neighborhood when I was still a kid. I remember being seated in front of my dad's L300 delivery truck as it speeds its way in those same streets when we drive home my aunt at 3 in the morning. I remember the last great family outing in Batangas, where I wrote a four-part entry about how I followed the sun.
And I remember getting sunburned all the time after my shift at work ends in the afternoon. In those days, I am free to go whenever my feet wish me to be.
But now that I am stuck in a swirling, monotonous cycle of waking up, going to work, and then going home only to sleep through another day,
It sometimes makes me wonder, could there be a more meaningful life now that I feel trapped in my present existence?
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