Candlelights: Memories of a Former Religious Brother Seminarian

Candlelights memories of a former religious brother seminarian

This work is dedicated to my parents — To my Papa, who did not surrender to darkness… To my Mama who passed away, alone, when her children were too busy with life…

Candlelights memories of a former religious brother seminarian

karla h. marco

Published by CENTRAL BOOK SUPPLY, INC. Quezon City, Philippines for DE LA SALLE UNIVERSITY Manila, Philippines

Candlelights memories of a former religious brother seminarian Published by Central Book Supply Inc. for De La Salle University, Manila Central Book Supply Inc. 927 Quezon Avenue, Quezon City, Philippines Email: [email protected]

Copyright © Karla H. Marco 2012 Cover Art © Nathalie De los Santos 2012

All rights reserved. Printed in the Philippines. No portion of this book may be copied or reproduced in any kind, without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews. Any copy of this book without the corresponding code and signature of the author on this page either proceeds from an illegal source or is in possession of one who has no authority to dispose of the same.

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All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this work of fiction are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover art by Nathalie De los Santos Book design by Del C. Mendoza

ISBN 978-971-011-454-2

contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

the beginning separations an initial journey a new beginning into a different world the succession of days, weeks, months… power through weakness determining determination signs of contradictions novices and novitiate vocations and ambitions gatekeepers by the narrow door just do it—regardless of one’s baggage simple profession student life philosophy community apostolate the telephone booth theology a more serious reaction more weeds and wheat with god’s drinkard heartaches and motorbikes moy-moy toothless vows and impotent laws let the living bury their dead kari’s ark brokeback mounting a last testament time to go going back home going back farther the end epilogue

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1 33 42 52 56 67 73 89 102 113 116 120 123 131 138 145 162 171 178 187 191 210 215 221 226 235 240 245 251 256 263 265 269 283

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He based his negative judgment on Kari’s clouded reason; but in the process, he forgot about Kari’s heart.

The clock struck at 10.30. With a life of its own, it de-

cided the time of a late Saturday evening in the ordinary everyday life of Mr. and Mrs. Rivera. The sleepy neighborhood had turned quiet and the couple’s sari-sari store stayed idle for a long while. For hours, neighbors of this small around-the-corner convenience store stayed put inside their homes. Without doubt, neighborhood life in this part of the Philippines had retreated into its lairs. Hours ago, the boys were agitating the grounds and swirling the street dust with their feet, running endlessly for games of patintero and tagotaguan; scores of wives and daughters, with their home-clothes on, were busy buying toyo, suka, asin, vetsin, paminta, gulay, itlog, misua, odong, de-lata, etc.—basic items for supper preparations; and men of various ages, sitting by the store’s side, noisily mashed weekend stories over cheap beer and peanuts or chicharon for pulutan. Now, business halted as dust, chores, and noise had settled down in the absence of the male juvenile, domestic, and testosterone-driven souls. The balut vendor’s “Baluuuuuuuuuut!” howl was the last interesting masculine noise that Mr. and Mrs. Rivera had noticed. Their eyes, hands, and feet have had taken some rest from their demanding buyers; the hearing organ had to take its rest too.

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Mr. Rivera took advantage of the neighborhood store’s silent hours and busied himself with his own version of leg massage using Omega Pain Killer, while Mrs. Rivera took time to soothe her arms and knees with a generous rubbing of the milder, more grandmother-friendly Efficascent Oil. Omega for the husband; Efficascent for the wife—they had to disagree even in matters of muscle pain relief. Nevertheless, seemingly in harmonious conversation, the scents of eucalyptus, menthol, methyl salicylate, and senior citizens’ skin mingled and wafted throughout the room and into Mr. and Mrs. Rivera’s nasal passages. But Omega lotion’s and Efficascent Oil’s heat had their own respective careers in penetrating stiff muscles and traversing toward the male’s and female’s ancient bones. It was a time for their eyes and ears, hands and feet to be liberated from their neighbors’ calls. The prolonged absence of customers, however, made them decide to end their day’s small commerce. Mr. Rivera interrupted his selfmassage. In the meantime, the married scents of Omega and Efficascent Oil gradually escaped into the wider late night neighborhood exteriors. The deepening darkness of the sky complemented the evening breeze that now fanned the whole place, bringing some cooling caress to the neighborhood. “Riza, agkwenta ’kan ket irikep kod’toyen. Awan sa gummatangen.” (“Riza, you start counting and I’ll close shop. No more buyers.”) “Wen ngarod, uray dagidyay mambartek nga laklakay ket awan met uray maysa.” (“That’s right, even the veteran drinkers aren’t here.”) “Adayo pay ngamin ’ti sweldo…” (“Payday’s still far…”) “Agpayso, adu pay ’ti ’di nagbayad ut-utang da.” (“Right, and, again, the debtors didn’t show up.”) Mrs. Rivera sighed as she reached for the portable money box from its hiding place behind the 2-feet image of the Our Lady of Perpetual Help. She took a seat and put the box on top of the table behind

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the display glass-case. She opened the lilac-colored money box that always took a central place in Mrs. Rivera’s attention at this time of the day. Mrs. Rivera always feels something familiar inside her every time she brings out the box from its hiding place. It was a gift from the eldest, her daughter, eight years ago when Mr. Rivera opened the neighborhood store. Actually, the heartwarming memory that the money box evoked in her became more significant than the counting of the day’s earnings. However, the lilac money box also reminded Mrs. Rivera about the absence of her daughter who worked as a nurse in the USA. Mr. Rivera was closing the store and Mrs. Rivera started counting the day’s revenues when Kari, their middle child, emerged from the store’s open backdoor which was connected to a corridor leading towards the main house. He inched his way to the door and announced his presence as he cleared his throat. Mrs. Rivera glanced at him with a hint of surprise in her eyes. Kari stood next to the store’s main shelf and composed himself. From his still timid voice box, Kari broke the news without preliminaries—a news that would define Mr. and Mrs. Rivera’s nighttime. “Muhawa na ko ugma sa Iloilo. Musulod ko sa Trappist monastery sa Guimaras.” (“I’m leaving for Iloilo tomorrow. I’ll be entering the Trappist monastery in Guimaras.”) Mrs. Rivera’s face froze and she abruptly stopped counting the day’s sales. Her left hand, which held some bills, remained suspended in midair, just above the open money box. As if looking for some support, she slowly put her hands on top of the box; while her eyes went towards the direction where Mr. Rivera was busy closing windows. She opened her mouth but no sound was forthcoming. She shifted her head and looked at Kari. She stared at him as if in a trance. Kari did not make any follow-up move. Mr. Rivera hurriedly inserted the last piece of slab into the slots of the store’s display window, making more noise

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this time. He wanted to get his wife’s attention but she was visibly upset. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes wrapped with mixed expressions—worry, sadness, dejection. She could cry at a signal. No. Mrs. Rivera could not break down and cry; even as her hands, already balled tightly, were cold and trembling. Not yet, anyway. She was still staring at Kari; but what became more obvious were her squared and rigid shoulders. Her breathing had become shorter and faster. In an effort to appear more gallant than her tormented mind, she still did not attempt to speak. Mr. Rivera had already secured the locks; but his ears were still not ready for Kari’s words. Kari, who had not attempted to face them before and talk about this matter at length, did not bother to continue with his news. He merely raised his head, focused his eyes on the top stacks of store goods, and waited for his parents’ reactions. He may have appeared cocky, but Kari was actually filled with rambling emotions—excitement, anxiety, uneasiness… But overall, he kept a defensive posture inside him and an aura of immobility outside; assuring himself that compromise would not count as an option. His eyes moved back and forth; as if surveying the shelves…as if comparing the goods marked with Ligo Sardines, Star Margarine, and Silver Swan soy sauce. By the look of his face, Kari could have been suspected of staring at the goods contemptuously. It was a distressing news, a deafening one, for Mr. and Mrs. Rivera. They were unable to grasp the whole point of their son’s decision. At a time when the whole neighborhood was already finding refuge in bed, the Rivera couple was still before a conundrum that could extend their day and bewilder them the whole night and towards the next days. They were grappling with a news that they could have neither imagined nor understood. Tonight, rest would not be a reward for their day’s efforts.

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This was not the first time they heard about Kari’s plan to enter a monastery. But tonight was different. It could be their last day together. They felt he was already leaving them and this was a torture. Mrs. Rivera even pictured Kari among obedient monks who perpetually bowed their heads and kept on denying their eyes to the world outside their enclosure. It was a picture she saw in the movies…but it was certainly becoming more real and disturbing tonight. Kari with the monks inside the monastery entangled Mrs. Rivera’s imagination. Finally, Mr. Rivera was somehow able to gather some sense. He composed a question quite sensible for that moment, “Di ba nimo humanon ang imong Law?” (“Are you not going to finish your Law studies?”) Kari casually remarked, “Nag-drop out na ko tulo na ka bulan.” (“I already dropped out of law school three months ago.”) Without shifting his head, the balls of his eyes moved towards his mother and then to his father and back. The couple looked at each other. Then, Mrs. Rivera composed a question which she thought might be important and could change Kari’s mind. “Si Claire?” (“What about Claire?”). Her voice came too soft and trembling. “Nasa Manila siya, nagakuha ug CPA board.” (“She’s in Manila taking the CPA board exams.”) Kari’s voice became controlled and sounded too soft. The words struggled between stomach and throat. He bowed his head; somewhat embarrassed by the feelings that leaked through his voice box. Some trembling surfaced around his chin, but his parents did not seem to notice this. Mrs. Rivera made a short follow-up, “Di ka ba maluoy kang Claire?” (“Don’t you pity Claire?”) She still had her firm grip on some bills as she waited for Kari’s reply. She knew that Claire could be their last weapon to challenge Kari’s position. Kari, head still lowered, lightly brushed his crown with

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his fingers. He breathed deeply and said, “Wala man siya diri. Sukad pa niadtong April. Wala man gani siya nagsulat.” (“She is not around. She’s in Manila since April. She didn’t even write.”) His chest seemed packed tightly. Then he felt his heart’s pounding so he raised his head, straightened himself and switched into a more attentive stance. But his body language betrayed his impatience. His tense and choking voice already hinted it. His eyebrows were clutched tightly like showing incomprehensibility over a mystery. His parents were too familiar with this look of impatience. They adjusted themselves and tried to be less intrusive before Kari would lose what remained of his self-control. Losing his self-control would really mean for them facing another problem. Kari’s brief retorts implied unwillingness to enter into discussion. He was too unhelpful and disconcerting to both his father and mother. Resignation gradually peeped through his mother’s eyes. Mrs. Rivera stared at her husband, silently pleading for Mr. Rivera to think of other ways to convince Kari to change his mind or at least postpone his plans. But all that Mr. Rivera could do was to listen to Kari’s final words. Tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Rivera were ready to close the store and count the money—they were unprepared to deal with their son’s business. “Naa na koy ticket. Muhawa ang eroplano alas 12. Naghulat na sila sa akoa sa Guimaras.” (“I already have my plane tickets. The plane’s leaving tomorrow at 12 noon. The monks of Guimaras already know that I’m coming.”) With these words, Kari declared the end of conversation. He turned his back abruptly and rushed towards the main house and into his room. Before he closed his door, he added loudly, “Alas 9 ko ugma mugikan diri.” (“I will leave for the airport at 9.”) Once inside his room, Kari shook off his restlessness through deep breathing and then decided to pack up for the

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next day’s journey. He took his traveling bag and collected his things. Kari was sure about the things he was going to bring; all his clothes, which were few: just 3 jeans including the one he was wearing, 2 polo shirts, 3 t-shirts, 2 shorts, 5 briefs, 3 handkerchiefs, and 1 towel. The traveling bag could still hold more stuff but all that he could add were his toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, disposable razor, 1 bar of bathing soap, 1 small 120 gm. packet of detergent, and a pair of slippers. He would not need other things. Besides, he was used to this kind of scarcity. If he got accepted as a regular Trappist, he might just need a couple of jeans, some shirts, and shorts. A monk did not need too many things. What would a monk need if he was to dedicate himself to ora et labora the whole of his life? Kari made sure not to forget other important things. He scanned his cabinet. There was nothing left to bring. He never did have much possessions. One thing that he considered very important was his pair of blue jeans made and customized in one of Surigao’s tailoring shops that produced imitations of imported Levi’s jeans. Kari was no different from the young men of his day—also looking for some reasons to stand out. One of those reasons would be wearing an “orig” Levi’s jeans even if this was a mere imitation. Kari didn’t mind if his pair of jeans was an imitation for as long as it was a very good imitation of the “orig.” Today’s original jeans and imitations are in good supply in boutiques, department stores, and ukay-ukay. He took his plane ticket (a round-trip ticket) and carefully tucked this in between his clothes in the still roomy travelling bag. Having done this, he felt he was ready to sleep. He wanted to put things to rest for the night. He felt assured of fulfilling his most cherished goal the following day. His parents should simply accept that fact. This certainty made him more calm and disposed to sleep. He took off his body-

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smelling shirt and shorts and put on fresh ones. As he laid himself to rest, he felt on his skin the comfort of his clothes and the firmness of his bed. He closed his eyes and clenched his left fist, as was his custom when praying, and pressed it to his chin while he folded his right arm under his left elbow. When he was about to say his night prayers, he felt the hardness of something pressing from his left hand’s ring finger. He opened his eyes and spread out his hand. It was the diamond ring given to him by his mother. The ring was not exactly a gift from his mother. It was his father’s ring. It is a genuine diamond ring worth quite a fortune. The glitter from the gem attracted eyes. Kari took notice of it one day, when his mother redeemed it from a pawnshop. Before she could wrap it for safekeeping, Kari tried it on his finger and asked her if he could just wear it. He was delighted by the way it flashed brilliant white rays. Mrs. Rivera was in no mood at that time to deny Kari of his wish. She was reluctant to give the ring but she still allowed him to wear it. It became one of Kari’s precious contraptions that he thought had made him more distinctive than the rest of his classmates. About a dozen times daily, Kari would glance at this contraption to convince him of his added value. “I don’t need this anymore,” Kari thought. He slowly took it off. He put it on top of his small writing table…on a space cleared of things. He made sure that his mother would find it as she would check on his things when he was already gone. He made sure he would not bring anything he didn’t need for his journey. He glanced at his guitar leaning against one corner of the room. He felt a gentle tug in his inside as he turned his eyes away from the instrument. Kari prayed. Sleep gradually took over. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera’s intent to discourage him from leaving was not necessarily a gesture of disapproval against religious life. Kari’s decision to go to Guimaras Island to join

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the Trappist monks was something Mr. and Mrs. Rivera seemed unable to comprehend. The “monastery” thing was just beyond them. For them, “monastery” meant isolation. Caged by high walls, monks desired nothing from the outside world; not even parlor visits from their parents. Besides, why Guimaras? That’s just too far. Kari would be permanently separated from them; so distant and unreachable. They could no longer see him play tennis with his younger brother. There, they could no longer pay attention to his needs; they could no longer take care of him when he got seized by bronchial asthma attacks. Mrs. Rivera would not be able to serve him her classic kare-kare anymore. Mr. Rivera would miss his aloof and distant son who was always by himself playing the guitar. Kari’s departure brought them back to their earliest memories of Kari the infant who suffered much from allergies and milk intolerance—they had to feed him (belatedly) with a special hypoallergenic infant formula called Nutramigen. Researchers today have discovered that allergy to casein in cow’s milk (and to gluten in wheat) bring about gastrointestinal inflammation that allowed enzymes, partially undigested proteins, and toxins to escape from the gut; these enter into the bloodstream and could reach the brain, producing neurological inflammations and negative effects on a child’s mood, disposition, and personality. ADHD and autism are such cases that some of today’s more-informed doctors discover as products of this nutrition-biology connection. Partially undigested proteins, called peptides, resemble opiates and have an effect much like morphine or heroin in the brain and nervous system. Long-term exposure to these opiate peptides can impair a developing brain and also affect behavior. Perhaps alcoholics and AA members could learn something from Kari’s case—perhaps their addiction started as cravings for peptides. Isn’t it that many writers and artists are manic-depressives and suffer from some forms of compensa-

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tory craving for drugs, sex, or alcohol (or perhaps religion)? Mr. and Mrs. Rivera were not aware of such leaky-gut-tobrain-to-disposition connections that could have also produced the manic-depressive tendendies in Kari. All that they care was Kari’s presence already becoming too elusive for them. If he’s gone to the monastery, his memory in their hearts and his name on their lips would not be able to bring him back in person. They actually thought they were being pushed out of Kari’s existence. They felt they were already being excluded from his life. For them, this was too abrupt and premature to be bearable. They still wanted him to be around. They wanted to avoid the prospect of a heart-rending breaking of bonds. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera had reached an age which every society considered as more than ripe for reaping dividends. But they were still very busy with their lives. After having spent more than 35 years in public school service, after having their eldest finish nursing, and after having sent a couple of relatives to college, they would have wanted to retire and devote more time for themselves. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera were still up and about. They were preparing for more rainy days. Their youngest son was still in high school while Kari had not yet finished law school. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera had plenty of other plans aside from the schooling of their sons. The Ilokano blood in their veins didn’t allow them to take things easy. Ever since they started assisting their parents in their farms, Mr. and Mrs. Rivera had been vigorously turning over the fertile soils of this world with their tireless hands. They could neither have rested nor taken things easier even in their retirement. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera could not contain their Ilokano industry as they followed various pursuits. Mr. Rivera was very excited over his new prospects: building an orchidarium and diversifying on their farm’s produce. He also dreamed of constructing a bigger house. They have labored and labored;

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yet the ways of their son eluded them. Kari cultivated his own ways of dealing with life. Kari’s decision to leave them was totally inauspicious for Mr. Rivera’s plans. Mr. Rivera felt Kari, his son, was turning his back on them. Although unintended, Kari’s behavior seemed a snub (almost like a stab) than a sign of abandonment of his responsibilities as a son. Kari was already visualizing himself as a devout monk. He went to bed that night with great expectations. He woke up later with a full bladder. As he headed for the toilet, he heard subdued voices from his parents’ room. His mother was crying like a complaining mother. She was sobbing aloud and as if talking about losing a precious possession. “Ingon lagi nako nimo nga lain ang iyang gusto. Tan-awa ra karon…” (“I already told you that he has his own ambition. Look at what’s happening now…”) Mr. Rivera was sniffing through his stuffy nose. He too must have been shedding tears. They were weeping while Kari was asleep. It was about two o’clock in the morning. The prospect of joining a monastery and leaving for a distant place was more than what Mr. and Mrs. Rivera could grasp. When he emerged from the bathroom, his mother was still sobbing. Her words were not very clear; but there were distinct references to losing Kari to the monastery. He heard her saying these words to his father while he tiptoed back to his room: “Wala na…wala na tay mahimo. Ingon lagi ko nimo nga lain gyud iyang gusto…ingon gyud ko nimo kaniadto pa.” (“There’s nothing more we can do. I told you he wanted something else…I told you so.”) Kari carefully shut the door. He tucked himself in bed. This time sleep came slowly. His mind wandered and roamed around memories of his more immediate past. No one could understand why Kari wanted to become a religious. His brods and sis (he was a member of the Alpha Phi Omega fraternity and the law school Society of Thomas

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Moore), his professors and classmates in law school, his former classmates in college, his parents’ friends and relatives, and his neighbors—were all puzzled. Some were rather amused. Those who expressed utter disbelief were his comrades in the leftist movement. It was only a year ago when Kari was formally initiated into the Communist Party of the Philippines’ clandestine activities. He was not yet a full comrade; just a candidate-member of the group. His exceptional awareness of the root causes of social problems quickly pushed him up to leadership in a small cell group (composed of 7 members). He was very much aware of social issues like landlessness, monopolistic capitalism, and foreign domination of Philippine politics and economy. Add up to it his familiarity with the National Democratic Movement. He was certainly serious-minded. He became one of the trusted protégés of the leftist student leaders in the local university. His role in the increase of sympathizers for the leftist movement was greatly appreciated. With Kari’s help, not a few members of Alpha Phi Omega in the university were slowly exposed to issues espoused by the radicals. Some militant student groups were even surprised at Alpha Phi Omega’s turn to social activism. Kari’s turn to religion was something that baffled his fellow leftists who considered religion as a painkiller or placebo of the people. In one incident, one female member of the communist group confronted Kari. “I am reminding you about our great responsibility to the Filipino people. You must reconsider your decision. And do not wait for that time when you turn into a bourgeois opportunist and become an enemy of the People.” The lady comrade’s eyes were flaming as she faced Kari who merely stared at her. Kari never made an attempt to explain his side. He maintained his silence as he walked away from her. The one who made a professional prognosis of Kari’s alleged vocation was Fr. Gabriel, an American Jesuit priest. He

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was Kari’s philosophy professor in the local university. Kari expected Fr. Gabriel to put a seal of approval on his desire to enter religious life. The initial meeting with Fr. Gabriel was still fresh in Kari’s mind. It was a time he got harassed by unfamiliar thoughts that produced a chaotic traffic inside his head. Throbs and tremors shook his flesh, rigidity punished his diaphragm, and tight breathing choked his chest. Such feelings came when he started to think about becoming a monk. Despite all this, something became clear in Kari’s head—he wanted to become a monk. He felt that a monk’s life was his calling. It excited his imagination; it quickened his sinews and muscles. Yes. Both chaos and clarity swirled inside his head; incessantly firing cascades of competing messages into his senses. Yet, he clearly envisioned himself as a contemplative monk. This was his future, he told Fr. Gabriel who was equally disturbed by the presence of both obscure and clear elements in Kari’s “calling.” After having spent grating consultation sessions for eight days, Kari wanted a positive answer. He waited for that specific moment of confirmation when he felt he had disclosed enough to Fr. Gabriel. Fr. Gabriel, however, was not fully convinced. He didn’t intend to be antagonistic. But his politically-incorrectsounding voice gave away his negative, almost scornful, assessment of Kari’s state of mind. He spoke with an obviously impatient voice. In so many undiplomatic words, he said he was not certain about Kari’s vocation. But he still punctuated his discourse with the following: “You are a neurotic…or maybe a psychotic. I don’t think you are fit for the religious life.” Kari was stunned; he sunk deep into disbelief. Cut by sharp whacks right on his sense of purpose, he couldn’t look into the priest’s eyes. He kept on staring at the floor as if

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searching for some answers from some heaps of dust. His hands were busy pressing his kneecaps; as if trying to squeeze out some juicy reactions from his knees. Kari saw an enemy in Fr. Gabriel who knocked over his self-respect. But Kari, amidst the gustiness in his head, also sensed the uncertainty in the timbre of Fr. Gabriel’s voice. Kari believed that Fr. Gabriel was struggling with his words but had to express them anyway. That was probably the standard procedure that a priest would take every time he felt unable to find a justification. Fr. Gabriel had to say something to back up his assumption that religious calling is not for Kari. Kari’s mind wanted to understand what he heard. Perhaps, Fr. Gabriel was straightjacketed by opinions based on what he was able to learn from an outmoded version of Freudian psychodynamic theory (or one psychodynamic theory that was overly-laden with Freud’s masculine drives and guilt-focused analysis and not by Janet’s teachings about dissociative persons, especially women). He must have weighed Kari as another case struggling with his past and unconscious male drives; and that promise of vocation was an attractive pacifier of his agitated self, an opium, a refuge. Fr. Gabriel’s assessment of Kari’s interest in religion approximated the leftists’ deprecation of religion itself. He concluded that Kari’s kind of religion is infantile. Kari, however, did not think Fr. Gabriel’s judgment accurately represented him. After all, Fr. Gabriel was neither a guidance counselor nor a psychiatrist. Who was he to pronounce a counselorpsychiatrist’s prognosis on Kari? Besides, the “neurosis” and “psychosis” concepts were mere catch-all phrases which the more updated psychotherapists no longer use—but convenient concepts to use when one didn’t know what to say anymore. He entertained the idea that Fr. Gabriel too was confused. “Am I supposed to believe that I am a neurotic and a

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psychotic, and take Fr. Gabriel’s judgment as one coming from a sane judge? If I believe he is right, do I have that right mind to say he is right? Or, am I in my proper sense to believe that he is wrong? What am I supposed to believe in? I don’t even believe that Fr. Gabriel himself knows what he is saying.” Kari’s questioning mind went into high gear. Kari wanted Fr. Gabriel to reconsider his negative assessment in view of what he vividly recalled from the priest’s lecture about Viktor Frankl, the therapist who taught about the healing powers of meaning, optimism, and hope—that monastic life for Kari could indeed be his hope and his path to self-transformation. How could Fr. Gabriel forget Frankl and logotherapy? How could he miss Kari’s enthusiasm for a vision of religious life and his hope-filled inspired conviction of being called to be one of Jesus’s disciples? Did Fr. Gabriel think Kari was hallucinating? Delusionary or simply a busted mind? Couldn’t he give Kari the chance to prove the powerful pull of his own understanding of Christian life? Was Fr. Gabriel ignorant of George A. Kelly’s personal construction psychology? Was he not aware that Kari was from the honor section of the university? Did he not realize that Kari was more than capable of understanding words from Jesus, like “Come follow me,” or “If you want to be perfect…”? And so decide for himself? Remembering that incident made Kari ponder about the limits and partiality of the Jesuit priest’s knowledge about Kari himself or about human persons. There Kari was; needing a discerning mind. But all he got were some unwanted rebuff and a one-dimensional prognosis based on narrow Jewish-German uncriticized critical theories which priests learned in the university or in conferences. What made him believe that this priest could understand him? How come he chose Fr. Gabriel over other priests around Surigao? How come indeed? For one, he was Kari’s professor in the course of Phi-

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losophy of Man. He picked him out not because he was a priest but because he looked most kind and reasonable among all the other professors or priests around the campus. Another thing, Kari found Fr. Gabriel’s daily late-afternoon jogging routine around the school campus a cool picture of a disciplined and strong-minded minister. The sustained run for more than one hour was, for Kari, a visible sign of inner strength and determination. Also, Fr. Gabriel looked so composed, gentle, and simple in his ways. Kari considered these traits rare, especially among priests who had unconsciously allowed self-indulgence or bitterness to creep slowly through their defenses; creating cracks, thereby showing moss even on their façades. Fr. Gabriel stood for the things Kari was searching for. He admired and trusted Fr. Gabriel. So he told him everything he needed to know about the calling he was convinced he heard. Fr. Gabriel listened. And Kari started confiding to him because he felt he could even become his friend. He opened up to Fr. Gabriel and told him important things about himself; about his former wayward or directionless life since the time he lost track of his ambition to become a musician. Kari underscored this story about his love for music because he considered this his greatest dream—or the only dream he was able to conceive for himself. Music, in fact, consumed Kari. It grabbed him. It dominated him. Music brought joy to Kari. It was the only thing that made life for him somehow harmonious and orderly. It transformed the ordinary into something quite special. He wouldn’t take his breakfast without playing his guitar; he won’t leave for school without strumming it; he only took off his clothes from school after having played a tune or two; guitar first before supper; guitar after supper, and; guitar before going to bed. Music brought life to Kari’s world. Music was his life. When his father told him that they were not financially

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ready for his preferred college course, Kari was at a loss. He could not imagine himself without this ambition. He felt lost in the absence of support for the pursuit of what he thought was his only goal; the only goal that made sense to him. He didn’t know what to do; where to go. Kari felt solitary in the company of his parents who were actually cash-strapped. His sister was still finishing her nursing course and his two uncles, who were in college, were also living with them—all financially supported by Kari’s parents. Kari believed he was left deprived of the people and the means to achieve his dream. He thought he lost his dream; without someone who could give him that which provided him thrill, excitement, and hope. Everybody seemed to have left him at a time when he also needed to think about an alternative dream that was worth his attention—that coincided with his passion for music. In the midst of people and things, he felt abandoned. This feeling of abandonment budded into a gradual loss of sense of trust and dependence on his parents. Kari’s innocence over problems surrounding finances and relatives exposed him to misunderstandings that constantly fed his sensitive temperament. He felt forsaken and this inflicted on him the original hurt—a memory-embedded, deep-seated, wound more painful than asthma or any other pain he felt before. This is the trauma that affected his ways of dealing with future troubles or future trouble-makers. His parents, especially his father, were too absorbed in the importance of their practical concerns. It didn’t cross their minds that someone would be into deep trouble when denied of his passionate pursuit for music, like their son Kari. It didn’t dawn on them that some people were just too emotionally sensitive and vulnerable to be denied of something as essential as love of music. But was music really something essential? As essential as air, water, and fire? Or as essential as rice, fish, and cash? To Kari’s parents, music might just be one of those, you know, not-too-essential pursuits.

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One thing was clear to Kari after that. He was pained by his parents’ inability to stand by his side. He felt his parents failed him. It was a feeling associated with the rejection of music which stood for himself, for his life. (There was no music school in Surigao at that time and his parents said they could not afford to send Kari to Manila). But he could not show them his frustration. Instead, he distanced himself from Mr. and Mrs. Rivera and the rest of the family. But wherever and whenever he avoided their presence, the more he felt the misery of isolation. Gradually, he had somehow painfully drifted away. He was always alone and depressed. He didn’t inform his parents about this problem, for fear of further rejection. He became very silent: no conversation with anybody even during meals; no reply to their questions; he silently did what they wanted him to do—fetch some water, chop the firewood, and wash some dishes. Music was Kari’s only obsession. Beats and rhythms energized his brain. He could not imagine how he could live without his music. The feeling of losing something vital went on and on. It set him into a constant awareness of being adrift in what he considered as an unsupportive world. Somehow, his heart managed to beat and made him move around in that loss. Feeling without an aim, he was unsure of what he was doing…of where he was going. Kari suffered from asthmatic attacks. The recurrence of this infancy ailment came with the constancy of his isolation. It became more frequent as he stared at some people and things around him. They seemed to be all moving towards various pursuits and directions. He envied them for having taken hold of their own ambitions. In their presence, Kari felt petrified in his own state. He had trouble breathing hard for a life without a meaning or a life that has lost a sense of purpose. But he dragged himself. He tried to move on and on in a course he didn’t know; which he neither desired nor opposed. Little did he know he was heading towards a stage

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symptomatic of a post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD); or, towards a state very close to a post-traumatic stress disorder, like those mood or anxiety or personality disorders that one may find listed in Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) or in International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems (ICD). Most likely, a mélange of hormones like cortisol, adrenaline, and endorphins soaked his brain and his body, causing him to feel the urge to fight or flight or freeze. But he still willed to move around and he did move around even as he also froze in survival mode. Kari’s parents should have been able to anticipate Kari’s “over”-reaction to the “loss” if they only remembered how he reacted to the Ruby Tower collapse. He was thirteen years old then. The earthquake struck on August 2, 1968 at a magnitude of 7.3 on the Richter scale. The quake knocked the 6-story Ruby Tower into rubble, killing two hundred and sixty people in the process. Kari was hit by the tragedy as he saw it on TV. He was shocked and he believed the tremors were moving towards Surigao to get him anytime. Any slight movement of the table or the chair meant the coming of death for Kari. He would freeze; his whole face and mind would become numb and his tummy became as stiff as bone. His abdominal cavity rumbled and brought throbbing pain. This became a daily occurrence that after a week of hyperarousal and hypervigilance over the “coming” earthquake, Kari became a picture of frozen horror. His appetite was affected and he had headaches and abdominal spasms. He was no longer the same. His inner troubles became more visible and his parents had to bring him to a physician who correctly diagnosed Kari’s condition as a kind of nervous breakdown. The doctor did not say post-traumatic stress disorder—his parents may not have been able to understand the diagnostic term. But the doctor prescribed Valium and plenty of recreation for Kari—for him to be able to forget

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and wear-out the effects of trauma in his body. Kari’s behavior was clearly a result of a trauma—a psychological trauma brought about by the overwhelming experience of death in the news. The Kari of that event displayed a Kari who was already predisposed to any future trauma-causing event. Even slighter versions of Ruby Tower collapse would have a devastating impact on Kari. Or perhaps his over-sensitive nature was really a predisposition that made him so vulnerable to unexpectedly shocking experiences. Kari moved on as he tried to downplay his loss over his music. He moved without having a conscious awareness of why he was pursuing something not meaningful, until he no longer could complain about the fact that he had already lost an ambition. But deep in him, an autonomous force was emerging; nurtured by the devastating loss, confusion, and isolation. He got enrolled in a pre-medicine course. That was what his parents thought Kari liked. That was what his parents probably considered suitable for his future. For four years in college, he told Fr. Gabriel, he merely attended the premedicine classes without having learned to love what he learned or supposed to learn. Seated at the back row, and in an honor section, Kari behaved like an attentive student. But he constantly zoned out—dissociated from reality. His befuddled mind wandered aimlessly. Or more…he retreated aimlessly into his own world; trying to imagine things to compensate for something lost in reality. His yearnings always had to be escorted by daydreaming. But his imagination did not contribute clear or promising alternatives. Kari lost his enthusiasm. He could not show interest in his studies. If he did, people might have thought that he surrendered to a substitute. He couldn’t force himself to concentrate on anything from the Arts to Sciences to Math. Nothing much mattered to him; even as he jotted down some

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notes or read some assigned texts or joined in class activities. Not much made mark on his memory slate. Every examination day was a day of tactically placing himself beside the more studious classmates. He strained his eyes figuring out the answers on their exam sheets. With this approach to schooling he passed his subjects. His grades, however, ranged from 76’s to 77’s. Palakol (hatchets )—those were his grades. Kari confessed to Fr. Gabriel that he always felt depressed and miserable. Even outside classes, he would be zoning out of the domestic routines and move into his obscured desires. There were not much reasons in his routines to make him feel happy either at home or in school. At home, no one seemed able to share him reason to be hopeful about anything. At school, Kari did not have friends with whom he could express his emotions. It must be the usual male inability to freely share and express emotional problems to a fellow male. Women have more chances to warmly express and share themselves to their women friends through tender touches, embraces, and chats. But whether Kari was a male or female did not matter; friendship in his life was something elusive. He felt heavy in his head and in his chest. The only thing that buoyed him up was his guitar practice. He was so busy with his guitar, that his left-hand fingers were quickly keratinized. In fact, he spent more time strumming his guitar and singing his favorite songs than he did in studying his school lessons. All the while, he drowned himself in his already blurred dreams for his music. Later on, he started composing songs which he recorded on tape. He always listened to these compositions. Nobody in his family seemed to have taken notice of this accomplishment. Some of his fraternity brothers did listen to his creative work and expressed their admiration for the originality of his anti-imperialist and left-leaning songs. But these seemed to open wounds more than alleviate the pain he was enduring. It

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seemed that his compositions and his guitar both served to give Kari refuge as well as weariness; for these reminded him not only about his fondness for music but also about that which he could no longer achieve. Music was so near and yet so far. Music and the guitar stood for Kari as symbols of both hope and despair. As time went by, a feeling of grating impatience grew inside him. Sprouts of resentment followed. Negative feelings swelled steadily even without his permission as he remembered his failed bid to attend the music school. This went on and on—years nurtured the teeming vines of depression, aimlessness, and dissatisfaction. Every time Kari was asked to perform housework or every time he was pressured by class assignments, he felt, without exactly knowing why, the rush of the twin emotions: the feelings of depression somewhat initiated by his brain stem pulling his gray matter down and the growing irascibility rushing from the top of his head and bursting through his chest. He increasingly became lonesome and alienated from everyone in the family. Later, he turned more annoying and intolerable. It was as if stored rage-chemicals gushed forth and soaked his body. It came to a point that any form of stimulus could make use of these chemicals to turn Kari into a flame-thrower or an unleashed pitbull. His mind seemed to have already been wired not only for depression but also for rage. His body was at the mercy of his polarized, desperate and enraged, mind—a potent instrument for either artistry or felony. As his college years passed, the typical young man’s hormones swelled abundantly in his body. He became a fuming son—an acrimonious Kari. Testosterone fueled his rage. The low serotonin and dopamine in his system further pushed him to dejection. The supply of cortisol increased in his body as his moods reinforced the swings of rage and depression. Kari’s stored wealth of academic information,

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knowledge, and norms inside his cerebral cortex could not reach out into his explosive temper and implosive moods. Sometimes, he became mindless in his outboursts of rage and his self-absorbing depression. Cognitive powers could not supply what was needed in this state of affection deficit. At home, anything, anyone, any event that pricked Kari’s temper surely suffered from his unrestrained anger. In fact, he was always disposed to pick a fight with everyone at home. Fight. “But I didn’t really like to do those things. I just could not control the upheavals rising from my inside. There was nothing I could do to stop my outbursts,” he confessed to Fr. Gabriel. “I just felt I couldn’t contain what I felt inside and I just couldn’t stop. If I did stop, no one would seem to know I was struggling within myself. Nobody suspected I was becoming so desperate. My anger became a device to keep threats away from my desperation. I became insolence personified; but deep down I was yearning for someone who could understand me and could rescue me from my inner struggles.” His parents, he said, were not really able to pay close attention to him anymore. They were always busy with necessities. Besides, they had their minds focused on the construction of a bigger home that was to be financed by his father’s retirement benefits and by the proceeds of the sale of a portion of their twenty-two hectare farmland. Their dream of constructing the house went on as Kari’s rage built up, supported and cemented unconsciously by the added mix of depression. Kari was a different guy in school. There, he felt he could not display the dominant combustible feelings which he freely scattered at home. He could afford to show, though, his melancholic side. In school, he tempered his combative side with a great amount of restraint that tensed his abdomi-

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nal muscles. He could indeed put himself into a more guarded mode. That is, he could guard his tendencies from overflowing in public. He watched his boiling temper and, at the same time, exerted every effort to be cool to everyone; except to his professors’ expectations. He displayed the look of a very shy or aloof student. There was no way that anybody would discover his simmering brew of untamed forces. He was extremely careful in watching his cauldron of defenses. His classmates only saw the open lid that poured out his “timid” side. Flight. At home, he was the fiery and rebellious Kari. At school, he was the gentle and soft-spoken Kari. At home, he could take off the lid that was always tightly shut in school; and hide the self that was opened up to his classmates. At home, he really could afford to lay bare his defenses. He could show the thing inside him that he hardly understood—the sign of desperation. He was in constant contradiction: strong façade, yet fragile in the inside. He was fearful that he might lose control of himself. At home, his desperation and anger were fueling his offenses. He felt sidelined and, at the same time, obsessed. The more he experienced contradictions, the more he became enraged. This rage occurred because he didn’t want to consent to a world which he felt had sent him to places he didn’t like. He kept on hating the world but he knew he couldn’t walk away from it. His continued hatred darkened his vision. In fact, Kari became so troubled that it was already difficult for him to see clearly. Freeze, sometimes, he must. Fr. Gabriel paid attention to Kari’s tale. Never did he interrupt him who felt so free in weaving a long story about his lost ambition and about his divided self. He listened on. Kari reached that point in his college life when he gradually changed somehow for the better. He began to take his

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studies more seriously and got grades no lower than 90 (except in Theology). He became studious. “That was very interesting,” he told Fr. Gabriel. “What happened then?” Fr. Gabriel wanted Kari to reveal some more. “I remember those fourth year courses as challenging. It was not because they were interesting. It was because I found my classmates more friendly than the ones in my lower years. Their friendliness encouraged me. Positive feelings gave me reason to keep up with my classmates and compete. Through my studies, I belonged. I felt I finally belonged, Father. It was the first time that I proved through my efforts and my grades that I was indeed fit to be in the honor section.” However, Kari’s newly-found enthusiasm was shortlived. He discovered that he had a failed grade in one of the school requirements. He failed to comply with his ROTC (a compulsory military training in college). Kari knew that this was a mistake. He still remembered the day when the assistant commandant told him he was exempted from the ROTC field formation. He was exempted because he had asthma. Unfortunately, his attendance was not registered by the officer who was in charge of his records. The school’s transcript of records only reflected the failing mark. When he applied in Manila for the medical school, they did not accept him. This confirmed again that he did not belong. He went home doubly-depressed. He told Fr. Gabriel about images of himself shooting the officer responsible for the ROTC fiasco. In his sleep, he said, he dreamed of blasting the guy’s head. “Another thing happened, Father. Despite the ROTC deficiency, the school listed me among the graduates. My picture appeared in the souvenir program and I was supposed to march with the regular graduates. However, there was a condition: Only those who attended the recollection would be allowed to participate in the commencement program. You know this Father: No recollection, No graduation

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march. So, I was fuming mad with this ROTC case and then I was booted out by the recollection issue. It was a strict condition which I felt I could not comply with. I thought: If they think recollection is good, then so be it. But I will not be coerced to take part in it. Just because graduation is important they think that I will already bow to their requirement…” “Why? What’s wrong with the recollection?” “Hmmm…it was not the recollection but the coercion. I mean, what if I didn’t believe in God… in their god? What if I chose not to participate in that activity because of my personal conviction? Why should my graduation be withheld from me? Would my graduation become more meaningful if I attended the recollection? Hmmm… Would my graduation be less meaningful if I did not attend their recollection?” “What did your parents say?” Fr. Gabriel evaded Kari’s pressure. “They could not force me to attend that recollection. They had to accept that the school deprived me of my right to participate in the graduation ceremony due to my resistance to participate in their brand of recollection. I wasn’t giving value to that graduation, anyway. But I think my parents were so disappointed.” “Of course…of course. Who would not be?” Kari was beginning to reveal his rebellious side. The issues over the ROTC and the recollection rule inaugurated that occasion for Kari to show his angry self in public. Moreover, he unmasked not only his critical mind but also his agnosticism. Some of his classmates didn’t like the idea of taking compulsory units in Theology (24 units—3 units every semester), but they had to play the game. Kari did not pretend to love Theology; he despised it. He just couldn’t reconcile the ideals that they taught (compassion, kindness, generosity) with the human realities that endlessly screamed in anguish (exploitation, ruthless competition, corruption). He sneered at his profesors and he gave them what they de-

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served: his uniform 75% mark in all his Theology grades. For him, those marks were his professors’ grades. Nevertheless, he finished his ROTC during a special summer training. He later enrolled himself in the law school while tenuously keeping his future options for the medical school. “I was doing good in law that I soon forgot about the medical school,” he told Fr. Gabriel with enthusiasm. “I was so inspired because of my girlfriend who was always there…her friendship was something new.” The experience of warm feelings interrupted the fightflight-freeze cycle in Kari. That time, the courtship factor brought much difference to Kari’s life. Finally, Kari felt somebody was there for him. Somebody who was ready to listen to his troubled self. Here was a person who could provide closeness and acceptance. Slowly, music seemed to take a backseat. What became primary was the time with her girfriend. “Then why did you not continue with your law studies?” “My growing involvement with the leftist movement became a social outlet for my personal anger. As I increasingly saw the many patterns of evil in society, I became disillusioned with law—its built-in injustices, its discriminatory provisions, its insensitive male-oriented rules, its compromising jurisprudence, and its narrow-minded bigoted male practitioners.” While Kari was expressing these thoughts, he was visualizing the law professors he despised—the melon-bellied womanizer, the dirty-old-man professor who was closer to imbecility than to senility, the corporate lawyer whose selfimportance was as high as his dumb brain could reach, the vindictive professor who could only give passing grades to those who agreed with him at all times, and the devoid-ofattributes extremely ambitious lawyer whose constant dream was to gain power and to amass millions. He didn’t tell these

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ad hominems to Fr. Gabriel. “What made you think you were being called by God when you cannot focus yourself on one thing and constantly find fault in almost everything?” Fr. Gabriel’s question somehow irked Kari who managed to become more forward in his reply. “Isn’t it enough to be focused on one thing now, Father? I mean… I‘ve been into things which were not really my choices. Now, I’m choosing something which I think is right for me. Would it be presumptuous on my part to follow the examples of the saints?” “Not really. But what about your girlfriend? Isn’t she important to you?” With that question, Kari felt a gentle tug in his heart. The question of Fr. Gabriel evoked ambivalent emotions in Kari’s chest. “My girlfriend brought me closer to God. I followed her as she attended mass regularly. I became prayerful because of her. She gradually led me, unknowingly, to the lives of the saints; especially to St. Augustine. Somehow, she made me aware about religious life. Because of her influence, I became convinced later on that the monastic life is for me. It was difficult because of my contrary opinions about law. I struggled with the law’s inconsistencies with the values which I gradually discovered in Jesus. I felt that my calling was for those more important values. It was also because of Jesus that I broke ties with the left.” Fr. Gabriel sat longer with Kari. More days passed until they reached the day of reckoning. Kari’s so-called “vocation” was not very clear; even confusing and could possibly be unreliable. Fr. Gabriel seemed so sure about Kari’s mental condition: “You are a neurotic…or maybe a psychotic. I don’t think you are fit for the religious life.” This was a line which Kari has never forgotten. It became one of those things which adhered to his ancient pain and one that will

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mark his struggles in the future. Together with this added pain came the nagging suspicion Kari had on people whose reputation was based on physical or extrinsic qualities. Fr. Gabriel could not grasp the confusion of both darkness and light in the behavior and language of Kari. He could not come up with a reconciling view about the mixing of the rational and irrational in Kari’s disclosures. How should he separate Kari’s vision-mission from Kari’s wounds. How could he avoid being branded as a compassionate but intellectually irresponsible interpreter—that is, unprofessional? Yes, Kari’s lucidity about his response to a calling was quite rational. But Kari’s contradictory handling of himself in relation to his past and present cannot possibly constitute rational responses. Yes, Kari was too overwhelmed by both external and internal forces. The same forces might have pushed him to interpret his movement towards the forgiving compassionate Jesus as a “calling”. Did Kari’s story form part of the standard vocation stories found in books? Did Jesus really call Kari? Fr. Gabriel asked a question which pushed him to decide accordingly: “If I were to approve of his alleged calling, will he be able to handle the challenges of monastic life?” Fr. Gabriel decided to be conventional in his judgment. He handled standard cases before and Kari’s case was not one of them. He, a Jesuit priest, male-academician informed by male-driven personality theories, had to discard him as a disturbed individual; unfit for the religious life. He based his negative judgment on Kari’s clouded reason; but in the process, he forgot about Kari’s heart. Kari was offended. He stopped consulting Fr. Gabriel. He got disgusted with his judgment. He felt injured by the priest’s words. He actually hoped that Fr. Gabriel should have been less convinced about his priestly-academic credentials and just sat there as Kari’s friend. But no. Fr. Gabriel acted out his professional position. This positioning had hurt Kari who bitterly licked his wounds.

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But no matter how bad he felt about Fr. Gabriel’s opinion, Kari didn’t stop pursuing the monastic life. He was centered on something which he considered as the only thing that could satisfy him at that moment. He found something that answered his search of purpose in life. It fed his hunger for meaning that would, perhaps, endure. Kari was convinced about his newly-found goal. He thought he was going nowhere with the studies which were just provisional. Such studies even masked his longings. He soon realized that they were burdens in the first place. His obsession with the monastic life now resounded with that which still deeply stirred his heart: music. Finally, a monk’s life gave him sublime reasons to sing and dream about. He felt that his passion resonated with that which he thought was God’s melody for him. Three months after his girlfriend departed for the CPA review in Manila, Kari wrote a lengthy letter to the monks of Guimaras. He laid down his plans and the motives that went with those plans. He made it clear that he really wanted to become a monk. He received a reply from the guest-house director who assured Kari of a place among the guests. But he cautioned Kari to take things slowly. Kari was so happy to be welcomed as one of the guests. He told his bewildered parents that he had already decided for the monastic life. He was supposed to leave two months after that letter from Guimaras came in. Two days after Kari’s parents learned about the letter from the Trappists, they called one of their relatives, Mr. Longgan. They requested him to talk Kari out of his “kalokohan” (stupidity or foolishness). Mr. Longgan was one relative considered by Kari’s parents as the most distinguished and respectable relative in town. They considered him a very experienced elder who, they thought, could convince Kari out of his foolish plan. Mr. Longgan, a senior administrator of the public

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schools of the place, did come. It was already sundown when he paid a visit. He approached Kari who was busy cooking a pot of rice in the family’s “dirty kitchen;” in the house’s front yard. “Good evening Kari. I heard about your plan. I was concerned about your parents who are quite affected by your decision. What’s going to happen to your studies?” The elder already loaded Kari with a challenge rather than a question. “Sorry about that, Sir, but I already made up my mind. Besides, that’s what I like. I really didn’t like studying law or medicine. I was just coasting along; but now I think it’s about time that I follow myself.” “But Kari, look, you are breaking your parents’ heart. Don’t you think that’s important to consider? They are already old and all that they want is for you to have a secure future. Why not just finish your studies and you can do what you like later on.” Mr. Longgan sounded very diplomatic and non-argumentative. He tried to project a gentle pleading voice. “I don’t think you understand it, Sir. To give in to their request means to go against my own desires. To go against my own judgment means to follow things I’m not happy with. I’ll be even more dissatisfied and perhaps more disagreeable to everyone. I will be going against myself and against my parents who will suffer the brunt of my anger because they will become the immediate target of my frustrations. I’m not looking for a secure future. I think you understand that.” “Well, yes…but you know…one can also exercise some patience and perhaps magnanimity this time.” “Maybe, Sir, you can also tell that to my parents.” Kari’s mind was becoming clearer and clearer—his ideas were just irreconcilable with his parents’ wishes. As Mr. Longgan was talking, Kari kept on pushing some tiny bits of dirt and ashes into the fire. Mr. Longgan must

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have noticed Kari’s resolve. Kari must have been a picture of insolence paying no attention to an important visitor. Kari didn’t even remember Mr. Longgan’s last words who left without leaving much impression on him. Mr. Longgan could have thought that Kari could be really losing his head. Kari’s parents were unable to control their feelings of resignation to Mr. Longgan’s judgment. Kari certainly wanted to shake off many things in his head…in his life—things which he considered not meant for him. He felt he was done with a life imposed on him, habits forced on him, plans that encroached on his desires, and peoples’ values that exasperated him. He was shaking off so much of the conventional values which he considered average and common but which still cleaved unto him like a body organ. Kari realized that these were the same values that clung on to him even as he already wanted to leave home and pursue his newly-found goal. Sometimes, he thought these values had taken the form of a multi-headed monster residing in his innards. It dictated commands from his guts. Desperately, he wanted to throw up this “necessary” monster. Kari was determined to pursue what he thought was noble—a life of sacrifice in the monastery. It amounted to a dream of heroism in answer to the challenge of Jesus of Nazareth. With that challenge heard and desired, he was ready to leave home, to leave his neighborhood, to leave his studies, to leave his peers, and to leave Claire, his girlfriend of more than five years.

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separations Life must continue and breed farewells.

The following day, just as soon as the sun showed up

on the horizon, an unexpected long distance call greeted Kari. It was Claire. She was calling from Manila where, for the last four months, she had been busy preparing for the CPA board exams. Vacant time before review classes gave her the opportunity to call Kari. “Hoy, ayaw mo na ba sa akin?” (“Hey, are you dumping me now?”) “Ha? Bakit…?” (“What? Why should I…?”) “Magpapari ka na yata eh.” (“I heard you’re entering the seminary.”) She knew it. Kari wondered who squealed his plans to her. (Kari later learned that his father wrote and pleaded to Claire to dissuade him from his “foolishness.” They also wrote to Kari’s sister who was then working abroad. But Kari’s sister never interfered with his decisions.) Kari could not remember the rest of Claire’s words. He was feeling incoherent. Claire must have sensed the strange sound ringing through Kari’s words. The voice on the receiver sounded not the Kari she knew. She wanted to press Kari about what was going on but he was not very helpful in explaining things to her. When Kari said goodbye, Claire was still in the dark. But she neither tried to stop him from his plans nor reminded him about the status of their relationship. She must have thought that preoccupations of the heart

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should not divert her from the more rational and family-lifedefining CPA review. Kari began to realize that their shared lives had slowly migrated into his storehouse of memories. Claire’s presence slipped like a mere recollection. He knew he had actually lost her…or, she had lost him. They got lost in the thick of other matters that inevitably created distance between them. Claire was Kari’s first real friend. The “real” one, for he had two other not-so-real girlfriends. One, he still remembered, was very pretty; but she didn’t make some points in his register. The other one, who was giggly and bouncy, seemed a threat to his sense of propriety. Kari was not serious with them. When Claire came, they gradually faded out of Kari’s consciousness. It was Claire who had drawn Kari to herself. When Claire came to his life, everything in Kari seemed to gravitate towards her. She became Kari’s steady girlfriend when she entered college. He was in the College of Law. She was four years younger and in second-year college; but Kari acted like her kid brother or, probably, her “eldest son.” She probably didn’t know how he was burdened by so many past and present baggage which he regularly unloaded on her. Claire was patient and uncomplaining. She listened to his complaints and disappointments. She made everyday life for Kari more bearable. She greatly appreciated Kari’s performance in law school. With Claire at the center, life acquired more buoyancy for Kari. Friendship somehow erased the weight of everyday life. The unavoidable heaviness of necessity turned vapid. Kari and Claire shared a friendship which made everyday life, personal pursuits, and family expectations seemed absent and unnecessary. This afforded Kari the occasional expulsion of burdensome sensations caused by studies and the absence of inspiration. But as soon as they parted for home, the weight of burdens returned like damp air that pressed heavily on

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them unrelentingly. Their moments together had to give way and get inundated by overwhelming calls heard by those who would care to listen. Separation became inevitable as they parted ways. Claire, bearing the obligation of the eldest, pursued her career. Kari pursued his perceived calling. Were they really pursuing matters of consequence that they willingly formed part of the millions of stories that made goals dominate over hearts? How depressing indeed that lovers (or husbands and wives) would just be characters in stories that cause readers more heartaches. Should it happen naturally that Claire and Kari must declare: “Life must continue even if this means breeding farewells?” Should they really confirm Jean Anouilh’s “There is love of course. And then there’s life, its enemy.” Kari was probably in Claire’s mind when she got into the plane for Manila to take her CPA board review and exams. But her focus on this very important future-defining task made Kari feel secondary to Claire’s life. Indeed, Claire felt this CPA quest was her response to the culture’s calling for the eldest-child. Kari was not the eldest so he had no idea how heavy was this load of obligation on Claire’s shoulders. It could have been a curse for Claire. Something which did not cross Kari’s head—his sister perpetuated that eldest-child tradition in his own family. Kari had to pursue his own quest. He didn’t allow his parents to see him off. He wanted to focus on his new journey and had excluded everyone. “This is my life,” he thought, “and no one will get in my way.” His affection for Claire, however, followed him. He thought about Claire when he got into the plane for Guimaras. Their relationship did not start quite right. It was really something that could go wrong. Murphy’s Law was written into it. Kari heard from some of Claire’s friends that she had a crush on him. Kari’s barkada teased him to grab the opportunity. She was not a headturner; but pretty, especially without her eyeglasses. Her face exuded depth and kindness.

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Her looks combined brains, thoughtfulness, and dignified simplicity. Kari courted her. Well, not exactly the way it should have started; like going through the long process of knowing each other. But he asked her: “Would you be my girlfriend?” It was a formula Kari learned from watching foreign movies. That was when Kari commuted with Claire to her home one evening; and before she could get near the gate of her place, he demanded for an answer. Right on the roadside, she merely nodded her head and said: “Okay.” Kari said goodbye…and goodnight. That was it. There was no kiss, yet; not even a beso-beso (“kiss-kiss”). But Claire became Kari’s girlfriend on the day that he decided to grab the opportunity. Claire, however, was unaware of this opportunity-grabbing story even if it involved her heart. Women, more often than not, are unaware that they are caught by the males’ entangling goals which do not necessarily flow from caring hearts. (Like hens are lured to copulation through food?) Claire went home that night without being too preoccupied by anything; but after saying “Okay” to Kari, her mind wandered in front of many domestic chores. She helped clean the dishes, sweep the floor, and check the home’s security lock. All the while, her mind was so absorbed with what just transpired. She went to bed without checking her school notes and assignments. She could not concentrate on any other thought except about what she said to Kari. She thought about its implications for her studies and her duties as the eldest of the family. For some girls, this momentous “yes” is an inebriating experience. But for Claire, it brought an unusual disquiet. She was indeed bothered by the double pull of her heart and of her family’s traditional expectations. She also wanted to know whether she made the right decision. That is, giving her “okay” to Kari. She barely knew him. All that she knew was her attraction to him. She liked his grave, almost humorless, demeanor. She would observe him

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always in deep thought and seemingly ruminating on millions of ideas. It interested her that he was not given to light talk; always discussing serious matters with his newly-found friend, Buddy. She would hear him talk about Nietzsche or Marx or about U.S. imperialism and the evils of feudalism and bureaucrat-capitalism. But she neither approached him nor he approached her for a chat. This was a time before the cellphones, or Google, or the Facebook and Twitter. They met several times in fraternity-sorority gatherings but they never had a chance to talk. Claire’s attraction was a one-sided interest. Kari did not even notice Claire all the time they gathered for some organizational meetings; not until he heard Claire’s friends and Kari’s barkada declare that Claire was interested in him. In the beginning, Claire and Kari found themselves stiff in each other’s presence. Soon enough, their regular rendezvous inside the school campus helped them loosen up. Even without much exchange of words, they gradually discovered each other’s likes and dislikes. In an age devoid of text messages, emails, and chats, there were very few ways of getting the desired attention of the other: like through letters (snail mails), the telephone, or direct contact. The Sunday masses and the once- or twice-a-month movie dates were extremely helpful in bridging the lack of naturalness between them. Every time they met, Kari gifted her with roses or chocolates. Claire was charmed by this gesture of Kari. They were always together. They were one of the more familiar couples in the university campus. Sooner than later, he became attached to her. It was one unintended consequence. Was it love? Or was it because they matched: Kari, needing her; she, consoling Kari. For years, that was true. Kari was in constant need of releasing his anxieties, worries, tensions, uncertainties, doubts, and insecurities, and feelings of constantly being at a loss. All the while, in those five long years, she was the sponge for his troubles. Was she behaving

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like a co-dependent? It was not clear; perhaps this thought was another unfair judgment on Claire. She must have loved Kari, alright. But he was not really sure…she did not explicitly say much about her love for him. Kari was, in fact, waiting for her to express it in unequivocal linguistic terms. Claire was, however, always stingy with words. She would compensate this with non-linguistic ways: her presence, patience, and warmth. No doubt, they had become friends. Kari enjoyed her company and the doses of serotonin and dopamine that flow from it. With Claire, Kari’s world had changed and expanded with vibrant pulses; especially towards her, and towards other worlds which were part of her. He was not sure about himself, about his beliefs, about who he would become. When he had Claire, he became more open to other people, more serious in his law studies, more critical of himself, and more considerate to others (even if rage still pursued him). He even started to like going to mass because Claire heard mass every Sunday. He prayed for change in himself, for a better person, for a better kind of mindset. He began to read a lot of psychology books to be able to understand himself and what was happening to him. He read more Rollo May, Carl Rogers, Erich Fromm, and Viktor Frankl. He even became acquainted with Lev Vygotsky and George A. Kelly. Then he started reading about the Christian faith. The Lilies of the Field and other inspirational books from St. Paul’s Bookstore he consumed enthusiastically. There were days, while waiting for Claire to finish her classes, Kari would read Augustine’s Confessions under the acacia trees. His interest in Augustine was exceptional. Augustine’s criticism of his own sexual passions evoked in Kari a similar self-scrutiny; until he came across Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain. Augustine and Thomas Merton became the two very important influences on Kari’s developing interest in the religious life. Merton’s link with communism had roused deep questions in Kari who

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had made significant connection with the leftists inside the campus. On the day that followed his last meeting with Fr. Gabriel, Kari visited a church. He was probably alone at that time since the church looked empty. He took a place on the western pews where the glow of light was more subdued. He knelt down. When he looked into the face of the crucified Jesus, Kari felt a rush of emotions that breached the gates of his chest. With his face contorted by uncontainable sobs, Kari started to cry like a lad of four. He wept before this large 20foot crucifix hanging on top of a huge tabernacle wall. Then, he sobbed hard and cried some more; expressing his gratitude for the feeling of being found and accepted. Finally, Kari felt so grateful and happy. He relished this strange emotion, one that was so exhilarating; so uplifting. He felt so peaceful and quiet inside him. It was an absolutely unfamiliar feeling; something that resembled lightness inside his head and his chest. A lightness he had never felt before. It was as if a load of lead or rubbish was removed from his whole body. A cool feeling, a cleansed tranquil feeling, settled in his inside; with all the other feelings associated with endorphins’ abundance or cortisol’s shortage. He left the church bouncing and feeling relieved (momentarily) of the ravaging and crippling emotions of despair and rage. Trauma and its children seem to have vanished. He never did mention this to his parents; but this defining moment became, for Kari, the foundational experience with Jesus. That was Kari’s foundational religious experience. Kari believed it was because of Claire’s influence that his thought to bind himself to a life of discipleship became more intense. So ironic and yet quite true—he felt attached to Claire who in turn led him how to love Jesus. Claire’s attention stirred him to discover the love he saw in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. She somehow showed him the way to a better appreciation of Christian living. She was there trying to

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make sense of what was happening to him. Until she could no longer stop him from wanting to fulfill the urge to follow the exciting religious adventures of St. Augustine and Thomas Merton. It was Claire who provided the spark during Kari’s desperate days. It was Claire who provided a better understanding about himself who became desperately passionate in pursuit of a newly-found love. Claire couldn’t do anything anymore. She was at a loss herself about what led Kari to decide and follow his “calling.” Kari’s love already went beyond Claire. When Claire left for Manila, Kari started to skip classes. He frequented the bookstores; looking for books that could inspire him. He went to church everyday to attend mass and to say his prayers. All the while, his parents thought he was still attending classes in law. His professors were confused and wondered about his long absence. He went to another priest (belonging to the Blessed Sacrament Congregation) for advice. The priest, Fr. Carlos, looked the opposite of Fr. Gabriel: obese, jolly, and brimming with enthusiasm. Fr. Carlos patiently listened to Kari. He visited Fr. Carlos more frequently than he did on his consultations with Fr. Gabriel. Fr. Carlos urged him to take some more time for discernment. He was very encouraging; telling Kari that everyone is called to a life of holiness. That was the time when Kari made the decision for the Trappist life. It was on this departure day for Iloilo City that he remembered his mother asking him, “Di ka ba maluoy kang Claire?” (Don’t you pity Claire?) Kari seemed not preoccupied with Claire anymore. When he left for Guimaras, he didn’t even call her. But deep down was this awful hunger for contact. It was pestering his core. It was then that he also realized he was all alone. That was the first time for him to be alone in a more permanent

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way. When he walked through the airport’s flight departure area, restlessness arrested him. His breathing became more irregular. When he sat down on one of the cold steel benches, he could not but nervously shake and pump his legs. Something inside him seemed to warn him of another kind of flight.

3

an initial journey

Before him was a life more threatening than inviting, which caused his stomach to tighten further. He had lost control of the world and of his body.

Kari felt bubbling gas in his stomach as soon as he

buckled up. The Philippine Air Lines personnel welcomed him with his round-trip ticket and his 100% tense diaphragm. It was more tensed than the tension he endured when he announced to his parents his decision to become a monk. The plane took off from the Surigao airport on that sunny Saturday afternoon of September 27, 1980. It soon headed for Iloilo and passed through an unexpected turbulent route. Inside the plane, everybody appeared to have been commanded to stop breathing as the aircraft hurdled through a frightful bumpy path. Outside, everything was dark. Fear gripped the passengers as the crew struggled to sounds of alarm and panic. The scene painted fears in the people’s faces. Kari could never forget that old four-engine propeller aircraft that startled passengers by its unintended menacing, blood-rushing, flight. His blood pressure could have gone up to 200 or his heartbeat running at 180bpm. He started breathing heavily; every breath became like a preparation for an ocean dive. His seatmate, a young woman, looked like she was in the throes of death—her face was as pale as a washed statue and her head was raised to heaven. Her shoulder bones stood up like posts and she appeared to have ceased breath-

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ing. As he watched her, Kari’s tummy turned more rigid. Then his eyes began to scan the plane’s interior, looking for some signs of leak, for visible signs of disaster. But all that he saw were the pallid and fear-stricken faces of passengers. The culmination of that episode was the thunderous crashing of hundreds of utensils into the plane’s rear end floor. It was like the bang of a judge’s gavel ordering the passengers to scream out their final panic. Kari, seized by a silent terror, mightily clutched to the arms rests and braced himself for something worse. But gradually, calm ensued. The plane passed steadily through a brighter sky and glided towards its point of destination. Slowly, Kari’s arms loosened. His breathing recovered some composure. His neck, however, didn’t improve from the stiffness that the plane had imposed on it. His jaws were still busy chewing Chicklets, like those of a goat chewing curd; trying to ward off nervousness and the pressure that bothered his eardrums. After the turbulence, the flight attendants emerged from their nooks. They showed their teeth to the passengers; signaling the start of the serving of the in-flight economy class “meal.” Actually, it was not a real meal but a packed (cheaply packed, in fact) assortment of economy-class crackers and peanuts (which did not cost more than PhP10.00=$0.21) that went with either coffee, tea, or distilled water (water that sucks the body’s minerals and discharge them without your permission). The airline had struck a superb tactic; in fact, a trick. The airline saved money by offering a token ritual and not give up the idea of a meal. It really didn’t matter much whether you ate your meal or not. When you consumed your “meal,” nothing much was ingested. When you didn’t eat it, there is no difference—the coffee, tea, or water did still fill your belly. On this plane, solids are few, but compensatory liquids are many. After serving a few solids, a stewardess would mellifluously whisper

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to every passenger: “Care for some water? Tea? Or coffee?” Since Kari wanted to make his tummy feel relaxed, tea became more admissible. The tea bag carried the imprimatur of China’s tea plantation overseers. Tea would even make him feel calm, he thought; as calm as a very contented crocodile inside the halls of Batasang Pambansa. One hour was long enough for a good rest sustained by cups and cups of warm tea. Although his belly already felt the soothing effect of tea, his head didn’t seem to cooperate. Kari had this relaxed feeling in his diaphragm; but some bugs of disquiet were inside his head. He could not single out a specific thought. A disobedient creature might be in his head; he felt it in his breathing and in the rumblings of his intestines. He sensed some inner competing tensions and unrest. They seemed multiple, but faint and not quite bothersome. This was a feeling already familiar to him. He felt it was not about forms of anxiety but about the constant activity of a never-resting mind; a mind always used to an accelerated forward-bent mode. In moments like this, an interesting book or an interesting task would do the trick of keeping it on course; channeled towards a specific movement and direction. If he didn’t pick up a book or a pen, a preoccupation with memories and other fantasies would soon set in—something that would need the expertise of a truly seasoned yoga teacher familiar with unruly-emotions management. Actually, recollections had begun to inundate Kari. With memories flooding his head, he was no longer sure if he would be able to stay relaxed. He knew his recollections were special; those kinds that insisted on making his head a permanent residence. How he wished he could keep them still. Some people had been able to keep them still—by sleeping. Even if Kari wasn’t able to sleep, he survived the ordeal. From Jaro, he allowed himself to be transported by boat up to the main port of Guimaras; and then, by a public utility

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vehicle straight up to the Trappists of Jordan. There, he presented what had remained of his existence after having consigned it to an ancient propeller-engine plane. That 1980 vocation-seeking Surigao-Jaro flight lasted for 60 minutes; 1/40th of the time needed to bring European priests and brothers into the Philippines’ various mission territories. The Congregation of Immaculate Heart of Mary from Belgium, the Little Brothers of Jesus (or Little Brothers of Charles de Foucauld) from France, the Scalabrinians from Italy, and the Candlelights Congregation from Ireland. The latter had their special batch of freshly-ordained priests cross two continents in the late 60’s, right after Vatican Council II’s world-shaking Church reforms. The Vatican II documents, a collection of official pronouncements produced by a worldwide gathering of bishops and other Church personnel, had opened up uncharted and turbulent paths. They unleashed untested forces that were more ferocious than those encountered by planes flying above the Himalayan route. This double-turbulence prefigured a life that awaited the various religious priests and brothers as they joined their American and Filipino confreres. They struggled in the so-called vocation-mission areas that presented formidable challenges more than what celibates’ powers of sublimation could have anticipated. Kari, on the other hand, felt so confident in his mission. This feeling came about because the one thing that he passionately pursued had yet to unravel before his eyes. He was strongly motivated, looking strong and determined, greatly inspired to pursue the path chosen by Christian heroes. It was around 5 p.m. when he arrived at the Trappist monastery. He felt that all he brought was his body, his desire, and his decision to be part of a life dedicated to God. An American Trappist monk welcomed him. “Hi, I’m Bro. Athanasius. Welcome to our place. How was your trip?”

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“Not so pleasant, but I’m happy to be here. Thank you.” Kari was not himself yet; his face didn’t show much “happiness” when he said those words. Bro. Athanasius brought Kari to the guest house where a diocesan seminarian, Bro. Edward, was staying for the weekend. He briefed Kari about the schedules for prayer, work, and meals. He called Bro. Edward who was on his third day of retreat. “Bro. Ed, meet Kari. He just came in to join us. He’s from Surigao.” Ed extended his hand, “Hi, Kari, kumusta? Ang layo pala ng pinanggalingan mo.” (“How are you? You came from a distant planet.”) “Mabuti, sobrang layo dito pero exciting. Sobrang tahimik din ‘no?” (“I’m okay. Surigao is far but I’m excited. It’s really quiet here.”) “Listen, I’ll have to go and tell the cook to prepare an extra plate for Kari.” Bro. Athanasius’s warm face was smiling at them as he added: “See you later.” “See you, Brod.” “Thanks, Brod. See you later.” Kari’s voice tried to project energy, but his exhaustion was very transparent. His eyes projected a gloomy feeling already bothering him. “O, Kari, magpahinga ka muna. Mukhang ubos na ang dugo mo sa kulay mong ‘yan. Dito lang ako sa kabilang kwarto.” (“Kari, you take your rest, you look pale. I’ll be here next door.”) “Sige, salamat ha.” (“Right, thanks.”) He went inside his room, a small one with walls of bamboo slats full of slits. One could not only see through the gaps but also feel and hear the wind blowing through them. His bed was also made of bamboo. A mat crafted from local reeds covered the top of the bed and it felt good enough for a cool rest. Kari put down his travelling bag and noticed the squeaky floor under his feet. He decided to go outside to pay a more attentive survey to his surroundings.

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The shadows were already long. The cool and moderately swift air was blowing into the whole monastery area. Kari noticed the almost-deserted look of the place. The monks’ nearest neighbors were a couple of small huts across the main road which was about 600 meters away. Their main property overlooked a low and wide slope large enough not to include the view of other neighbors nearby. The monastery was perched on a high place and separated from the rest of Iloilo, or the Philippines, or the world. The location allowed a commanding view of the steadylooking blue and dark Sta. Ana Bay. Gradually, the unfamiliarity and isolation of the island sneaked into Kari’s consciousness. The gushing wind grew louder and crept on his nape. Distress crawled into his stomach, challenging what still remained of his self-confidence. Slowly, he became aware of the build-up of a strange feeling; like a mild but shocking alarm imposed on his spine by the strange surroundings. Kari felt he wouldn’t be able to know what to do or how to act, or what to make out of what he felt. Terror seemed to stare at him; fill him; grow in him—ordering him to flee and hide himself. It even marshaled things that made Kari see, hear, and feel terror itself. The flapping sounds that tree branches made on roofs; the rustling of tall grasses as they bowed to the ground with every slap of the wind; the whistling sounds as wind raced through thousands of narrow airways—all these made terror rise to the ground and ruffled Kari’s ears and nerves. The agitated environment increased more movements of alarm in Kari. He was shaken by the intimidating unfamiliar location. He went back to the guest house doubly troubled and walked like a shivering malaria victim. Kari’s experience was, however, not in the least that which resembled the temptation experience of Jesus on the mountain; or evoked the struggles of St. John the Baptist in the wilderness. Bro. Ed’s welcome gesture provided a respite for Kari’s agitation. But Kari felt he could not show much sociability;

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not that he was unsociable. He just could not concentrate on anything. He sensed all the torment building up inside him and he felt tight again. Inside his stomach throbbed waves of cramps. He felt the loss of enthusiasm and the surge of restlessness creeping all over his body—steadily suffocating every sense of self-trust. He sure lost his appetite when the monks invited them for supper. But Kari didn’t want them to worry about him. So he actually forcefully-fed himself; until the food tasted better in his mouth. With about a dozen of monks and the guest seminarian eating in silence, Kari had the initial taste of what it would take to live in a monastery. A dozen of large candlelights in transparent cups provided the faint rays of light that enabled everyone to see their food. The sounds produced by the spoons, forks, knives, glasses, and plates mingled with nothing but chewing of food and deafening silence. The darkness of the surroundings further intensified the sensitivity of Kari’s ears. He could now hear everything; even the raging storm inside his head became more audible as the unfamiliar life-situation in the monastery unfolded. He was facing a kind of life that became more threatening than inviting. After supper, Kari was already hurting from stomach spasms. His belly felt like populated by rebellious eels and piranhas. Pain and cramps combined. But nobody knew about this and his state of mind. He pretended that all was well. With a flashlight in hand, he walked with Bro. Ed towards the guest house; pretending to look calm and serene. His external deportment didn’t betray the inner mutiny he endured. It was as if he was able to toss out all forms of discord inside his body. The seminarian was even very talkative because he thought Kari was in good mood. Kari tried to listen to him talking about his sojourn. When they retreated into their separate rooms, the seminarian knew nothing about Kari’s troubles. That night, Kari began to get a full dose of very intense

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feelings. The powerful pressure of the heavy darkness outside the hut stirred in him a most intense emotion which came rushing in (or rushing out from his guts) and colonized his body. He never expected this pressure and could not understand what gripped him at that moment. Bewildered, he kept his eyes on the candlelight-in-glass on the table and its subdued but steady brightness provided contrast to the turbulence he felt inside him. It was an extreme force coming off from Kari. He could not yet understand that he was actually confronted by himself—the frightened, the terrified, or the timid Kari overpowered by himself. He tasted himself more than he saw himself in fear. It was too horrible to bear. He was seized by himself; overwhelmed and overpowered by his dissociated forces. He felt engulfed by a threatening power but which he couldn’t identify. He didn’t know where it came from; why it came..., and his brain went numb. No reasonable thought could come out from his head. The darkness, the stillness, the quiet, the nocturnal humming of the wind, and the variety of night creatures’ sounds further exacerbated the advance of fear. It was the repertoire of nocturnal silence and natural vibrations around the area that made him more aware of fierce interior movements. Everything in and outside the guest house turned him into a strange Kari—trembling, somewhat crushed, and almost chilled to impotence and catalepsy. Then every sound turned into menacing pulsations. All corners of the hut transformed themselves into living and throbbing elements. Kari wanted to close his eyes; but he could not. Every time he shut his eyes, he would see phantoms. Dragon faces, tikbalang, manananggal, kapre, and demons taunted him. He could see terror; terror was slamming on him. He was shivering all over. Terror multiplied and burst out of his body. His fears became objects, external images matching and extending his

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feelings. His feelings turned into visuals of what his emotional mind needed to project. They were out into the open; still, he didn’t recognize them as his own. He was extremely terrified of their presence now forced in front of him. It wasn’t quite a kind of possession. But it certainly resembled what common people would call as namamaligno (haunted by bad spirits). Perhaps, Charcot and Freud then would have considered these as hallucinations. They were symptoms of what they called hysteria. Janet would have seen another case of dissociation. The local faith healers would usually bring offerings, chicken, or pig to those demons that torment the soul. Kari, however, just remained overpowered like a moviegoer reduced to fear while watching a horror film. But Kari did not enjoy his own brand of horror show. Kari stayed in his bed but he could not get any sleep. He had to open his eyes even as he covered himself with blanket. He felt the presence of some mysterious power threatening to rip off the flesh of his spine or grab his feet. His head felt like ransacked and robbed of reason. Every part of his body was gripped with terror. Everything that he sensed brought horror. No one was there to comfort him since he didn’t have the guts to open up to the other guest. All night, he was wide awake…under the sheets. Even with the sounds of the crickets and the wind brushing the reeds, the world was excruciatingly void. Everything around him went strange. He felt tossed and could not get hold of anything familiar. He had lost control of the world and his body. He ached for a more hospitable world. Kari was pushed to submission by his primitive cerebral forces which had become overactive more than his gray matter could handle. He could not get help from his usual intellectual armory. He was no longer the Kari who could either balance rage with pleasantness or fear with audacity. The situation seemed to call for another strategy. But all that Kari could do was to remain helpless and overpowered by terror.

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Kari was short of breath. He felt like he was having an asthmatic attack. He had chills but he still got up at 3 a.m. for the morning prayers. He tried to compose himself and to appear normal as he walked towards the chapel. Kari had to join the monks. Otherwise, he would have been left alone in the guest house. It was in the chapel, with the brothers and the seminarian guest, where he was able to take a muchneeded rest. That day, he got anxious about the prospect of being left alone in the guest house. He knew that the other guest was leaving the following morning. Surely, the same ordeal sent Kari further to exhaustion. After another horrible night, he decided, with much reluctance and anguish, to leave Guimaras. After the seminarian guest bid goodbye, he told the guest director about his plan. The Trappist brother seemed to understand him and was so sympathetic. He looked up the sky and, with a subtle smile on his lips, said to Kari: “The sun is behind that overcast sky. Come back when it’s brighter.” It was Monday evening when he got back home. His parents wondered what went wrong. They could not decide whether to celebrate Kari’s return or commiserate with him. Kari didn’t bother talk to them about his ordeal. In front of his family, he actually felt more confusion than embarrassment. A distant relative was there; overheard him say: “Baka hindi niya kaya.” (“He must have felt not up to it.”) But they respected his silence and left him alone. Pondering over what had happened to him, Kari feared for the sleepless nights which he thought awaited him.

4

a new beginning

He made his decision and he thought this was right, that he was made to decide by his desire to imitate St. Augustine and Thomas Merton.

With the desire to imitate St. Augustine and Thomas

Merton still burning in his heart, Kari considered the need for a longer discernment time. Although he was hit hard by the terrible Trappist ordeal, he never associated this with Fr. Gabriel’s negative assessment of his mental state. For as long as Kari was still able to question and search for the source of his problems, he never thought of himself suffering from neurosis or psychosis. Or did it really matter if he was a neutrotic or psychotic? Are neurotics and psychotics really barred from religion or holiness? Could it not be possible that some great saints became saints because they struggled with their own forms of neuroses and psychoses? Kari wanted to understand. His will to understand himself was actually the source of his own hope. In his own mind, he was determined to be his own captain—with neurosis or without neurosis; with psychosis or without psychosis. He therefore had to create a wall to protect his goal from those people whom he considered as threats. He knew he was pursuing something right and the Trappist ordeal was a temporary setback; not a negative judgment on his goal or on his entire self. How indeed could one explain that strong sense of purpose which he thought evolved through the long five years with Claire?

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After the Trappist affair, Kari looked for a job that could occupy his thoughts for a while. Work, he thought, could also keep him away from his fears which became less intense for as long as he stayed home after work. Compared to those which he had in Guimaras, the fears he felt at home were weak aftershocks. Not for long, Kari accepted a clerical job in one of the Bureau of Internal Revenue branches in Surigao City outskirts. He was assigned to a local BIR office, 30 km. or less than 1 hour away from their house. He had to travel everyday using his Kawasaki motorcycle; a 125 cc. Enduro-type sports bike bought for him by his father when he was still studying law. This regular travel went on for weeks until Kari noticed a sign. In one corner of a road leading to what seemed to be an orchard, the sign read: Candlelights, 350 meters Æ. It was a sign that grabbed his attention. It was there all the time. But Kari only noticed it when he rode slowly at 30 km/hr. It was 7 in the morning; still too early for work. When he went home that day, Kari passed by his former school and consulted the books about the Candlelights. Blessed Romano of Belfast founded the Candlelights Congregation. Being a former Carmelite Brother, Blessed Romano adopted St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and St. Thérèse of Lisieux as the Candlelights’s patron saints— unfamiliar names to Kari. He stayed in the library until the closing hours. He photocopied some pages about St. John of the Cross and read these at home. The next day, after work, Kari dropped by the Candlelights’s place and knocked on their door. A young studentlooking guy greeted him. Kari asked him for the vocation director. He was led to a small guest room. After a while, an American senior-looking priest came up to him. “Hello there, I’m Fr. Anthony, the Candlelights vocation director. It’s good to see you.” Fr. Anthony’s voice was rather high-pitched but relaxed and pleasing to Kari’s ears. He was

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also the monastery’s novice master. He looked solemn, but very accommodating. He stood about 6-feet-2-inches. He walked in a peculiar manner. His body moved like that of a person dragged by ropes tied to his head. When he dragged his legs he still created much noise on the floor even when his feet were covered by a pair of thick foam-soled sports shoes. “Good afternoon, Father. I’m Kari Rivera. I’m from the city; but I’m working nearby. I happened to see your sign on the road and I sort of took an interest in your way of life. I wanted to inquire if you accept candidates like me.” Although Kari was direct to the point, he was tentative in his delivery of words. His serious demeanor took the interest of Fr. Anthony. “Well, yes, of course, but we have procedures. You know… the usual steps. We have to know you and, probably more important, you have to know us.” “I have a fair background about religious life in general and about the Trappists and Candlelights in particular.” Fr. Anthony listened as Kari went on narrating his Guimaras experience; the horrendous episodes omitted. He talked about his unfitness for a very strict Trappist life and he considered his visit there as a retreat. Fr. Anthony took note of his accounts about his education and the usual spiritual directions he had before he made up his mind for the consecrated life. Fr. Anthony paid attention to Kari’s story, about his search for a purpose, for his faith, and for God in the Trappist’s life. “Well, Kari, the entrance period of postulants will start five months from now. You still have plenty of time to make sure that Candlelights life is really for you.” Fr. Anthony asked Kari if he was willing to stay for the weekend to observe their community. Kari’s eyes lit up since that was exactly part of his plan. He stayed two nights with them. He was surprised for having stayed in the monastery without the anticipated Gui-

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maras drama. Kari was certain that Candlelights was to be his religious congregation. After a month of weekday travel and constant consultation with Fr. Anthony, Kari formally applied for entrance exams. After another month, the results came out. He was accepted to the Candlelights postulancy. He was to formally enter Candlelights three months later. Kari’s decision to join the Candlelights was, for his parents, more welcome than his previous move to the Trappists. No repeat of the Trappist pre-departure tug-of-war. They even broadcasted the news to some neighbors and relatives. Although his parents’ most esteemed relative in town did not visit, Kari reckoned he would have been more tolerant with this second choice. Kari could say that this decision was made with more discernment and in a less-agitated manner. He even had time to call Claire to tell her about his Candlelights dream. She seemed to sound stoic; Kari didn’t hear her talk much. He felt he wanted to hear more, or to say more—like explicitly ending their relationship, because there was no exact closure; Kari just felt that Claire considered this unnecessary. He must have felt that Claire was more relieved to have him let go, out of her life. This unfortunate thought greatly saddened him. But Kari made his decision and he thought this was right—he was made to decide by his desire to imitate St. Augustine and Thomas Merton.

5

into a different world

The magnified effects of distress increased his determination to persevere.

I

t was a happier moment for Kari’s parents. Kari allowed them to accompany him to the Candlelights Monastery. They were so delighted to meet the formation team. Fr. Anthony even gave them a basket of pomelo when they left for home. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera became prouder parents that day. After Mr. and Mrs. Rivera left, Fr. Anthony led Kari to his room. “Kari, this is your room. It’s rather bare but the wide windows provide a nice view of the pomelo garden. Rooms here are quite gloomy because of their natural colors but the greens outside compensate for the natural brown wood inside. And, the room’s not so big but you have your own sink for washing.” “Oh, that’s very convenient, Father.” “Kari, starting tomorrow, you will be in-charge of the piggery. Actually, you will be dealing with just three or four big ones. Bro. Ed will tell you what to do. They are your main responsibility aside from the other minor tasks, like washing the car and cleaning the garage.” “Okay, Father.” “Your fellow postulants will have their assignments, too. You know their names, don’t you?” “Actually, no, Father.”

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“Aah, your fellow postulants…they are Junie, Aldrin, Methodius, and Tony. You will know them eventually. All of you will pass through the same six-month postulancy and a one-year period of novitiate testing and mutual-observation. That’s a long period for knowing one another. Now, make yourself comfortable and see you later. The bell will ring at six for the evening prayers and after that supper will follow.” “Okay, thanks, Father.” Kari shut the door as Fr. Anthony knocked on the next postulant’s room. The monastery building is a one-storey rectangular house with a center garden. The garden, full of rare and exotic tropical ornamentals, was well-maintained by Bro. Eddie. Five rooms on the northern side and another five on the southern side opened up to a long corridor enclosing the middle garden. Located on the eastern part of the house were the common bathrooms with showers and water closets, a refectory, a recreation room, a kitchen, and a stockroom. This eastern side faced a separate kitchen “house” with a small room for the hired cook. The western wing of the monastery housed the library (where lectures and meetings were also held), the small receiving room, and the chapel. The southern and northern rooms’ corridors also led to the kitchen towards the east, as these opened up to a stair towards the west passing via the receiving room and the chapel. The corridors formed a continuous bridge for all the rooms of the monastery. All the common rooms remained open the whole day. The eastern and western main doors, however, were always locked, making the whole house a cloister. The monastery-house is not like the edifice of stone which one finds in European and European-inspired monasteries. It is made of wood that was painstakingly treated with some kind of preservative (probably used engine oil) to discourage termites. The wooden materials are the wide planks of wood which are no longer available today. Forest

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cover used to provide huge trees for insatiable loggers. Today, most of the lumber demanded by construction come from either Indonesia or Malaysia. Otherwise, lumberyards may thrive on illegally procured materials or on the cheaper lowly coconut trunk. The whole Candlelights property must be about 6 to 8 hectares. Behind the main house are the large gazebo and five small huts, sturdy ones and not the ordinary “bahay kubo” (a barrio “cube house” made of light materials like bamboo and cogon grass or palm leaves). These huts are referred to as hermitages. They are all equipped with bathroom and piped water coming from the monastery’s deep well. This is the only deep well within the vicinity operated by electricity. Kari learned that a Candlelights monk from Indonesia located the appropriate site for the well. He was a world-famous water diviner. The monastery is blessed to have the water site. Every summer and when there is a long dry season, the whole barrio begs from the monks water for drinking. The monks seem unable to turn down the people who see plenty of water being poured into the monks’ 120 thirsty pomelo trees. Kari witnessed poverty around the area. Most people who lived there were farmers who didn’t have their own lands to till. They were mostly tenants; just like the few tenants he saw tilling his father’s farm. The issues of land reform and poverty alleviation slipped into Kari’s mind. But these were not critical issues that preoccupied the Candlelights monks. The immediate concerns of contemplative religious life seem to have gradually tempered Kari’s views on social troubles. Fr. Anthony stayed in one of the hermitages. A fellow American priest, Daddy, as he was fondly called, occupied another hermitage. He was a 61-year old veteran monk who consumed a pack of Marlborro everyday. As spiritual director, Fr. Daddy was always busy with visiting nuns. Three more hermitages were used by the three novices waiting for their

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“judgment day”—the day of reckoning for their acceptance or non-acceptance into the theology stage of formation. Methodius was, for Kari, one agreeable fellow postulant who called everyone his Utol (brother). Methodius loved to work. He also loved to play basketball, volleyball, or any other games people play, except chess. He also liked to eat, drink, and talk. When Kari first met Methodius, he got the impression that he was more of a promdi (from the barrio) than a city boy. In fact, he was born and raised in a small town called Malconque; somewhere in Mindoro. Methodius carried the typical ways and looks of a real farmer: dark, stocky, muscular, and so trusting. But his skills in basketball had set him apart from a common farmer. Nevertheless, his intelligence and communication skills had set him apart from other basketball players who could only make sense by dribbling and shooting. The farmer in him would seem to have cultivated an abundance of imagery and vitality as he weaved his world every time he talked. His movement in the basketball court also showed his grace which delighted every spectator and even his competitors in court. Methodius was assigned to cut the grass around the monastery compound. He was given a huge mechanized grass cutter—a mean machine with handle-bars and extensions of scores of sharp scissor-like teeth. He would navigate it through the tall grasses and with every push was the downfall of unwanted shrubs and leaves of grass. Once or twice, he reported on having mangled a cobra with the machine’s scissor-like teeth. The cobra must have been so stupid to face the cutter or it must have been defending its eggs or its young from the ferocious steel blades. Cobra mothers were selfsacrificing in defense of their young. It was a foolish thing to do to face such kinds of cobras. They would surely bite and kill even if not cornered. Kari tried Methodius’s machine but it was heavy and

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was not easy to push and navigate. He did accidentally cut an ornamental in the process of trying. It was something which he and Methodius didn’t report to Brother Eddie. Soon he understood why the machine was given to Methodius. But what he didn’t understand was why it was previously assigned to Smith, a white Polynesian novice whose body projected the common self-assured but ferociously-obtuse look of some abrasive WWE wrestlers or UFC fighters. Grass cutting with the huge grass cutter and its multiple scissors required not only strength but also grace and intelligence to move around with discrimination and discernment. Kari assessed Smith as the opposite of discernment and discriminating taste. His mouth discharged blabbers like noisy water gushing forth from a public faucet. When he talked, his head seemed to shrink; as if ashamed of having a mouth “so rough and idiotic.” His words were a piercing noise. Kari would rather plug his ear with cork every time his mouth prattled. There’s this thing to observe about Methodius and Smith: both were stocky and muscular. But one was so dark (the Superior of the House would call Methodius maputim) and the other was white. When they played in court, however, one no longer saw the skin contrast. What became more clear was the contrast between grace and lack of it. Methodius moved with the movement of a graceful dancer. When Smith moved, he moved like an uprooted huge tree being moved disgracefully from one place to another place by invisible but strange forces. Smith looked like being tugged from all directions or pushed towards all directions. At his age (26), he behaved like a 50-year old diesel truck with engine no longer held by engine supports. He was like a truck that had a differential with loose links and toothless gears. But his body looked so youthful and muscular. How strange, Kari thought. Smith looked very young from the surface; but when he talked and moved, he would behave like a 55-year old unschooled bully. He was much like a bulldozing but unthinking

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Hatton ready to be mauled by a Pacman. Kari wondered why they accepted him into the novitiate. (He was no longer accepted into the theologate stage). His eyes alone betrayed his character. Kari’s fellow postulants often said that he had the longing eyes of a male Dalmatian in search of a bitch. “’Tol, tingnan mo yang si Smith, lalo daw lumaki ang muscles niyan dahil dito sa grass-cutter. Baka itong mga taba-taba ko ay matunaw din at magka-muscle.” (“‘Tol, look at Smith, he got more huge muscles from operating this machine.’ Hope my fats will get dissolved and I gain muscles instead.”) “Sana nga ’tol.” (“I hope so ’tol.”) Kari’s reply already picked up the utol of Methodius. Another postulant, Junie, was a character that one couldn’t always find elsewhere. His ways were so uncommon. He behaved more maturely than all of the postulants and novices. He was one of the late vocations in Kari’s batch; 38 when he entered the Candlelights. He actually behaved like a mother to everyone. Yes, a mother; not a father. He was thoughtful, frank, and caring; not too intrusive but always there when needed. His constant topic was about how Life in the Spirit and the Catechumenate Life have transformed his life into one resembling the early Christians’ ways. When he entered into conversation, this early Christianity thing was his favorite topic. Although Junie was not really boastful, he constantly boasted of leading a life faithful to the life of the Apostles and the early Christian Church. He was a member of the Early Christian Movement. It was a group which exemplified, through their lives, the passage found in Acts (4: 321 37 )—that those who have property ought to be willing to __________________ 1 “32The multitude of those who believed were of one heart and soul. Not one of them claimed that anything of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common. 33With great power, the apostles gave their testimony of the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. Great grace was on them all. 34For neither was there among them any who lacked, for as many as were owners of lands or houses sold them, and brought the proceeds of the things that were sold, 35and laid them at the apostles’ feet, and distribution was made to each, according as anyone had need. 36Joses, who by the apostles was surnamed Barnabas (which is, being interpreted, Son of Encouragement), a Levite, a man of Cyprus by race,

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donate to the church so as to be able to follow the gospel and help the poor members of the church. The Superior of the House (Fr. Papa to everyone) made fun of Junie’s claim. He snickered sheepishly when he said to Junie: “Pare, perfect ka na…perfect ka na.” (“Buddy, you’re already perfect…you’re perfect.”) Methodius had been kidding Junie: “Why did you come to Candlelights if you are already living the true Christian life?” To which Junie would reply: “Because I want my life to be more perfect. I cannot truly fulfill my vocation if I will not leave my work and devote my life to God 24 hours a day.” Junie was an accountant and previously worked in a big bank in Manila. All of them (except Methodius who came directly from a major seminary) were employed before they entered the Candlelights. Aldrin worked as an executive in a trading firm. Tony is an engineer who used to work for a multinational. Only Junie declared that he had to leave his job in order to devote his life to God. They all left their jobs but not because they wanted to devote their lives to God. Leaving their jobs was a mere consequence of their decision to enter religious life. It was not like: “I will leave my job because this is the only way to fulfill my goal of devoting my life to God.” It was more like: “I will enter religious life. It is therefore necessary to leave my job.” That simple. Junie may not have been familiar with Ockham and his razor. Tony left his job and entered the Candlelights when he was 30 years old. Of all the postulants, his looks project most that grim determination which one sees in a well-disciplined warrior. Tony, however, was not stocky or muscular. He looked like a malnourished guy already bearing an elderly man’s body. He appeared smart and intelligent. Or, he probably was smart and intelligent. One could say this because he did not talk much. Without the talk, one could not verify his __________________ 37having

a field, sold it, and brought the money and laid it at the apostles’ feet.”

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smartness and intelligence. He talked only when asked or when irritated by something or by some ideas which he did not like. Once he talked, he could not be interrupted because of his poor hearing. In other words, it was best to interrupt him when he was no longer talking. All of the postulants were still learning how to interrupt him. So, they learned to talk to him when he could hear them—when he no longer talked. Tony had chosen St. John of the Cross as his favorite Candlelights saint. This choice had become evident through his frequent reference to the saint’s work «La noche oscura del alma» (The Dark Night of the Soul). He insisted that the novices were all destined to be saints and that the sure way to sainthood was through purification—a real sacrifice. If one would characterize him, Tony was a model ascetic. He often insisted on rigor, discipline, strict obedience to law, authority, and standards of religious behavior. Kari often heard him say, “Nandyan lang naman ang rules, bakit hindi natin ito sundin? Yan lang ang gagawin, ang simple-simple naman nyan bakit hindi pa natin magawa?” (“The rules are there, why don’t we follow them? That’s all we have to do, rather too simple, why can’t we observe them?”) Tony, however, was difficult to fathom. His world was difficult to discover. He seldom talked. He never initiated any casual conversation with anyone. When he talked, nobody made any response because of his overuse of law and authority. He monopolized all conversations; as if he was the authority. He was always on the serious side of life like service and sacrifice. Even the Christian virtues of mercy and forgiveness were for him laws that everyone must follow. Kari wondered whether Tony would be obliged to show mercy and forgiveness to someone who may have violated a rule. It was with Tony that one may frequently hear that the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience were the ways towards human perfection and sanctity. Everyone wondered if he also wanted to hear these. It was not that Kari

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and the rest of the novices didn’t like to listen to these counsels. It was just that very few of them would want to hear these from him who had seemed to be stricter than the superiors of the monastery. Tony seemed to enjoy his stay in Candlelights. He didn’t look harassed, stressed, or troubled like Aldrin and Junie who constantly suffered “darkness.” It could be because Tony was not bothered by anybody. Or…it may be because no one would care to bother him. Even Aldrin wouldn’t seem to care. Kari heard him once saying, “Bakit ganoon si Tony? Para siyang rebulto; ayoko tuloy lumapit sa kanya, para siyang walang feelings. Iba siya, ano? Nakaka-intimidate na hindi ko mawari. Kala mo tuloy siya yong Novice Master dito.” (“Why is Tony like that? He’s like a statue. I don’t want to go near him. He doesn’t seem to have feelings. He’s different. He alienates you. You would even think he is the Novice Master here.”) Then Aldrin unbefittingly laughed for this comment he made about Tony. Aldrin came from Iloilo. He moved like a girl, talked like a girl, and thought like a girl. However, he did not appear like he was gay. He looked effeminate. He had clear white skin, red lips, and broad buttocks. But he also appeared like he was not gay. He laughed in high-pitched sound, like a giggly sound; but he did not always giggle. When he laughed, he still stood erect and his body or shoulders or buttocks did not show swaying movements. The Superior of the House also made fun of him. Fr. Papa seemed to personify a weak person who was only able to make fun of other weaklings like him. He considered Aldrin weak because of his effeminate behavior. He made fun of Methodius’ dark skin. He probably thought that dark complexion was a sign of lowly descent. He also considered Junie funny and weak because of the early-Christian-life claim which seemed unverifiable in his behavior. Fr. Papa did not make fun of Kari. He did not make fun of Tony. He probably saw them as serious, forthright, and

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uncomplicated. Sometimes, however, Fr. Papa would poke his finger into Tony’s ribs when Tony was in good mood. Fr. Papa never ribbed Kari. He did not even make some funny remarks about Kari even in Kari’s good moods. He didn’t even imitate Bro. Eddie calling Kari, as Kari-kari. Kari didn’t know why. Fr. Papa must have sensed something in Kari that was threatening…something intimidating; despite Kari’s weaknesses. Kari wouldn’t know. Kari never asked him. Fr. Papa was Kari’s first encounter with a priestspecimen of contradiction inside the monastery. For Kari, Fr. Papa’s constant ribbing on postulants and annoying howling groans were frivolous and inappropriate behaviors for Christian monks-servants. Such were like invitations to transform religious life of sacrifice into a life of therapeutic levities. Fr. Papa’s howling groans were heard all over the house and even outside the house. “Whooooo! Whooooo…!” The howls sounded like basketball fans’ taunting cries directed at a referee’s bad calls. Fr. Papa was known for his down-to-earth management of the practicalities in the monastery. He managed the monastery’s supplies and made sure that nobody among the candidates would be spending or using things beyond their means. He was the economics minister. He also made sure that funds were regularly coming in for the house. If necessary, he would personally convince a potential donor to give a pledge of support for a seminarian’s entire education. He also regularly visited the Candlelights nuns nearby for the house’s regular supplies of milk, fruits, vegetables, eggs, and Eucharistic hosts. In other words, he was the house’s breadwinner— their Papa. Fr. Papa, however, was thrifty even in matters of urgency. He wobbled between frugality and unedifying noisy behavior. There never was a time that the monastery didn’t hear his patented howling groans: “Whoooooooo!” The very sensitive Kari felt that the groans’ annoying effects were twice

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more powerful than their effects on the ears of the other postulants. But this magnified effect of distress also increased Kari’s desire to pursue Candlelights—a world different from the other worlds familiar to him.

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the succession of days, weeks, months… If somebody took care of their nature, pigs become adorable; perhaps, it would not be a lunacy to kick off a process of beatification for a well-behaved pig.

In the monastery, everyone must work, pray, and study.

While working, Kari had to be recollected. All days of the year were regular days of recollection; even the days of recreation (Wednesday afternoons) were still to be treated in the spirit of recollection. One needed recreation to be able to enter into a more intense state of recollection; much like the weekend rest enjoyed by laborers in order for them to work harder the next working days. Fridays, Kari learned, were even more special days of recollection when everyone had to be totally absorbed in one’s self; presumably talking to or communing with God. On those days, postulants and novices were not allowed to talk to one another. During meals they had to listen to scriptural or other spiritual readings. Kari and the rest were supposed to be alone with God the whole day. Kari did try to experience the art of contemplation, that is, being aware, more or less, of God’s abiding presence in everything. Actually, Kari came to understand this art of contemplation as a form of prayer. Neither was it expressed through prayer formulas nor through self-composed prayers; no written rules; no prescribed rituals. Contemplation was praying through one’s heart as one intuits God’s presence in

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everyday routines and other preoccupations. In other words, contemplation is allowing one’s life, work, studies, recreation, relationships, etc., to be channels through which God and self could communicate with each other. Thus, one’s habits must also imbibe that habit of contemplation; or, one’s habits must draw meaning and power from that most important habit of contemplation. This was a new way of praying for Kari. Slowly, he tried to enter into this new way. He became aware that feeding pigs was also a way of communing with the divine. He would soon discover that it became more easy to communicate with God if it’s through one’s duties, chores, and ordinary activities. Kari would assume God’s constant presence—even while he was inside the toilet, defecating. Kari would sometimes express: “Oh God, nae-evac ako. I’m offering this evac to you.” (“Oh God, I want to defecate. I’m offering it up to you.”) Contemplative prayer was actually allowing one’s whole life be cloaked by the abiding mantle of divine presence—a caring presence. This truth he learned gradually as he slowly entered into the deeper meaning and the various facets of contemplation. His previous encounter with pigs was limited to pigs being raised by his parents on their farm. The kids were not assigned to take care of the pigs, so they did not have much room in Kari’s memory except as pork chops or lechon. There was nothing to remember and tell about his parents’ growing pigs. But the Candlelights pigs did leave some impressions to recall. For the years that Kari spent for postulancy and novitiate, he took care of three batches of pigs brought up to commercial sizes. “Good morning, pigs!” Good afternoon, pigs!” “Kumusta na kayo?” “Ang babaho ninyo!” (“How are you? You stinking pigs!”) Morning-and-afternoon work with the pigs was a routine of scrubbing their bodies, cleaning the pigsty, and supplying them food. While doing this daily routine Kari slowly

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learned to stop thinking about other things. He gradually took delight in the practice of talking to them. He wouldn’t say this violated the silence rule; but surely it somehow kept him preoccupied. He would say, this was a daily routine that went through the process of becoming more sane, as the other routines (prayer, study, and recreation) made him more sane in the process of doing them. His past world’s routines became “more absent” or “disregarded” as Kari was so present to what he embraced as his new world’s daily duties. He followed such duties with the constant feeling of God’s presence saturating his time. Days, weeks, months passed and Kari became known as the Caregiver (that is, the pig’s caregiver). The pigs, however, did not care whether Kari was present or not. All that they cared about was their feeding time; after which they would sleep and when they feel hungry they would cry again for food. They didn’t complain about the kind of food, for as long as food was served. Pigs who were used to the feeding routine would only appreciate food and nothing more. They didn’t care whether you were there or not. What was important for them was that they’d get the food that they craved for. After eating, they became so peaceful, contented, and quiet. Their cravings were drowned in their satisfaction and they became well-behaved creatures. They were so well-behaved that they could probably become believable if they preach about decency and the Kingdom of God. Perhaps George Orwell should have written another book and entitled it “Animal Kingdom.” One would indeed be fooled by pigs who are well-fed and well-provided. Once they are famished, their pigness unfolds. But if somebody took care of their nature, pigs become adorable. Perhaps, it would not be a lunacy to kick off a process of beatification for a well-behaved pig. Such thoughts kept Kari entertained. Kari fed bananas to the pigs. He used to collect these

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from a nearby banana plantation which covered more than 5,000 hectares of land. This plantation is owned by an American multi-national company. Kari remembered this company as one of those denounced by the Leftists to have perpetrated the Philippine economy’s dependence on foreign powers. “Reject” bananas were just thrown away by the plantation managers. They were left for the taking of anyone who would want them; at no monetary cost. Actually, these were thrown into a nearby river where anybody could take bunches and bunches of bananas. Kari would usually arrive before the plantation’s throwing-away ritual and ask the haulers to place a dozen of bunches into the van. These were the Cavendishvariety bananas for export; but they were rejected by the packing factory because of their sizes. Not meeting the standard size, they were either undersized or oversized. It was the main stuff that Kari fed to the pigs until their stool resembled the shape, color, and smell of bananas. After the main job of feeding the pigs, Kari must take a breather and prepare for the more physical recreation: basketball. During games, everyone was given more allowance for more creative movements, unbridled screams, lesscontrolled instincts, and less-suppressed nature. Naturally, exercise-induced exhilaration followed. The flow of endorphins in Kari’s body flowed freely even if he had a natural aversion for basketball or any team sports for that matter. Kari could not explain the “high” which he regularly got after every basketball (or volleyball) game. He used to be more excited about playing tennis. It was because he was fond of the game. But when he played a game he didn’t like, he still felt the same feeling of “lightness.” Gradually, because of this experience, Kari was able to appreciate basketball and other team sports. The games were followed by the regular evening prayers. These were so timely for Kari’s more sustained connection with God. The prayer sessions did not just consist of the

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formula liturgy of the hours but also required the one-hour prolonged “attention” spent inside the chapel. Kari used those times in whatever way he could. Sometimes, he used passages from the Scriptures to help him meditate; sometimes he talked directly to God about some matters like his anxieties. Most of the time, he sat or knelt in front of the tabernacle and allowed his thoughts and feelings to dictate connections with the divine. More and more, Kari preferred this more spontaneous way of spending prolonged prayers. Eventually, it became his habit even when he was outside the chapel. The more focused he was on God’s presence outside regular prayers, the better for him when he got inside the chapel. Whatever happened during the course of work, study, and recreation, Kari soon discovered, were the stuff brought open by the more prolonged prayer schedules. His distractions, carelessness in behavior, misconduct, or failings became issues to be settled in a more extended manner—during prayer. Bad thoughts about his fellow postulants, the lack of concern for his pigs, critical thoughts on Fr. Papa’s howling, the immoderate desire for siesta—these were some of the things that confronted Kari during moments of prayer. Kari wasn’t always focused during prayercommunication sessions. There were unavoidable distractions inside the chapel. The place only consisted of few chairs and prayer stools arranged against the side walls. The wider center was an open space. The silence and the small population magnified distractions. The guy in front may have fallen from his seat because of drowsiness; the one on his right produced extraordinarily audible stomach rumblings; the one on his left snored loudly. Most of all, every five minutes, the novice master had regular deep sighs and loud hissing sounds produced through his nostrils; not to mention the occasional clapping farts (although mere echoes of the BFG’s “whizzpoppers”). Internal distractions did not lack. Kari’s imagination was so active. This did not bother him though; for as

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long as he felt God was near and still listening. The evening prayers were followed by meals spent in silence; with readings from the Scriptures, from the Rule, or from a theological journal. The postulants, novices, and students did the dishwashing and cleaning of the refectory. A thirty-minute recreation (parlor games, singing, chats, etc.) was de rigueur. After this, a bell signaled the last liturgy of the hours; and then, good night. Kari’s nights in the monastery were not quite a struggle; not yet. It wasn’t like the Guimaras affair had to be replayed. In fact, Kari anticipated it. But it didn’t come that soon; a “milder” version in the shower room came instead— prefiguring the real one that did come later.

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power through weakness He felt like a renewed creature, recreated by God from the chaos of the past.

T

he regular “highs” which Kari got from the afternoon basketball games were always interrupted by an unwelcome activity. After every game, he must bring himself to the shower room and face the most excruciating ritual of taking a shower. After the obligatory afternoon basketball games, the monks and the candidates filled the shower cubicles. There were about a dozen of these built inside a large room. In a shower cubicle, Kari must struggle in silence. The simple prospect of taking a shower was for him an extraordinary struggle. In fact, the decision to shower or not to shower still depended on the presence or absence of people in the shower room. He had to take his shower when somebody was also inside one of those shower cubicles (“to keep him company”). That made his shower possible and realizable. Without company in this common room, everything became unbearably hair-raising for Kari. But everyone didn’t know that Kari terribly wanted to have company when deciding to do even the most simple routine like taking a shower. Inside the shower cubicle, he felt the rush of something from his inside; possibly hormones’ stimulating dread, and God-knows-what else made his heart pump with irregular and tremendous force. The hair on his nape stood as erect as porcupine quills and his muscles stiffened like those of a deer

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in flight. That was why he always had to rush with the shower act—to ensure that company was still around while he was still doing it. But then, the shower act itself was also a big problem: the gush of water from the shower head produced more punishing and agonizing shudders in Kari’s skin and flesh. The shower felt like chilled water from a busted dam pounding heavily on his unsteady frame. He felt like a stray bird washed away by the winds and the raging floodwaters brought by a Sendong-like typhoon. He felt assaulted by a reality that hit hard. It swiped his body and mind into nowhere. This event inside the shower room regularly reduced him to panic and fear. He must have been feeling like a newborn baby pulled out from the womb and subjected to a myriad adult rituals that assault—reduced to fright and terror. But Kari could neither wail nor weep. All that he could do was ask for strength from above; at the same time, he constantly reminded himself that this was God’s way of strengthening him for his goal. Besides, he was already formally accepted as a postulant. This acceptance functioned as a mandate. Kari, disturbed by the shower rituals, was clinging on to prayer: “God, help me…Oh God, help me….” All the while, Kari’s jaws trembled like a jack hammer digging into a concrete slab. His mind imploring God while his whole body shivering without pause. He had to make a vigorous shaking of himself to counteract the tremors. He would not close his eyes even as he compelled himself to imagine God’s presence. There were these ugly images threatening to grab and possess him in the dark; just like in Guimaras. But this time, leaving the monastery never crossed his mind. Throughout the whole process, Kari exerted every effort to endure and finish the shower business. The other guys inside the cubicles were doing either a Pavarotti or a Yoyoy Villame. Even while playing basketball, the thought about the

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shower torture sometimes reduced him to a timid child. Indeed, other preoccupations have made Kari so inept and uncoordinated inside the court. But at least, the up-and-down running on the court made his body produce endorphins— gaining more resistance to mental assaults. After showers, Kari could only say so many “Thank you, Lord!” Yes, for Kari, taking a shower was a most excruciating and challenging thing to do. It became a regular occasion for him to thank God as well. Such insignificant struggles had, in fact, significantly made Kari feel closer to God and to his depths. Surely, he would not need somebody to tell him the significance of the lines: “I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me.” Kari faced several turmoils that preoccupied him most of the time. Such turmoils didn’t just worry him, but gripped him. He called on God for support whenever he felt troubles were becoming heavier to bear. In fact, Kari would always make sure that God was preoccupied with him. Even in ordinary conversations, during meals, while cleaning the dishes, when feeding the pigs, playing basketball, and attending evening recreations: Kari always called on God to keep him company. There was not much self-confidence to talk about if Kari did not call on God. Indeed, Kari found out that staying in the monastery was a tough one to face especially when one does not know how to constantly keep God’s presence. Most of the battles or struggles that the postulants and novices faced were invisible ones. Kari wouldn’t know if Methodius was in turmoil unless Methodius talked about it. He wouldn’t know if Junie was struggling with the unfamiliar standards of the monastery unless Junie complained about them. Nobody would realize that Aldrin was already suffering unless he cried—just like that Friday afternoon when Kari, coming back from his pigs, heard him sniffing incessantly and loudly through his clogged nose.

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“Aldrin, anong nangyari?” (“Aldrin, what’s the matter?”) Kari dropped the pail as he approached Aldrin whose face pictured desolation. “Kari…ano lang, nami-miss ko lang kasi ang Mommy at Daddy ko.” (“Kari, I just miss my Mom and Dad.”) He swiftly covered his eyes with his right arm and sobbed meekly; evidently holding back more tears and the possibility of bawling. “Ganon ba? Akala ko kung ano na ang nangyari sa ‘yo.” (“I thought you were in trouble.”) “Ay sus, araw-araw gid ako umiiyak pero sa loob lang ng kuwarto. Hindi ko lang mapigilan ngayon kasi, alam mo, birthday kasi ng Mommy ko. Pag birthday niya kasi naghahanda talaga siya at nag-invite ng aming mga kapitbahay. Ang saya-saya kasi namin pag birthday niya. Naalala ko lang kasi lahat…kaya ako umiiyak.” (“I cry everyday inside by room. I can’t control myself because it’s my Mom’s birthday. I miss the gathering of relatives and neighbors. I miss the fun. I just miss everyone.”) He slowly dropped his arms. His eyes showed red from the sustained weeping. “Ikaw Kari, di ka ba nalulungkot dito?” (“Aren’t you lonely here?”) “Ha? Ako?” (“Who? Me?”) Kari was not prepared for this question. Homesickness was not really something familiar to him. It was Claire who came to his mind when he said, “Siyempre, nalulungkot din…nakaka-miss yong mga mahal mo.” (“Yes, of course I also get sad. I also miss those dear to me.”) “Lahat yata tayong mga baguhan dito talagang di mapigil ang ma-homesick ano? Ang lungkot kasi talaga dito.” (“I know all of us suffer from homesickness. Here, it’s all loneliness.”) The truth was that Kari never felt anything close to being homesick. There was not much in his parents’ home that made him “sick.” He just couldn’t identify anything or anyone at home that made his heart grow fonder. It was always the face of Claire that came to his mind. It was Claire’s touch—her company, her friendship—that stirred his heart to loneliness and much yearning for her presence. He felt ill

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at ease for not feeling the same way as Aldrin felt for his folks at home. Kari suddenly felt embarrassed about such absence and so he said, “Oy, Aldrin, recollection nga pala ngayon, baka masitá tayo ni Fr. Anthony. Saka na lang tayo mag-usap. Sige, ha…” (“Hey, Aldrin, I almost forgot it’s recollection day. Fr. Anthony might see us and reprimand us. See you later.”) “Sige, Kari. Baka nga kasi isipin nila kung ano-ano ang pinagtsitsismisan natin.” (“Right. They might think we’re just spreading gossip.”) Kari grabbed the empty pail and walked briskly to the water outlet near the garage. While cleaning the pail, he couldn’t help but wonder why he just didn’t have feelings of homesickness which obviously took hold of everyone except him. He took time cleaning the already clean pail just to give him more time to think about homesickness. The only thing that made him feel close to homesickness was an incident that happened when he was only five years old. It was so vivid in Kari’s mind that he still smiled at this recollection. It happened one afternoon in his parents’ farm 20 years ago; Kari was still the youngest in the family. There was this week-old goat whose mother died from an illness. Obviously hungry, the kid was wailing for milk. At the behest of his father, Kari climbed the backstairs to the second storey of their house to get the kid’s feeding bottle already prepared by his mother. When he was halfway up the stairs, he realized that the kid was already on his heels. The kid couldn’t wait downstairs. When Kari got the bottle, the goat was already jumping for it. Kari obliged and fed the hungry kid in their kitchen. This incident made Kari felt homesick. It was not for the Surigao City home of their parents. He missed the housefarm of his childhood. Kari wanted to dig deep into his memory to search for reasons to be homesick. Unfortunately, he didn’t find anything anymore. There were fond memories that he did remember but these were memories of events that happened outside the home.

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Homesickness became part of the things which Kari seriously considered. While others were homesick, he became bothered why he didn’t feel homesick at all. This thought about not being homesick preoccupied him during prayer hours. It upset him. The novice master might discover that he had no love for home and might use this against him. It pained him that his memories of home (the Surigao City home) were sad and painful—like when he had severe asthma and his parents gave him an improvised vaporizer in a cup of boiled water with Vicks and got a scalded ear instead; like when his father hit his back when he became somewhat annoying; or when he got hit by a stone from his angry brother’s slingshot; or that he did defecate daily in a toiletshack that smelled like a decomposing rat mixed with pig, horse, and chicken manures; or that his parents could not afford to buy them food other than galunggong, dried fish, camote tops, and vegetables for the usual pinakbet and dinengdeng. Once or twice a year, they did have something special like goat’s meat. Once a month they could either have fish other than galunggong, or pork full of fat, or thin strips of leathery beef sticking to bones and sinews. There was nothing of those foodstuffs which Kari saw on one of their neighbor’s table or on their neighbor’s TV. He only imagined the steak, the pork chop, Nido, Milo, the hamburger, the spaghetti; he was not able to taste them at the Surigao home. Such memories became fresh—all because Kari struggled with the issue of homesickness. Kari’s struggles, which did not involve being homesick, were issues about his character or personality. They were not too visible to observers. Actually, there were bodily signs that were observable: sunken eyes, trembling muscles, and tentative speech. But they were hidden to the non-experienced eye. Those who could see them were Kari, his demons, and perhaps his novice master. The novices and postulants trained their eyes on their own struggles that constantly

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bothered them. Indeed, if all of them, Kari included, were brought into a public viewing arena, they could have been an interesting fare for Freud & Co. to observe. Kari’s fellow postulants were faces of anguish, bewilderment, and wonder. They were wondering when their anguish would end, or when they could go back to their usual sources of leisure or excitement. Their faces, including that of Kari, were actually faces jarred and scarred by inner-worldly battles. These battles were so unfamiliar that anyone exposed to them would be a living picture of confusion, puzzlement, panic, and disorientation. Most of them did not realize that they were passing through an unsettling but behaviormodifying process which, in fact, would always involve painful experiences of searing thirst or consuming hunger for their past and the more familiar lifestyles. This extremely disturbing yearning for the past could be felt by the “senses” in what writers of spirituality would call as the “dark night of the senses.” Inside the monastery, almost everything was bland, flat, dull, plain, natural, and distress-inducing silence, and monotony. No usual excitement. Not much to spice up ordinary life. Some schedules provided some periods to socialize and have fun: afternoon basketball games, Sunday evening postmeal recreations, and major feast-days celebrations when the novice master even prepared Tom Collins drinks for everyone. The Wednesday free-afternoon was something eagerly anticipated by most postulants and novices. For such afterlunch free time, they regularly went to the beach (15 minutes by car) and swim. They also played volleyball. Sometimes, in fact rarely, they went to the movies. At five or five-thirty, they were back in the monastery…and hurriedly prepared for supper and prayers. Then the next days became regular days again, or common days of turmoil or dryness; until they understood that the meaning of “regular” or “ordinary” was turmoil and dryness. However, nobody seemed to get accus-

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tomed to such days of turmoil and dryness. Nobody, as Kari observed for over a year, would have liked turmoil and desolation. Kari recalled his own experiences with turmoil and dryness. The faucets and the shower heads were witnesses to his struggles and victories inside the bathroom. It was the same story for a whole three or more months—months of torture and agony in the shower cubicles. Afterwards, the bodily tremors gradually became faint agitations. The images of demons, although still appearing when Kari closed his eyes, were less taunting. After seven months, Kari started to take a shower even when alone in the room. It was yet difficult for him until more and more lonesome showers followed. Such proved to build greater confidence in Kari. Eventually, he was able to enter the shower room anytime he wanted to; even when everyone in the monastery had left the room. After a year, he was able to close his eyes while he shampooed his hair; no more demonic images. There was something new in the way his body jibed with his mind. His body was able to chime in with the way his mind dealt with uncertainties and the darkness of the world. Kari realized, the world was not that overly-demanding or hostile after all. He didn’t have to create defenses and escape routes to make himself ready for an imagined contentious humanity. His body was responding calmly to that realization. His mind was gaining more ability to deal with the overactive primitive impulses. He thanked and thanked the Lord. After the shower episodes, Kari saw in himself a different person. Fear and defense no longer defined his character inside the cubicle. Before the world, Kari gradually learned the skills of participation and socialization; and playing games with less defensive stance. Oh yes, fear and defense were still there but not quite paralyzing Kari who could already open up to the demands of his world. Fear and defense would still come out once in a while but they no longer found their usual

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target. Before his first religious profession, Kari was already smiling with ease. His diaphragm was more relaxed than ever. But that’s getting ahead of a major ordeal. It was nine o’clock in the morning of an ordinary Wednesday; the schedule of Fr. Anthony’s consultation with the postulants and novices. Fr. Anthony had regular meetings with them to monitor their stay or progress inside the monastery. Kari was the first to enter the library where Fr. Anthony was waiting. “Oh, there you are, come in. Take that seat over there and I’ll be with you in a minute.” Fr. Anthony went out for the nearest toilet. Kari took a seat near a display shelf and grabbed one of the current scientific journals, the Catholic Biblical Quarterly. He scanned through the pages but his eyes were not able to focus on anything. He still felt so drowsy from the previous two nights of sleeplessness. Fr. Anthony appeared again and took his seat opposite Kari. “How are you doing, Kari?” “Not bad. Not very good either; but I feel fine. Still clear on my goal, at least to become one of your novices.” “Good. Do you experience problems or is there anything in particular that bothers you?” Fr. Anthony could, of course, see through Kari’s eyes some signs of anxiety or at least evidence of stress or fatigue. “Nothing Father. I feel okay. My readings make my mind busy, and, of course, prayers make me feel more relaxed. Work and games make me very much occupied with other things than myself.” “Good…good. I’m glad you feel that way. But you are not using those free days to visit your parents. Don’t you have plans to visit them?” “Hmmm…well I’d like to…visit them. Yes…but maybe some other time…on my father’s birthday. That’s going to be

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next month.” “Wonderful! Tell me when you’re going there. I could send some pomelo. Your Mom and Dad will surely like them. They’re so sweet this time of the year.” “Yes, Father. Thanks.” “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?” “Nothing…no more. Everything here in Candlelights is perfect… I’m happy.” Nothing was more false than this statement. Kari knew Fr. Anthony was waiting for him to talk about his state of mind. But he felt he was not ready to reveal some of his secrets. Kari felt Fr. Anthony was actually hinting at some confessions. Kari knew Fr. Anthony would understand why he was hesitant in opening up to him. It was not his normal way to open up to anybody; except, perhaps, to Claire. Kari just couldn’t tell Fr. Anthony about his struggle. It was something that he felt might compromise his entrance to the novitiate. The most difficult struggle involving sleeplessness came about three weeks after his postulancy in the Candlelights. Although his first few nights were not really deep slumbers, at least they were not like the fourth-week nights. The first three-weeks nights were not exactly devoid of struggles. He still had to open his eyes while he wrapped his whole body with his blanket. It was exhaustion that sent him to sleep. Kari did get some sleep. There were a couple of times though when he suddenly woke up dazzled by dream-like nocturnal incontinence. Half-awake he resisted and tried to contain it; but it was like stopping water from a busted dam. It was less unpleasant since his room had its own sink. It was there where Kari washed down his nocturnal blasts. With such confusing and humiliating episodes, he would still get consoled by St. Augustine’s confessions:

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But, there still live in my memory…the images of such things which habit has imprinted therein. When I am awake, they occur to me, though indeed they are not strong, but in sleep it is not merely a question of pleasure: it even goes as far as consent and something very much like the deed. (Confessions, Bk. 10, Ch. 30, # 41)

The fourth-week nights and further, going through therest-of-the-month’s nights were the real-torture nights. Kari was into a very rough sail. Again, chaos had shaken his whole being. As the showers pummeled his body, sleeplessness almost reduced him into impotent shreds. It only took three weeks to make Kari really listen to the network of hums and rumbles inside his head. They were probably shouts of appeal and entreaties from his amygdalae (the human brain’s seats of memories and emotions); already pleading for immediate attention. Emotions linked to involuntary memories as well as impulses attached to his habits, desires, and tendencies were actually clamoring for attention. It was like his inner army of forces were up in arms for lack of familiar activities and enjoyment inside the silence and “barrenness” of the monastery. Yes, Kari was no longer into his former ways. He ceased following his habitual preoccupations, which used to take hold of him. His former work in the BIR was gone; no more exciting trips with his motorbike; no more Claire; no more leisure times playing tennis or drinking and jamming with his ΑΦΩ barkada; no more ordinary man’s everyday life; no more hapi-hapi; no more familiar objects of hate, anger, or frustrations; no more gimmicks, or visible links to his past. No more of them; except his emotionally-loaded memories denied of gratifying distractions; and former habits pleading for attention but totally denied of satisfaction. Yes, memories and former habits have become alive; but they were refused to play with their usual games or in familiar playing fields. Kari’s tributes to his previous life had been cut off by

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daily rituals inside the Candlelights. The effects of the denial of former habits on his nerves and muscles were formidable though. He was being shaken by newer customs in a religious world. With the peculiar demands and new habits to be learned in Candlelights, Kari had been yanked here and there by the inner forces of his old ways. As he was intent on acquiring new ways, Kari’s psychic forces which relied on the old ways went mutinous. His ancient brain and hardened ways rose up in rebellion and hit hard the already distressed Kari. It must have been like Kari was both in terrible throes of death and agonizing labor of birth: terrible to give up the old self and at the same time agonizing to give birth to a new self. No comfort was forthcoming; not until Kari acquired the much-needed newer habits for the newer self. He acquired them not because they were given to him. He really pursued them…and preferred them from past habits. Clearly, through a determined desire to go beyond his painful emotions and old habits, Kari was resolute to break up with his dark self. The unbidden uproar of his memory and old habits sent Kari to torturing nights of sleeplessness. The tortures forced Kari to face his rebellious depths and his clamoring noises. He was brought down to his knees. He implored help from heaven and cried for a much-needed sleep. The first-night… Yes, he couldn’t sleep. Anything he did to summon sleep was useless. Another cold turkey. He laid prostrate on the floor. When it didn’t work he laid sideways, then prone, then squatting; to no avail. Kari grabbed a chair and sat there for some time but nothing happened. He removed the beddings from his bed and placed them on the floor. He laid on them as he tried every position he could make to help him find his sleep. He counted sheep, pomelos, mangoes, rambutan, coconut, bamboo, pigs, cobras,

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etc.; no change. He tried deep breathing, shallow breathing, fast breathing, slow breathing; nothing happened. He got up, lighted a candle, took a book to read; no drowsiness came. Besides, all the murmurs of his head were swinging between him and the pages of the book. The roaring noises in Kari’s head were becoming too strong and too violent to handle. They were even magnified by the silence of the night and the contrast of quiet cool air wrapping the monastery. The stillness of the outer world exaggerated the sounds of the innerworld anarchy. The unrelenting inner chaos did bring an unbearable vehemence. The candlelight stood quiet in front of Kari’s turbulence. Guimaras, Episode II… The bell for the morning prayer had tolled and Kari was still awake—panting and pursuing precious breath. He put on his casual wear and went to the chapel carrying his battered brain and quivering body. No one was aware of what was going on. Breakfast, housework, lecture, prayers, and lunch passed and Kari was still standing but triply feeling drowsy. Siesta time did not help. Nothing helped to make him sleep. In silence, he was already howling from his guts, crying for truce from the incessant pummeling of brain clamor and muscle tremor. When he went to his pigs, he was dragging his whole body without feeling much activity from his head. Kari’s temple was becoming more numb; his breathing, more labored. He just moved himself and moved around to complete the assigned tasks. There was yet no sign of decrease in turbulence. He had to drag his body, heaving it forward with his slow and deep breaths, all the while saying, “Lord, have mercy…Lord, have mercy.” Until nighttime came—the second night. During the second chaotic night, Kari took his rosary and recited the formula prayers. After he completed all the mysteries, he knew he would still be reliving the previous night’s battle. He waited and waited for what he hoped would

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be signs of sleepiness. Instead, intrusive images, and involuntary remembrances of things, events, and persons from his recent past came like incoherent Powerpoint slides. This time, they came with more generous commotions of cerebral rumbling. The audio plus the visuals were like hot steams spewing out from his templar geysers. If only Kari had somebody to tell him what was going on. But he never told the novice master about his problem. He continued the “Lord, have mercy…” and added “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, please help me.” Breakfast, housework, lecture, prayers, and lunch passed and Kari was still standing. He just continued doing what he was supposed to do inside the monastery. Until nighttime came—the third night. The third night was no different, except that he was already having chills and colds. Kari must have had fever. He didn’t notice it. The confusion that he felt was more powerful than the bodily symptoms’ effect on him. He begged for pity and respite from the longest three-day agony. “Intawon, pahawa mga demonyo!”(“Please, go away you demons!”) He was already imploring heaven and hell. It—yes, it—did not subside. Kari didn’t even remember how he lasted the whole third night and the whole third day working and moving around the monastery. But he carried on anyway. He just did what was expected of him. He did convince himself that this was just temporary. Despair never came. Leaving the Candlelights never occurred as a thought. The Guimaras fiasco didn’t even cross his mind. He still worked and worked and worked—didn’t mind the chaos. He summoned himself. “Never mind the unrest. Never mind the troubles. Let them be.” If they were there, they were not his choices. He did make his choice to move on and carry out what was important—continue pursuing that goal, the reason, for which he came to Candlelights. Kari just did it. Some people who are in a similar situation could have

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already given up and could have ended up in a mental institution. There, patients are usually given heavy doses of prescription drugs like Valium and Prozac. Although, some would not need them, for there are other forms of pacifiers: food, drink, sex, sports, gossip, TV, movies, crime, religion, and, today, Facebook, Twitter, and internet porn. Unless one totally quits Candlelights, there will be this usual deprivation of the knowledge about the sun behind the thick dark clouds. Without the will to move forward no matter what, one could indeed think and feel that life was all storm and thunder. Some couldn’t resist looking for escape, rest, and prolonged numbness which other people would call peace and quiet. The Sturm und Drang did weaken finally; as Kari became weaker with limping knees and drooping eyelids. Sleep came on the fourth night. Finally. The uninvited flesh could only be so intrusive for so long. Rage and despair could only live if one fed them; or if one fed on them. The following morning, Kari got up with an unfamiliar feeling of lightness in his whole body. He noticed the plants and flowers inside the cloister. They had become more visible and colorful. They seemed to have gained freshness and brilliance. Birds had become interestingly alive; fluttering, like they were exclusively assigned to greet Kari that bright morning. Kari still felt the hums in his head as well as softer tremors all over his body. But they seemed more distant and weak than the first and second nights’ chaos. The storm seemed to have left his brain’s area of responsibility. On the fifth night; Kari was more of an observer than an afflicted subject of his troubles which still sent gusts of air; but they had lost their hard-hitting blasts to disturb him. Rather than having conquered an enemy, he sensed that he gained something. He gained a space, a foothold. It was something better than muscle strength. There was now a control room deep in his brain which the gusts of profound

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turmoil could not even reach. He had gained a space—a creative space—inside him where he could already take a position for a commanding look at memory’s furies. This space would expand over the years and become wider and deeper. It was a ground from where Kari would stand pronouncing his own commandments against the imposed and mindless forces which had taken residence inside him. Somehow, with this gained power, Kari felt like a renewed creation—recreated by God from the chaos of the past.

8

determining determination There is something better than what the world would refer to in c'est la vie.

A

day in the life of a monastery postulant was as sure to produce desolation and distress as the scorching sun would produce heat and dust, and pain on one’s skin and lungs. Although a postulant may roll from one schedule during the day to another schedule towards the night, his usual day was just like the preceding and subsequent days. He had to move with the dictate of time which imitated the rough days and nights of desert life. Some postulants were not able to make sense of themselves facing so many predictable unremarkable “dry” days (not to mention the “dark” nights). Some novices who stayed had already become familiar with such days. They had somehow managed to make meaning out of suffering. The prolonged exposure to inconsequential routines, the continued absence of excitements, and the lack of stimulating pleasures like those provided by the malls, city life, and electronic gadgets had made life for postulants arid and deserted. Life here became inconsequential indeed—causing the mind and the body to produce involuntary memories, cravings, or flashes of thoughts about the future. These memories and thoughts are, for the beginners in “desert spiritualiy,” disturbing and unwelcome. But what could occupy a mind and a body which are no longer exposed to or preoccupied with the ordinary world’s interesting things? Memories and fantasies, of course. But many people, not only postulants or novices,

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are disturbed by these involuntary movements of their minds and emotions. They would rather search for an oasis in their desert; but an oasis in the monastery was oftentimes a mirage or contrived. During one of those dry days, when some postulants could no longer bear the distressing effects of aridity, Aldrin knocked on Fr. Anthony’s hermitage. It was right after breakfast time; not quite the usual time for consultation or spiritual direction. “Oh, hi, Al, come in, come in…grab that chair over there and make yourself comfortable. I’ll just have to gather all these dirty clothes. The lavandera will be here any minute.” “Sorry to disturb you this early, Fr. Anthony. I have to unload some things that bother me; too many worries I guess.” Aldrin took the seat in front of Fr. Anthony’s table. He looked like he didn’t get enough sleep. Dark circles formed around his eyes. “No, no, no…no bother. Let me just put on a new shirt…okay…that’s it.” Fr. Anthony moved swiftly to his chair and fastened the last buttons of his shirt. He cheerfully greeted Aldrin. “How are you? Good to see you. Okay, shoot!” “Actually, I don’t feel okay, Father. I feel lousy…rotten. I feel paralyzed. I can’t get into normal routine. I think I’m losing my mind.” “Now, calm down. That’s too much. You’re not losing your mind. You are not paralyzed and you are not rotten. You just probably feel lousy, and soon you will be able to go back easily to the house routines. Tell me what exactly do you feel?” “Father I told you, I think I’m losing my mind.” “In what way. Can you explain?” Fr. Anthony turned serious. “There are too many things spinning in my head. I can’t concentrate on anything and for two nights I could not sleep.

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No matter what I do, strong feelings are swelling from my inside. The feelings that I do not like…the many feelings that just seem to explode from my chest. I could not control them.” Tears fell from Aldrin’s eyes. But he restrained himself and controlled his tendency to sob. “Believe me, Aldrin, there’s nothing wrong with you. What you are experiencing right now is simply effects of a normal encounter with the monastery life. You are actually confronted by some real feelings. The only difference is that you are here inside the Candlelights monastery. Outside, you may have thought you don’t have those loads of feelings; it’s just because you were able to take care of them…or pacify them…or provide yourself with diversions. In the outside world, you’re provided with so many apportunities to distract yourself. Out there are myriad ways to satisfy or gratify yourself. There, you could get what you want with no monastic restrictions and rules that are imposed on you today. Because of these restrictions you come face to face with your deeper desires and emotions. The load of feelings that you mentioned normally appear when you experience abstinence or deprivation from what you were used to, like office routines or entertainment or distractions.” “You mean, Father, these are side-effects of my confinement here in the monastery?” “Exactly! But it’s not only that. To say that they are just the side-effects won’t give you much encouragement. What is happening is that you are actually beginning to face yourself, your tendencies, your habits or your memories. All of these habits were important in the outside world. Here in Candlelights, you will have to unlearn them and at the same time learn other sets of habits. However, your emotions will disturb you. You have to take courage, Aldrin. Face yourself and many of these habits of yours because they are actually weaknesses inside the monastery. The moment you realize this, you will see the need to start to cultivate habits that are

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in keeping with the contemplative life. Right now, you are only starting to face the Candlelights realities without the right dispositions. But with those older dispositions becoming weaker, and the right dispositions becoming stronger, you will gain more strength and even welcome the whole process of transformation. Yes, the whole process may be painful but there’s no other way. Aldrin, you are starting to become a new Aldrin.” Fr. Anthony’s eyes sparkled as he showed his teeth to Aldrin. “Fr. Anthony, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.” “Listen, Aldrin. As you face the monastic schedules and rituals, you will feel the progressive rebellion of your flesh and nerves as well as your imagination. As you will continue to face ordinary routines here in Candlelights, you will be constantly confronted by your former self, your yearnings, and desires. These will spontaneously come out from your depths. Psychologists teach that your brain’s limbic system is affected. Without the familiar gratifications provided by your past environment, you will suffer from some forms of emotional or psychological deprivation; even a hunger felt by your brain. Later on, these feelings would become like famine or drought that your body would already feel—it would be like a neurobiological hunger. “Your yearnings for the usual hooks and outlets of your desires have not yet died down. Inside the monastery, they were deprived of the more stimulating or appetizing kinds of food, movies, music, friends, families, malls, and even sex. The more you are deprived of these, the more intense your longings will be. These are the causes of your contrary emotions. Your fellow postulants feel them too. Such longings would give off some external signs on the faces of postulants or novices—blank stares, irritable appearance, restlessness, anxious looks, agitation, impatience, incoherence, disorientation, loneliness, sorrow, fantasies, and more. Such surface

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indicators are clearly not signs of favorable dispositions that will enable you to enter into more creative work or normal interactions. “All postulants and novices will give off indications of their inner distress. The signs emanating from your innerworldly stirrings will have the opportunity to be expressed with greater force when you do your work—feeding pigs, cutting grasses, cleaning the car, irrigating the stream, picking pomelo, and cleaning the toilet. The signs will be more visible when you play some games of basketball or volleyball. Many of you will act out their ‘releases’ through muscle work, heaves of sigh, rough games, or jarring struggles with tools. “Aldrin, sooner than later, you will gain more insight about this whole process that I’m telling you. Just pray and proceed with your normal work. Slowly, you will actually learn to ignore those feelings. Yes, just ignore them. Rest assured, that you are not losing your mind. What is more important is to work, study, and pray.” “But, Father, that’s really my problem. I cannot work. I cannot study. And when I pray, God doesn’t seem to care.” Aldrin’s tears began to flow freely but without the sobs. He took his handkerchief and blew his nose into it. “Okay, here’s what you do. If you cannot work, try something else, like maybe sing while you work or dance while you work. Regarding your study, that can wait. When you pray, it’s probably more helpful if you wait patiently for God’s time. It’s really more helpful that way than pressure Him to take away all your troubles. God will surely take away your troubles but in due time.” “Father, I wish I could really understand what’s going on. I wish…I wish I could be happier here in Candlelights.” Aldrin finally let go of his loud sobs. Fr. Anthony, sensing that Aldrin could not yet fathom what he was explaining to him, tried the pep talk approach. After thirty more minutes of exchange and more encouraging

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words from Fr. Anthony, Aldrin came out of the hermitage relieved. He went back to the cloister visibly feeling lighter, his face registering more hope and good cheer. Fr. Anthony would have wanted to explain that underneath the postulants’ faces and bodies were the mind/brain memory system and their own forces—sources of internal stimulations; stimulations that produce involuntary autobiographical memories and sometimes images of anticipated future scenarios. Most of the time, as the demands of ordinary life diminish, when there are few preoccupations, the memory system become the default network that produce uninvited myriad of memories. Instead of the goal-oriented part of the brain working, the unbidden forces of memory become more active. These unrequested players frequently cause emotional disturbances that automatically compete with monastic rules, schedules, routines, norms. The cloistered life, however, demands control—surrounding and subjecting the postulants’ personal or private plans, desires, and familiar pleasures into submission. This further produces turmoil and distress in mind and body. It was not that Aldrin and the other postulants had not been subjected to some forms of control. Their former jobs had also regulated their lives. In the ordinary world, they would wake up at 5 or 6, hurry up on their breakfast, take a shower, run for their transport, negotiate through the usual traffic route, and report for work and fulfill their duties from 8 a.m. up to 5 p.m.; with some breaks in-between. Then, they would go home via the same traffic, take a short breather, take dinner, pause for some time for digestion and, if possible, family bonding. Finally, a well-deserved night sleep. Such routinized form of existence was unlike the monastic routine. All people living in an urbanized setting driven by commercial interests and transactions were familiar with such regularized form of existence. Children, especially the adolescents, felt a certain confusion when the regularized existence of

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their parents was strictly imposed on them as part of a supposedly normal life. The number one complaint of teenagers would be the lack of attention from parents who must stick to their regular work routines. They naturally imposed thisand-that on their loved ones so the young ones could follow life’s necessary pursuits. The problem was that…children were forced to accept things that they had neither inspired nor desired. The “easy” kinds of children do not give parents much trouble; the “difficult” ones who produce not a few contradictory feelings in their bodies became their parents’ woes. A huge difference exists between monastic and nonmonastic living. All those leading ordinary lives in the city are familiar with the forms of activities available to every city dweller. In every home, during morning routines, one could already enjoy some distractions like music, or TV; or today’s iPad and multi-function mobile phones. While negotiating through traffic, one could choose from the scores of FM stations on radio, or play one’s favorite tunes, use one’s personal MP3 player or iPod and watch TV or movie in the bus. When one is in the office, piped in or personalized music is always available; not to mention the mobile phone, the computer’s instant messaging, Facebook, Twitter, or Skype session. Moreover, officemates and friends provide the necessary distractions when one is not on the mobile phone sending text messages or SMS or on the computer screen sending IMs. A necessary distraction might come like a perfunctory greeting, a routine chat, or a prolonged gossip dissemination. After work, distractions or leisure provisions are usually more plentiful as one goes through the evening or night life. This fact assumes, however, that one has the ability to pay. One’s work and its rewards in the form of wages dovetailed with the spending and consumption routines that a market society has provided for everyone. But even when one does not have much money to spare for leisure, some forms

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of non-monetary-dependent activities were still available— sleeping, walking with one’s dog, and playing the guitar. In other words, a non-monastic life may also be, in a way, regulated and administered by the stimulating presence of commerce—through the work and spending/consumption schemes. But commerce provides a wider latitude for an independent individual (on its free time or customized schedules) to freely explore every possible outlet or hook of desire. It helps one to express desire through the many possible ways and opportunities that spending and consumption could offer. In other words, one could be “free” if one has the means or the habit to find distractions in the midst of deprivation. One is habituated into the freedoms offered by urban living; that is, freely satisfying one’s needs and wants. A monastic life, when strictly followed, did not give much space and time for free-wheeling desires (unless, of course, by some chance, one would have been able to have surreptitiously made the monastery his private lair, a hideout or a watering hole). Monastic life assumed that one desired a single object: God, service to God, or service to the Church. The latter, however, could be misrecognized by an individual’s lack of insight or lack of common sense. One could have, for example, mistaken one’s self-righteousness as a qualification for the priesthood. He could have equated one’s lack of self-esteem with the humility of Jesus of Nazareth. He may have considered one’s miserable outlook in life as a sign of one’s sense of sacrifice; as Fr. Gabriel had once interpreted Kari’s alleged “calling”. Desires, when no longer given free expressions through malls or commercial centers, would initially tend to be agitated. This was obviously Aldrin’s case. It was a natural effect of deprivation. The stomach would automatically rumble and complain when empty. In a sense, one was habituated or addicted to a certain predictable and familiar lifestyle which gratified one’s dispositions. Once these dispositions were

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deprived of the usual gratifying outlets, some equivalent form of “cold turkey” or withdrawal symptoms would result. Such uninvited symptoms are, almost always, not welcome to postulants. Unless, of course, one committed one’s self to leaving behind that familiar lifestyle and was willing to be led into another one. The monastery alternative could really grab one’s head and heart if one was willing to get scorched by its dryness. Kari had seen Aldrin and the other postulants with faces showing symptoms of withdrawal from familiar instant gratifications. He thought: most of them, because they were still young, did not know this process. They would even refuse to recognize this withdrawal as part of a long process of transformation that really involved effort and determination—one that also involved labor. Labor, like farming, planting, harvesting, grinding, and cooking seemed to them separate from the more enjoyable acts of eating and other experiences of gratification. But then, people in urban settings could just pluck out consumables from grocery shelves without even thinking about the workers who toiled to produce them. Kari had learned that one could profit from the thought that consumption could not really be separated from the laborious process of work. Enjoyment and consolation cannot be separated from labor and determination. Kari observed that many postulants were just like many people. They lacked the aptitude for other kinds of labor. Yes, they had enjoyed the familiar fruits of their own familiar labor. But they would have found it too difficult to fit into different kinds of labor that produced unfamiliar fruits. They would also like to enjoy spiritual fruits; but not necessarily through spiritual toil. They would really prefer to enjoy fruits; but usually forget about the determination required to enjoy them. Provoked by what he saw, Kari wondered: “Would there be priests and nuns and seminarians like these postulants?”

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More days, weeks, and months have passed and Kari gradually felt better inside him. His aura changed. This change became more visible to his fellow postulants. During one recreation evening, Junie made the first remark about it. They were engaged together in a game of chess. “Kari, alam mo parang tumataba ka tapos parang nagbo-bloom. Di ba Aldrin? Tingnan mo yong pisngi ni Kari, nagbago na ang kulay.” (“You know Kari, you’re looking better. You’re blooming. Isn’t he, Aldrin? Look at Kari’s pink cheeks.”) “Ha, ha, ha, buti pa si Kari. Sino ba ang inspirasyon mo Kari? Dati kasi para kang multo. Ngayon para ka nang si Adonis.” (“Ha, ha, ha, Kari is more lucky than I. Who’s your inspiration, Kari? You were like a ghost when you first came here, but now you look like Adonis.”) “Kayo talaga. Inspired akong magdasal, magtrabaho, mag-aral, at ganado akong kumain dahil masarap ang pagkain dito. Di pa ba ako tataba nyan?” (“You’re all kidding me. I’m just inspired in everything and I have a huge appetite. That’s why I’m putting on weight.”) “Guys, come, get your drinks before I change my mind.” Fr. Anthony prepared glasses of Tom Collins for everyone. “O, yan pang alak, inspirasyon din siguro yan ni Kari,” (“Yes, alcohol is another inspiration of Kari.”) Bro. Bobby, a simpleprofessed student enrolled in the seminary nearby, joined the conversation as he assessed the chess pieces of Junie. “Alam nyo,” Junie whispered this time, “si Smith ay ganadong kumain, masipag magtrabaho, at subsob din sa pag-aaral, pero tingnan ninyo ang mukha, mukhang nilamukos na Tiktik na pinambalot ng mestisong pusit!” (“You know, Smith has a huge appetite. He loves to work and was assiduous in his studies. But look at his face, he’s like a crumpled Tiktik magazine that was used to wrap a hybrid squid.”) They broke into loud laughter. “Hindi naman ganon ang mukha ni Kari no.” (“That’s not how Kari looks.”)

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Their laughter was so boisterous that Smith couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, you’re having a good time, what’s so exciting?” The group further erupted into riotous laughter that turned Smith’s face redder. “Hey, Smith, we’re having fun here. Don’t mind us. It’s just about Kari being in-love again.” “Wooooow, ho, ho, ho. Who’s the lucky ‘guy’?” Smith joined in the rowdy jubilation. Kari couldn’t believe it—he no longer felt disgusted with this kind of “worldly” and “coarse” behavior. After having hurdled struggles after struggles, Kari felt unable to react negatively over this raucousness. He just sensed a feeling of peace even in the midst of “noise and disorder.” Kari profusely thanked God on that day’s compline. Kari’s life—after the Trappist guest-house affair, after the shower struggles, and after the three sleepless nights’ battle—was a continuing engagement with his deeper self and his chosen life of spirituality. Before, Kari didn’t have a stage where he could stand up and face things or people. Now, he finally found a ground where he could be on his creative feet and patiently look beyond the possible growing challenges. It was not a case of knowing how to face every battle; no. Every challenge that came was always strange and intimidating for him. Nevertheless, Kari capitalized on his newly-gained footing (and the insights that are part of it). It made him capable of standing up no matter how unstable it was for as long as he would face hostilities with so much hope and assurance that there was something better than what the world would refer to when they say c’est la vie. Kari had come to recognize that his enemies were inside him. They have been there in his past. They were still with him at present—his lack of focus, his constant feelings of depression, his dependence on every emotional fix, his lack of patience, his lack of self-esteem, his fantasies about greatness

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and distinction, his passivity, his nocturnal and diurnal urges, his narrow vision, and his terrifying fears about failure. He realized that his most stubborn enemy was his fear of failures and his tendency to escape from challenges by becoming angry or depressed. Kari’s constant bout with depression came next. But this seemed to have been recognized more as an inner environment than as a specific target of resistance. The feelings of constant lack of light and lightness characterized further this inner world; consisting of a thick mantle of gloom and coldness resembling wilderness. Kari was so fortunate. He did not take refuge in food, drink, or sex. He was done with them; or so he thought. It was also fortunate that he was not making religion his opium or placebo. To take refuge in the gratifying but numbing delights would have meant missing the purifying anguish of the dark night of the senses battles. But this, too, should be embraced with heartfelt, almost self-denying, determination. The desire for homeostasis—a desire for rest, stability, balance, plain serenity, or prolonged quietude and security— did not even cross his mind. Kari realized that the more one was determined to continue no matter what, all the so-called problems became like mere annoying bats in the dark, or bees in flight, or the feeding flies and mosquitoes. They didn’t bring much harm to those who have better things to do than drive them away. It would help much if one focused on doing things and not mind the pestering mammals or insects. With every step farther and with every forward movement, despite the annoyances, Kari truly gained skills in waiting—waiting for the gaining of ground, waiting for stillness, waiting for flexibility, waiting for adaptability, waiting for focus, waiting for continuity, waiting for forward-looking view, waiting for a greater sense of control, waiting for determination. “Pursuing” became synonymous with “waiting.” Gradually, he realized that these were the qualities he needed to gain a better view of the world. Soon he realized the meaning of Sta.

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Teresa’s “determinada determinación,”—it’s St. John of the Cross’s inner fire that constantly burns wet wood, scorching the soul into dryness, in order to emit a greatly purified living flame.

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signs of contradictions

There was no caring Mama in Fr. Papa.

M

ethodius was down with fever. It was rare for illness to break out inside the monastery. The very few monks who seldom left the monastery grounds hardly ever got the outside world’s bacteria or viruses. Postulants, however, would bring their own pathogens and infect their hosts, like Methodius. When Fr. Papa learned about the fever, he unthinkingly prescribed pomelo orange and more fluids as remedies. No need for a doctor, he said. “Sipon lang ‘yan, pomelo lang ang gamot nyan,” he declared. “Dagdagan mo rin ng tubig ang inumin mo. Gawin mo 16 glasses a day.” (“That’s nothing. Just take pomelo and drink more water—16 glasses…”) Fr. Papa did not want him to go to the doctor. The following days (four days) were torture for Methodius. He had 40-42°C (104-108°F) fever. He was shaking with chills. In the morning of the fourth day, Junie was imploring Fr. Anthony to bring Methodius to a hospital (which was about 30km. away). Fr. Anthony told Junie to ask permission from Fr. Papa because he was the Superior of the house. It was only after his siesta when Fr. Papa relented and gave the permission to bring Methodius to a nearby clinic. With both arms supported by Aldrin and Junie, Methodius dragged his feet towards the kitchen. His chin trembled with unusual intensity as his body shivered with 42°C fever. His sunken eyes appeared whiter. His lips, covered with cracked and dried whitish scales, appeared like blistered soles.

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A long-sleeved shirt, thick sports socks, and a blanket wrapped his entire frame. When he went for the stairs, he kicked the half-open door with all the strength remaining in his limbs, shouting: “Putang ina! Mamamatay lang pala tayo dito ng ganito!” (“Damn, I didn’t know we could just die here like this!”) The postulants and the novices watched the drama; brows furrowed. Their astounded faces witnessed a scenario which made them more confused than mad. It was surely something to ponder about against their own idealized versions of religious life. Bro. Bobby took Methodius to a hospital. He drove him in the monastery’s white Toyota Tamaraw. When they came back, the community learned that Methodius was suffering from typhoid fever—a disease which couldn’t be cured by simple pomelo orange or water therapy. Bro. Bobby’s account was heard by everyone. “Mabuti nga daw at di pa pinatagal at baka daw magkacomplications pa. Kung minsan nga daw ay nabubutas pa ang intestines kapag nag-umpisa nang magkaroon ng ulcers dahil sa pagkalat ng bacteria. Ang mamahal pala ng antibiotics para sa typhoid. Eto o, ang lalaki pa ng capsules. Kailangan daw ni Methodius ng pahinga. Tapos, ang sabi ng doktor, hindi na raw siya makapag-donate ng dugo dahil sa sakit na yan. Ganon pala kabagsik yan. Di talaga yan kaya ng pomelo.” (“It was good we didn’t delay further Methodius’s treatment. The doctor said that there are typhoid fever cases with serious complications and ulcerations in the intestines develop. The antibiotics are rather expensive; look at the size of these capsules. The doctor wanted Methodius to have real rest. He said he could no longer donate his blood. That bacteria is really dangerous and toxic; it can’t be controlled by pomelo juice.”) Fr. Papa did not show up for the evening prayers and the common supper. They heard him (or made himself more audible) with his usual “Whoooo…” howling groans when he

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went into the toilet. He was dragging his feet and made unnecessary noise with his sandals. Fr. Papa did not qualify as a model-follower of the three great saints, even if he was already a fully professed Candlelights. Anybody living in this Candlelights house, for that matter, did not truly represent the ideals which Bro. Romano, the founder, and the three great saints represented. At most, they were commentators about the lives of the saints. Fr. Anthony, Fr. Greg, Bro. Ed, Fr. Daddy, did not really show those idealized qualities one reads from testimonies and writings of Candlelights’ great saints. They, however, still acted to the best of their abilities with some sense of mission. Fr. Papa, however, was one of a kind. Fr. Papa’s mark— his howling groans—lifted him outside the elevated path of contemplative life. He seemed to belong to the basements of contemplation. He would release his trademark howls more than a dozen times a day. His Danny de Vito stature added comedy to those howls which conjured images of a young hyena left in the cold; seeking for its mother and food. The de Vito and hyena profiles were compatible. Both looked incongruous against the background of the Candlelights’ cloister that was built to provide the ideal conditions of a contemplative life. Kari wondered how Fr. Papa could fit in the Novitiate. How could Fr. Papa expect that novices become faithful imitators of the Candlelights virtues; when the virtues were not very evident in the male formator’s case? The postulants needed the virtues in order to get promoted to their first religious profession. Would Fr. Papa’s presence and behavior, or the other formators’ presence and behavior, be able to lead them to virtue? But Fr. Papa was really special; there was no caring Mama in him. After the novices were judged, all of the postulants, including Kari, were inducted into the novitiate program. The

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ceremony was a simple one. It consisted of investing the candidates with the congregation’s garb, a brown habit, and some formula pronouncements about status and more responsibilities. Kari felt the change of status because of the religious habit. The habit implied longer and more regular schedules of study. Postulancy gave way to Novitiate. All novices had to be properly garbed; habit is what they usually call that garb. It was the brown habit that resembled the brown or earthy color of the medieval Europe’s poor peasants’ clothes. The one that Kari had was neither wool nor cotton. Kari’s habit was made of a mixture of synthetic fiber polyester and a certain amount of cotton (70% polyester/30% cotton). That was why it did not look crumpled even when his mother was not around to iron it. To Kari, it didn’t have the look of a poor man’s clothing anymore. Then the next batch of postulants came in. There were five of them—three came from Manila, one from Davao, and another one from Butuan. One of them was Vanny. He was the candidate from Butuan. Danny was from Davao. He was 40 years old and had his own commercial firm. Upon entering Candlelights, Danny had to leave the firm under the care of his brother. Vanny resembled a promdi character. He looked and sounded naïve; so naïve that he interpreted every joke as a matter of fact or truth. He couldn’t understand the difference between ordinary language and figures of speech. He seemed to have difficulty distinguishing between fiction and fact. He could either be slow intellectually, still lacking cognitive skills, or all of the aforementioned. The monastery still accepted him as a candidate. His EQ profile must have saved him from his IQ. Vanny must have sensed Kari’s accommodating character; and, in no time, Kari became his confidant. Vanny constantly talked about his past, his present struggles, and his future plans. He also liked to talk with Danny because Danny

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spoke the Cebuano language. Vanny was in his usual talking mood as they were dealing with their after-lunch dishwashing. “Bilib ko nimo bay, mura gyud ka ug santo no?” (“I really admire you, buddy. You’re a saint.”) “Sus, ginoo…” (“Oh my God…”) Kari felt embarrassed over this comment. “Bitaw Bay, ikaw man lang gyud ang nakit-an nako diri nga tarong-tarong ug lihok. Kana ganing mga tiguwang makit-an man nimo ba. Dagway lang gani mura na ug mga way pu’s. Di ba Dan?” (“Yes, you’re the only one who makes sense here. But those elders, just by their looks, are useless.”) He wanted Danny to bat in. “Tinuod lagi nang gisulti ni Vanny Kari. Kinsa may makit-an gyud nimong tarong diri.” (“I think Vanny is right. Who else is making sense here?”) Danny supplied what Vanny wanted from him. “Pero, si Fr. Greg bay mura man ug tarong ba. Seryoso gani kaayo siya sa iyang apostolate.” (“But don’t you forget Fr. Greg. He’s always serious in his apostolate.”) “Siguro bay. Kamo ra duha ang tarong. Makit-an lagi nako si Fr. Greg busy pirmi sa iyang apostolate sa Social Action Center. Kini ganing si Danny na-attract man sa Candlelights tungod kang Fr. Greg ba.” (“Maybe, there’s just the two of you who are serious in your commitment. I can also see Fr. Greg busy in his social involvement. In fact, it was because Fr. Greg is here that Danny got interested in the Candlelights.”) Kari’s eyes lighted. “Diay? Tinuod? Unsa may nakita nimo Dan?” (“Is that true, Dan? What did you see in Fr. Greg?”) “Si Fr. Greg, kauban na siya pirmi sa pagtabang sa mga trabahante nga naay problema sa employer. Nakit-an nako sya sa TV kausa nga kauban ang mga madre ug mga pastoral workers nga nagsuporta sa mga na-laid-off sa dako nga kompanya, kanang PICOP. Natingala gani ko kay pari diay siya unya mura man ug cowboy lagi, dili ba nimo masulti nga pari pero pari diay. Bilib ko

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kay mura gyud siya ang leader nila. Suporta gyud nga dako no. Asset gyud lagi siya sa Candlelights.” (“Fr. Greg was always involved in labor issues. I saw him on TV, together with nuns and pastoral workers, when they supported the laid-off workers of PICOP. I never thought he was a priest. He looked ready for anything and he looked like a true leader. He’s a great asset to the Candllelights.”) “Aktibo gyud diay siya no? Mao siguro nga siya ang in-charge nila Bro. Bobby ug Bro. Art kay maayo man siya nga Candlelights model.” (“He was probably assigned here as the appropriate model for Bro. Bobby and Bro. Art.”) Kari shared their admiration for Fr. Greg. “Pero bilib gyud ko nimo Kari. Paambita ko ug gamay sa imong utok bay bi.” (“But I really admire you, Kari. Please give me some of your brain.”) “Buang-buang gyud ka Van? Trabaho diha uy.” (“You’re nuts. Get back to work Van.”) Kari concentrated on his task. He always looked the usual Kari who would live out the motto: “Just do it!” It was on the third month of novitiate that Kari discovered some more amazing truths about Vanny, about the Novice Master, about Fr. Papa, and about religious life in the Candlelights monastery. Fr. Papa’s kind was once more shown in one of the most unforgettable episodes that Kari witnessed in his whole stay in Candlelights. This would be aptly called the DVD— “dreadful Vanny day.” Kari woke up to the heavy pounding on his door. He got up, dragged himself, then turned and pulled the knob. The small opening immediately revealed the hassled faces of Junie and Aldrin. It was two o’clock in the morning. “Bakit, anong meron?” (“What’s the matter?”) “Si Vanny, sumuka ng dugo, nandoon siya sa chapel at umiiyak.” (“Vanny coughed up blood. He’s crying in the chapel.”) Junie looked so harassed but furious. Kari was more confused

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than agitated. Vomiting blood? Then why is he inside the chapel? “Kanina ka pa daw niya ginigising pero hindi mo siya marinig. Kaya, kami ang ginising niya. Sa labas ng bahay kasi siya sumisigaw, sa may bintana mo.” (“He was waking you up but you were dead asleep. He was calling from outside your window.”) Aldrin, although frantic, sounded more motherly in his concerned voice. “Bakit hindi nyo sinabi kay Fr. Anthony?” (“Why did you not inform Fr. Anthony?”) Kari complained. “Anong hindi?” Junie protested, “Sinabi na namin sa kanya pero pinapunta kami kay Fr. Papa dahil si Fr. Papa daw ang House Superior. Sabi naman ni Fr. Papa, bukas na lang daw at maiistorbo si Fr. Anthony sa pagtulog.” (“Yes, we informed him. But he told us to inform Fr. Papa as the superior of the house. But Fr. Papa insisted on waiting until tomorrow. He said he did not like to disturb Fr. Anthony.”) “Ano!?” (“What?”) Junie’s words were inconceivable; too bewildering and inscrutable. Kari could not think of a possible retort. Finally, he thought of Fr. Greg who was the only one who seemed to maintain some common sense in the monastery. “Si Fr. Greg, alam na ba niya?” (“Does Fr. Greg know?”) “Hindi pa. Ayaw ni Fr. Papa dahil maiistorbo daw ang tulog.” (“Not yet. Fr. Papa does not like to wake him up.”) “Ha!?” Another shot of an unintelligible logic. What he heard was an unusual reasoning about how to treat someone who could be dying now inside the chapel. “Hindi, katukin nyo na at magbibihis ako.” (“No, wake him up and I’ll get ready.”) They knocked on Fr. Greg’s room. Kari’s “command” didn’t register on his fellow novices as an assault to the authority of the House Superior and the legal opinion of the Novice Master. Although done spontaneously, it was in fact a stab at their positions. What was sensible for Kari and company was no longer the submission to male authority but their desire to

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help Vanny. Kari didn’t know what Fr. Papa and Fr. Anthony thought of their behavior that morning. Curiously, Fr. Papa locked himself in his room while Kari and company attended to Vanny. The Father Superior obviously could not attend to his “children.” After putting on his shirt and jeans, Kari hurried to the chapel. There he saw Vanny kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament—holding a glass that was 1/3rd full of his bloodvomit. The reddish content of the glass was softly illumined by the soft rays of candlelights. “Unsa ma’y nahitabo bay?” (“What happened?”) Vanny turned around and Kari saw his teary eyes, now swollen apparently because of weeping or lack of sleep. “Kari, ganiha ra ko nimo nagtawag pero tulog man ka. Giadto na lang nako si Junie ug si Aldrin. Sige man ko ug ubo unya naa na may dugo o,” (“I tried to wake you up. Then I went to Junie and Aldrin. I was coughing up blood, see.”) Vanny raised the glass as if Kari didn’t notice it yet. “Dali bay, muadto ta sa ospital.” (“Let’s move, we’ll take you to the hospital.”) Kari pulled him up, helped him walk towards the door and into the house porch towards the eastern side where the Tamaraw was parked. Fr. Greg was already waiting for them. He was surprised to see Vanny holding the glass of blood in his hand. Finally he said, “Junie, kunin nyo na ang baso kay Vanny at nang madala na namin siya sa ospital.” (“Junie, take that glass. We’ll be taking him to the hospital.”) Junie took the glass as Kari searched for some plastic bag for Vanny to use in case he would vomit. When Kari found one, he handed it to Vanny and off they went down with Fr. Greg toward the car. Fr. Greg requested Kari to drive. But suddenly Kari felt something. His whole body trembled; with more force in his jaws and his knees. He could not say anything to Fr. Greg; except glance at him. After about four seconds, Fr. Greg,

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sensing Kari’s unexpected behavior, asked for the keys and took charge of the steering wheel. Kari was trembling because Vanny’s case stirred memories about his father who, eight years ago, vomited blood due to stomach ulcers. On the way to the hospital, Vanny coughed several times into the plastic bag that Kari brought. Blood was spurting out from his mouth; fresh blood. Fr. Greg was already pushing the gas pedal to the floor. It was a bumpy trip going to the hospital. Kari felt so stressed. But the world outside seemed to be offering him more peace and quiet as they went farther away from the monastery. “Ok ka lang, Vanny?” Fr. Greg’s voice was full of concern. Vanny just nodded. It was acute bronchitis. Vanny had to stay for four days in the hospital. He seemed to have enjoyed his “vacation” under the care of young nurses-students. His improved color matched his constant flirting with the female nurses. When Vanny was discharged, the monastery-community learned that his lungs were irritated by the fumes of pesticides. Spraying the pomelo trees with pesticides was one of Vanny’s jobs in the monastery. Vanny, however, already looked frail when he entered Candlelights. The spray attacked that frailty; not to mention the psyche-scorching routines of the monastery. These two things finalized the breakdown of Vanny’s defenses. After six months, Vanny was asked to leave. Even before the scheduled voting for his formal entry into the novitiate, he was already declared unfit for Candlelights life. It was hard and heavy news for Vanny. Incredulity filled his face, leaking out from his eyes and mouth. He could not believe why his sense of commitment and sacrifice in Candlelights could not be rewarded with an entrance to the novitiate. He could not probably reconcile the fact that his sense of mission would only be met and thwarted by a Fr. Papa whose

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behavior in Candlelights could nowhere to be found encoded in any book of religious life. “Ayo-ayo Vanny. Daghan ra kag makita diha nga maayo.” (“Vanny, take care. You will soon find good things for you.”) Kari tried to console Vanny as he prepared for the trip to the airport. “Kari, nganong dili man kaha ko pwede sa seminaryo?” (“Kari, why can’t I be admitted to the seminary?”) Vanny wanted some more explanations from Kari. The panel of formators had already communicated to Vanny the reasons for their refusal. But Vanny could not accept their verdict easily. “Bay, dili man pud ko kasabot kung unsa gyuy ilang rason.” (“I have no idea about the reasons for their verdict.”) Kari could neither side with the team nor with Vanny. He was actually at a loss in finding reasons for Vanny’s dismissal. Vanny was too inconsolable to be soothed by explanations. Kari stayed with Vanny until Bro. Bobby signaled for the drive to the airport. “Kari, ayo-ayo ha. Mulampos ra gyud ka diri bay.”(“Kari, take care. You will make it.”) “Sige, bay. Salamat. Ayo-ayo pud. Relax lang aron dali ka maka-recover.” (“Thanks. Take care of yourself. Just relax so you will recover fast.”) After a week, Danny followed Vanny. He was not asked to leave but left on his own accord. He must have sensed his unfitness; or the unfitness of Candlelights for his plans. The Candlelights mold which holds males like a Bro. Eddie, a Fr. Papa and a Fr. Anthony could have dampened his expectations about a life devoted to self-sacrifice or discipleship. Or he must have warned himself about the possible effects of mingling with people who could break and shatter those which still remained of his common sense. Methodius, Junie, Aldrin, Tony, and Kari stayed. They were intent on persevering; or they just thought that they should pursue what they wanted and allowed those in Candle-

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lights to judge their fitness or unfitness for Candlelights life. After all, they were mere beggars; and beggars couldn’t feel like superiors.

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novices and novitiate He was neither humble nor intelligent; neither considerate nor smart; neither a giver nor a listener. Definitely, not a guy who could follow the footsteps of the Saints

The novices belonged to a different category. While the

postulants were still sizing up the ring and learning the ropes, the novices were already into actual combat. It was not that postulants were not facing their own personal combats. It was just that they were still not into full commitment to enter into serious combat. The novices are already part of a community which formally inducted them to be under the Candlelights Rule, under House rules, under the Superiors’ eyes, and under the whole community’s gaze. In the novitiate stage, candidates were already given the habit. The habit was a symbol of profession or dedication to a life devoted to the “divine” service or ministry. Smith was the most talkative of the three more senior novices. Nyoy and Nonie were the low-profiles. Before the three were subjected to the final judgment, the postulants had become familiar about how novices would consciously carry themselves in front of everyone, especially before the Novice Master, Superior of the House (Fr. Papa), and the fullyprofessed Candlelights priests who composed the team that selects those qualified for the first simple profession. Novices also took their daily duties and obligations seriously. They consciously displayed to everyone their seriousness in pursuing the religious life. Aside from the daily work

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routines, they also attended lectures and carried out some research on the teachings of the three pillars of the Candlelights Congregation: St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and St. Thérèse of Lisieux. The basic teachings of a religious life were also introduced; like The Candlelights Rule, their Constitutions, Perfectae caritatis, and others. Smith, the white guy from the Pacific, made sure that everybody heard him when he rattled about his knowledge of the Candlelights saints, the Candlelights Rule, and the Perfectae caritatis. His showing-off did not fail to put everyone off. Everyone in the monastery thought of him as an empty jar, a noisy gong, or a wet frog looking for a mate. Surely, he did not pass the screening. Nyoy, too, did not pass the selection committee. Apparently, he was not that kind of guy who could persevere through the long years that still await a professed Candlelights. Kari did not have any idea about his disqualification. All Kari learned was that only Nonie was deemed qualified for the first profession. Nonie was from the Candlelights’ neighborhood area. He was always silent and reserved. But he looked humble and obedient. One could mistake him for a spineless slave. He could really be just one of the shy types. He was a commerce graduate of a local college. For a while, he worked as a cashier in a nearby school. After three years of work, he decided to enter the Candlelights. Upon hearing the news, Nonie immediately went inside the chapel; most probably to give thanks to God. Nyoy just locked himself in his room. Outside the house, the postulants gathered themselves around Smith who did not stop from complaining and protesting against the committee’s decision. Even the cobras around must have felt his rattling mouth. Kari saw a couple of them hurriedly snaking towards the stream presumably to take relief from the effects of impure vibrations felt from

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Smith’s crashing world. Kari felt relieved when Smith announced to them his dismissal. Everyone believed he did not have the right disposition or qualities fit for a Candlelight. He was neither humble nor intelligent; neither considerate nor smart; neither a giver nor a listener. Definitely, he was not a guy who could follow the footsteps of St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and St. Thérèse of Lisieux. After all, Candlelights seemed to be looking for males who have common sense, patience, humility, determination, and the ability to listen to the inner workings of the self. Smith was a guy who seemed to have preserved his almost free-wheeling dispositions and mixed them with the Candlelights ways. The formators somehow saw here some effort of mixing oil and water; they didn’t appreciate it.

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vocations and ambitions Self-seeking pursuits sometimes find God in the end; while so-called divinely-inspired pursuits could find the devil instead.

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ethodius became more introspective after his typhoid fever. But he was no less graceful in the basketball court. He appeared to have taken more interest in St. Teresa’s Life after that experience. The novices were asked to master the three giants of spirituality. It was St. Teresa who caught Methodius’s attention. In her writings, St. Teresa appeared more down-to-earth than St. John of the Cross or more motherly than St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Methodius could appreciate her well; especially her insistence on common sense intuition and determination. Moreover, St. Teresa was possibly closer to Methodius’s class (socio-economic class) than to St. Thérèse’s. St. Teresa’s writings were thus more appealing. But these were not what Methodius seemed to have been looking for. It would seem that Methodius had been pursuing Candlelights because Candlelights had become familiar to him. Some people close to Candlelights had financially supported him when he entered the minor seminary. Instead of pursuing the secular priesthood, the religious life became more attractive to Methodius. In other words, Candlelights was the place where he thought he could also match the expectations of his benefactors. This fact did not mean that Methodius had no vocation to enter the Candlelights. It was possible that through the

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years, his progressive pursuit for the religious life gradually led him towards Candlelights. Some significant persons must have propelled him to think of Candlelights as attractive. His family was also into this pursuit. If Methodius would finally become a priest, he would be the first guy in his small town of Malconque to be ordained to priesthood. This was a distinction that his family had been hoping for and pursuing through Methodius. Everyone in his town considered that Methodius’ priesthood would bring honor to the town of Malconque. For them, Malconque was never near to God; not until Methodius entered the Candlelights. He must therefore carry his people before the pedestal of the three great saints and to the throne of Our Lady of Candlelights. This thought was part of Methodius’s vocation as he tried to give flesh to the dream of his family and his townmates. This dream had kept Methodius in the Candlelights. Candlelights provided the venue and Methodius had found it fitting for his calling. Did this mean that God did not call Methodius to Candlelights? This question seemed insignificant. Methodius’s calling could still be verified through the pressure imposed on him by his family and his townsfolk. This pressure, even if a considerable burden, was something which Methodius was willing to carry to the end. God’s calling in Methodius was thus something which one could only indirectly inquire into. That was through the desirable fruits of his efforts to make concrete his family’s and townmates’ dream. Methodius was inspired and happy because he was pursuing something which he had now accepted as his own to pursue. Selfseeking pursuits sometimes find God in the end; while the socalled divinely-inspired pursuits could find the devil instead. Junie’s case was something different. He had been telling everyone about his experience with the Early Christian Movement. He constantly reminded everyone in the monastery of the need to go back to the early church life—like receiving communion with real bread and red wine, or pool-

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ing money and resources for common use, or praying in tongues. In other words, Junie was in love with the Early Christian Movement and he was dreaming of imitating St. Teresa who introduced, in her time, reforms in her monastery. This time, Junie thought of himself to be the new reformer who would introduce the much-needed change in Candlelights. This action seemed to be the vocation he supposedly found in Candlelights. Junie didn’t reveal to anyone his mission. But one could have figured it out that his constant boasting about the Early Christian Movement and his determination to stay in Candlelights would warrant this conclusion: that Junie was thinking of himself as the St. Teresa of today who would make Candlelights into something like the early Christian community. One could wonder how he would have transformed the monastery if Fr. Papa’s position was given to him. Aldrin, on the other hand, was more difficult to fathom. One could surmise that he was more fitted to a nursing or a caregiver profession. From time to time, he displayed his caring behavior. Every time the novices washed the dishes, he cared to instruct everyone about the proper way of washing. When they were cleaning the chapel, he pointed out the best way to care for the extremely delicate shiny floor. When they harvested some pomelo, he saw to it that they took extra care in handling the fruits. When Kari fed the pigs, he would offer better ways of caring for them. When they played basketball, he took super-extra care that he did not get hurt during the game. That is, he carefully avoided handling the ball or getting into the heat of the ball game. Sometimes, someone would make fun of him by passing him the ball. Aldrin would shriek and shriek with his high-pitched Ilonggo accent. When he had the ball, he would panic and frantically reach for the nearest player; not minding if he gave the ball to the other team. Balls were simply too hot for Aldrin. But don’t get this wrong. One could not just make fun of Aldrin’s caring na-

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ture. He really loved to push himself into situations where he could somehow contribute something for the good of anybody who would need his help. Aldrin was with Junie when Vanny coughed blood. He was also so anxious when Methodius was ill. When Fr. Papa howled, he would make sure Fr. Papa was not going nuts or in death throes. Kari was learning a lot of things outside his interior troubles. He indeed became more open to a variety of behavior-changing experiences.

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gatekeepers by the narrow door He interrupted the journeys through the dark night of the senses. With his ways, the whole process was stalled; it’s a pity because fruits don’t come with interruptions.

Kari was there when Bro. Eddie, the Candlelights lay

brother and member of the formation team, was beating with a bamboo pole a hissing cobra which he found under some sacks of charcoal. Aldrin yelled and implored at Bro. Eddie to spare the cobra. Something like a movie scene played before Kari’s eyes. “Huwag, Bro. Eddie! Huwag mong paluin! Kawawa naman ang ahas!” (“Please, don’t…Bro. Eddie, don’t hurt it. Have pity on the snake!”) Aldrin was screaming with his full-bodied accent. But Bro. Eddie was like a madman cursing, shouting, screaming, and grunting while beating countless times the already limp body of the snake. Whack, whack, whack…! He flattened the snake’s head which now resembled a small piece of burnt pancake. He could not stop charging. He was attacking like an unleashed dog. Another whack, whack, whack…, then he felt exhausted and limp himself. Bro. Eddie gasped for breath after that struggle. Kari’s eyes showed great wonder over Bro. Eddie who behaved like a rival to the snake. He behaved as if he was killing an enemy; or better, killing somebody who had caused him extreme pain. That was a moment of reckoning and vengeance. Bro. Eddie could not be restrained by Aldrin’s heavily-accented screams.

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Bro. Eddie looked strange. His ways looked queer to Kari. He was fond of preparing “garden dinners” as well as decorating the dining and recreation rooms with fresh flowers. He made sure that life in the monastery was never dull and monotonous. Kari sensed the contradiction of this practice: Bro. Eddie didn’t want people to experience the purifying dark night of the senses! In fact, Kari could see Bro. Eddie’s fondness for the monastery’s young male cook as a possible indication of his zest for life’s pleasures—clinging on to the childish desire for milk and honey. Kari discovered further that the young male cook had acquired the habit of reading because of Bro. Eddie. He had D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover tucked in his bed sheets; where he also kept the sizzling The Happy Hooker by Xaviera Hollander. Some of the novices and students liked the ways of Bro. Eddie since he regularly provided them with stuffs they were craving for. It was through Bro. Eddie that respite from “dry days” became possible. Bro. Eddie frequently interrupted their own journeys through the dark night of the senses. With Bro. Eddie’s ways, there was less possibility in appreciating the whole purifying process; since interruptions could not possibly promise to bear fruit. The world of the monastic life was Kari’s choice. He became a part of an engulfing reality as it also became part of himself. The new world pressured him. He was willing and was determined to push farther than his inner resources would allow. The “Just do it!” tag became his motto. As his choice made him anticipate promising days, the monastic world provided the channels and resources for his own choices. Kari made some choices and these became the starting point for the creation of virtues and the mastery over vices and other tendencies. Virtue, on the other hand, resulted not mainly from what was resolved in his head. The virtues

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developed from the consistent and patterned ways of doing what was right or appropriate; rather than following the habitual tendencies that were formerly construed as one’s personal ways of dealing with one’s world. Virtue ethics seemed to follow this logic: It is by way of doing that being becomes. Talking the walk cannot simply substitute walking the walk. Aristotle could not agree more. But the presence of formators like Bro. Eddie confounded Kari’s understanding about Jesus’s admonition to “enter in by the narrow door” (Lk. 13:24). He had, in fact, entertained more disturbing questions: “What kind of Candlelights candidates would a Bro. Eddie, Fr. Papa, and Fr. Anthony produce?” “What kind of future would these male religious bring to Candlelights.” “How would future Candlelights members behave after being influenced by the likes of Bro. Eddie, Fr. Papa and Fr. Anthony?”

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just do it – regardless of one’s baggage

There is no need to whip oneself for one’s weakness. The best approach is to pursue virtues and indeed, “Just do it!”

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y the time the committee on selection of candidates for profession was ready to pronounce its verdict, Kari was ready to face greater challenges. One couldn’t be more forward-looking than him. Life in the novitiate had been a precious time of prolonged fine-tuning for Kari; despite the contradictions exhibited by some Candlelights veterans. The first six months of the novitiate year were the most trying. Aside from having to reckon with his fears, Kari was in constant struggle with his more common moral weaknesses. Kari never had a day without having criticized anybody or whatever there was to notice. There was always something wrong in every move the other person would take, or every single word uttered by somebody, or every bit of opinion by a fellow novice. Imperfect behavior was something that Kari could not fully tolerate. On the other hand, a perfect behavior in the other was something that made his eyes grin with envy. He would not fail to attach bad intentions to every admirable behavior of his fellow. Nothing had ever received full points from Kari. All that he seemed to desire was getting all the points and enjoying the feeling of being admired for perfection. Nevertheless, Kari’s critical mind was never translated into action. It swam inside his brain. He even suffered be-

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cause of it. He wondered why it never got off his head. It really seemed to him that bad thoughts had a life of their own. These seemed mutinous against his desire to stop uncharitable thoughts. He wanted to offer compliments or admiration for the other guy; even in the cacophony of critical howls emitting from his brain. But he simply couldn’t stop those agitating thoughts. They were like the autonomous feelings of fear which he felt surging from his body in the shower room episodes. Kari knew that those were tendencies. To complain about habitual and automatic tendencies was no use. They were already part of him. The tendencies were not only clinging to his heels. They were already part of his bloodstream or his entire system. It was only gradually that he realized that the process of healing must follow a certain pattern. There must be a process of conquest and of winning over self-destructive fears. Eventually, Kari treated them as resident gnats and bugs. To have conquered his fears, Kari had first to recognize them as his own and as something embedded in his past. But even if he realized these as part of his past, such fears still disturbed him; even if faintly. Second, he felt he should be determined to continue doing something good or productive despite his fears’ intensity; meaning, even if the fears were extremely debilitating, he had to be determined to wait because he knew they would subside. Third, Kari had recognized that the gaining of strength did not start with a show of capacity, but with a gaining of space. It was an opportunity field—some interior space he considered as his launching pad; a place inside himself which he considered healed, enlightened, and strengthened. Fourth, Kari realized that something better, something taking place, gradually came about after every form of suffering. This same pattern would be repeated and reproduced as one gained some strength over one’s vices or former habitual dispositions. There was no

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need to whip oneself for one’s weakness. The best approach was to pursue virtues and, indeed, “Just do it!” Kari was able to recognize that with his determination to wait for that space which allowed some footing and to develop the ability that allowed a virtue to take root (e.g. a strength favoring graciousness or magnanimity) came the reward of enjoying more freedom. Doing it allowed for his better judgment and proper appraisal of one’s self and the value of others. Of course, the transformation from being selfish to selfless would not happen overnight and perfectly. What Kari tasted as conversion started as some initial effort to control his limitations—by way of a triumphant indifference to negative stirrings. This attitude must have developed after having gone thru fear and anxiety overload. But the real victory came too slowly. It surely entailed a great effort in not just leaving behind his vice but also getting hold of himself to move forward; and to do something different that was the opposite of his inclinations. The real trick was in doing the opposite even if Kari was inclined to do the more familiar wrong thing. It was like faking it. If he would acquire some facility to do the opposite, his previous unwholesome inclination would begin to surrender its authority. As a priest once told him: “Fake it and you’ll make it.” Kari exerted every effort to smile to Junie even when his thoughts would be inclined to think of him as an asshole. Sometimes, he would bring himself to Fr. Papa just to be able to check his tendency to treat Fr. Papa as non-existent. Even when Kari considered each one as unpleasant nincompoop, treating everyone like a friend made some change in his outlook about other people and himself. Some might judge this act as a deception, a form of lie and slavish weakness. But for sure, it became, for Kari, a kind of art—something like “a lie that brings us nearer to the truth” (Picasso). Nevertheless, when Kari gained some strength to carry out some unfamiliar ways and did them for the sake of gain-

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ing a more wholesome habit, he gradually acquired an unfamiliar disposition. This action could even be his way of pushing the self towards recognizing one’s fellow or towards pursuing what some Christians would call as sanctity; or, for some of us, wholeness. But wait, Kari was not behaving like he was already becoming like a saint. On the contrary, he realized that the process that he was undergoing was something one endured through lifetime. There were, however, some surface victories over some symptoms of a deep-seated problem. Kari’s hidden but deep problem of having low self-esteem would be marked by some partial victories over his shyness and tentative behavior. The struggle that he faced inside him was not open to others. Every time his poverty in socialization was challenged, his stomach tightened, his shoulders stiffened, and his heart jumped like a rat. It would take a lot of effort to express himself, but Kari would always come out relieved when he realized he could do something despite his frailty. Doing something no matter how imperfectly—that was the secret. But every imperfect act…every series of imperfect acts must be repeated over and over again. If it was sustained and done with determination, it would eventually, although gradually, become a habit, a good habit—something that others call a virtue. That was a source of happiness for Kari. His whole stay in Candlelights’ novitiate had become a collection of small triumphs over his limitations. He was also convinced that life was also like a long novitiate; better yet, a very long post-novitiate life. This thought seemed to have been lost in the ways of many religious whose high expectations about themselves led them towards dejection, melancholy, and hopelessness. Candlelights life had been an exciting life for Kari. Some might even wonder how people inside the convent or the monastery could last a whole day, a whole week, or a whole

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month without the familiar excitements of ordinary everyday life of an ordinary person. No, Kari didn’t wonder. For him, everyday offered every reason to be excited. But Kari would invert the question and ask: What is it in ordinary people’s life that creates excitement? What is ordinarily exciting for ordinary people? He liked to ask the question and imagined some possible answers. For him, there are indeed ordinary people. But not all ordinary people are the same. There are ordinary but rich people. There are ordinary and poor people. So, when one asks what it is that excites ordinary people, the answer really depends whether one is rich or poor. It also depends on whether one is a rich man or poor man, rich woman or poor woman, rich homo or poor homo, rich lesbian or poor lesbian, pedophile rich man or pedophile poor man, young rich or old rich, or young poor or old poor. Excitement may depend on more personality variations: educated old poor man, educated old rich man, ambitious educated patronizing old moron, ambitious educated old matron, creative educated old retiree, highly educated unoriginal cranky old man retiree, and others. Besides, there are also rich people who are ordinary; and, there are poor people but not ordinary. Moreover, there are excitements shared by both the rich and the poor, the gay and the straight, the man and the woman. They can be had with or without money. For example, there is a good exercise, a good book, or a good sex. Some rich but ordinary people are contented with having a few sources of excitement. Usually, these are standard sources—big houses, many cars, many “friends”, cockfighting, mistresses, many connections, political career, movies, iPad, and a 25,000.00-peso Blackberry phone. That’s just for the man. The woman may also have a big house, many cars, many “friends”, mahjong schedules, dance instructor, liposuction, charity work, soap opera, and a muscular driver. The not-so-ordinary people may have more reason to get excited.

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There are more things that make life more exciting for them. To mention a few—for the rich: bungee-jumping, scuba diving, group sex, wife swapping, cocaine, creating an NGO, getting a Ph.D., AC-DC sex life, a vibrator, incest, Ecstasy, a Fr. Damaso, a private jet, a million-dollar horse, a $25,000.00 (1.2M pesos) Vertu Ascent Ferrari 60 mobile phone, a $27,000 (1.3M pesos) Zegna suit, or suicide. For the poor: shabu, gangster life, robbery, scholarship, joining a labor union, joining the NDF or the NPA, goat’s eye, si Ma’am, a second-hand mobile phone, or running away with a domestic helper. Indeed, life for the many becomes exciting or meaningful because of such things, pursuits, and struggles for distinction and recognition. In truth, the monastic or seminary life did not offer too many options for the individual desires of the ordinary rich man, or ordinary poor man, or ordinary rich young man, or ordinary poor young man, or even the ordinary average, or even the average ordinary. With the resources, procedures, obligations, and schedules provided by the monastery, one could not hope to satisfy one’s cravings for the usual excitement. What used to be available was not part of the monastery’s offer of what was available and feasible. One’s “gimmicks” (a.k.a. good time or gratifying activities) may therefore be relegated to one’s past; although, yearnings for such gimmicks are already in one’s heart and are felt day after day. The Candlelights monastic life, however, did provide much opportunities for gimmicks. If one was not ordinary— like cobra-hunting or observing how cats behave in front of a king cobra. Not too many people were given that rare opportunity to watch a cobra challenged by half-a-dozen felines. It was just one of those ordinary noondays of feeding cats in front of an unoccupied hermitage. Actually, Kari enjoyed his daily routine of having six cats following him from the place where he mixed their lunch up to the hut where their feeding bowls were kept dry. They used to race in front of him as he

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intentionally delayed every trip. His right hand was grasping the tin can that held their feast. Their hunger calls would increase as they approached their destination. That day, Kari took their feeding bowls and placed them on the ground, two yards from the hut. They got into their places around the two large bowls as Kari slowly emptied the can of mélange of leftovers from the monks’ luncheon fare. The cats quickly approached their feast. Kari took his seat on the hut’s stairs as the agitated creatures feasted on the rations. Just as soon as he rested his butt on a rung, the cats stopped eating—their heads raised and their eyes glued to a single place. They were watching a snake slowly zigzagging its way past the pack. Then as if following a command, the cats trooped very slowly towards the snake and formed a semi-circle three feet away from what was transformed into a combat-ready cobra. With its raised head, the cobra’s neck expanded like a fan and its mouth spurted sounds like jets of air released from a fullyloaded air compressor. It was a spectacular drama of exchanges of threats and intimidation between the protagonists. The cats were more calm and calculating. The cobra was swaying its upper body—side-to-side, left to right, then right to left. The cobra suddenly jabbed its head towards a cat that strayed nearer. The cats, however, were half-hearted in their approach. After ten seconds of sizing up its tentative-looking enemies, the cobra gracefully lowered its head and decided to make a speedy retreat. The cats did not bother to follow. They decided instead to concentrate on their lunch—more mouth-watering for them than an inedible cobra. Kari’s heart was pounding as he ran through the hut’s veranda towards the window facing the creek. From there, he saw the snake slithered onto the nearby stream. He quickly lifted the tin can he was holding and threw it into the snake’s direction. Kari hit its back, and, it groaned. He was sure he hit the middle of its back. What a lucky strike! It groaned like it was being pushed hard on the ground. It groaned like a septuagenarian

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male complaining of pain from an arthritic spasm. But it regained control and retreated farther. The tin can did not cause damage as the snake doubled its speed and disappeared in the bushes on the stream’s banks. Kari did not retrieve the tin can. He imagined the cobra waiting for him behind the bushes. There were other things enjoyed by Kari as he discovered exciting gimmicks in the monastery; like discovering how to last a whole day in front of pigs, seeing the effect of trying one’s best not to speak a single word the whole day or the whole week, knowing what life without a woman in sight could do or not do to one’s head or to one’s appreciation of the guy next to you, trying to make sense of the company of assholes who are not your siblings, or figuring out the meaning of Fr. Anthony’s act of flushing newly-born kittens in the toilet bowl. These scenes formed Kari’s graceful, even graceless, experience during postulancy and novitiate years (his theological years were entirely different). But there was one sure thing. Inside the monastery, everyone was expected to fit into the customary monastic life. When one was willing to really enter into it, the monastery could somehow burn a person’s interior rubbish and rip off the self of unwanted habitual dispositions in many exciting, even if painful, ways. Kari felt purged from some impurities. He had gained inner strength without even having planned for it.

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simple profession

A sudden turnaround from a “normal life” did good to her; but not good for her cancer cells’ growth.

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ethodius, Junie, Tony, and Kari were accepted for the simple profession of vows. Aldrin left the novitiate before the selection committee’s deliberation. He was too agitated to explain to the rest of the novices why he had to leave. “I have to leave, I just don’t think it’s my time yet. I can’t force myself without making my commitment to Candlelights a lie. I really have to say I’m not ready yet.” Aldrin’s voice was trembling. “Aldrin, don’t you worry. We know you are truthful about your feelings. We are all behind you.” Junie spoke for the group. It was not easy for Aldrin to make that decision. What he merely said was that it was not yet his moment. The other novices, including Kari, also felt they were not fully ready for something bigger than the novitiate. In fact, they still wanted to stay as novices even for another year, or more years. They had realized that the formation inside the monastery was something special. It directly addressed their need to further strengthen the foundation of their desire to follow Jesus. But the formal novitiate year was over. The program merely assumed that the novices were ready for the next phase, that is, the profession of vows. Their profession to simple vows was scheduled on a Sunday. Kari’s parents, his brother and his parents’ adopted

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son came to attend the celebration. Kari’s parents were visibly overjoyed. And they were wearing their newly-gained distinctions. His mother was wearing brown and his father came with a medal pinned on his barong’s collar. Because he was a Candlelight, Kari’s mother became a member of the Candlelights Tertiary Order. His father became an active member of the parish both as a Knight of Columbus and as a lay minister. The parents of his co-professed could not come because of the great distance between Manila and Surigao. There were, of course, scores of visitors. There were the active members of the local church. They had become close to Candlelights because of the daily masses made open to the public. Most of them were the manang (elder women) of the barrio. Except for a few, most of them were senior female citizens. They had been endlessly congratulating Kari’s parents. His father and his mother must have felt they had become the center of the celebration. Their upper and lower lips were already quivering with fatigue from over-smiling. Kari’s mother approved of Kari’s appearance in a brown habit. She believed the habit’s sacral origin; something handed down by the celestial powers that oversee human affairs. The habit was thus not only packed with mystery but also with supernatural powers. From its source came a promise that could not have come from Divisoria. It was not an ordinary stuff from which common energy emanated. Mrs. Rivera firmly believed in its extraordinary qualities that could transform Kari into a saintly person who would be assigned to direct a world back into its forgotten divine origin and destiny. “Kari, congratulations!” A retired lady approached him. “Alam mo, kamukha mo talaga si Willie Nepomuceno.” (“You know, you really look like Willie Nepomuceno.”) “Ha!? Hindi pala halata na hindi ako si Kari!” (“Wow! I didn’t know I really looked like Kari.”) Kari reciprocated her joke on him.

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“Wow, Kari, tinud-anay na gyud ha? Congrats.” Tina took Kari’s right hand and offered her right cheek for a light cheek-to-cheek greeting. He introduced her to his parents. “Pa, Ma, this is Tina. Sya tung akong ginaistoraya sa inyoha nga naay brain tumor unya nawala sukad pag-balik niya diri sa barrio.” (“She’s the lady I was telling you about…the one with the brain tumor that disappeared when she came back to the barrio.”) They exchanged pleasantries and continued talking about the “miracle” that happened to Tina. Mrs. Rivera was very eager to hear Tina’s story. Tina felt she had to share her story. It was like sharing a very good news—something like a story taken straight from the Gospel. Tina’s narration did sound like words of salvation to Mrs. Rivera’s ears. “You know, ma’am, I was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor—three cm. diameter. They gave me six months to live. My oncologist no longer suggested for an operation since the tumor affected an important part of my brain. It was highly probable that a surgical procedure might send me into a vegetative state. And I didn’t submit to chemotherapy. I thought it would just give me 6 months remission or less, and then back to square one. So, I resigned from my job, I went home and decided to spend the last months of my life with my parents who live nearby. “After several months, everyone around me noticed something different. I gained weight, looked more pink, and became more sprightly and vigorously involved in every local parish activity. I was rather surprised by those changes. So, I consulted my doctor who suggested for another CT scan. I was shocked to learn that the medical tests showed no signs of tumor. The cancerous growth could no longer be traced! “The results made me looked idiotic or crazy. I was so overjoyed that I screamed and screamed and embraced my doctor, the secretary, and the security guard of the clinic. I was still crying when the doctor reminded me that the growth

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could recur if I insist on going back to my former busy lifestyle which separated me from my parents and siblings, and from the fresh air and vegetables of our barrio.” “Praise the Lord, Tina! He really granted you that miracle of healing. God is so kind!” Kari’s mother exulted with Tina’s story. “Yes, I thank the Lord for His mercy. I realized that what I was doing did not do good to my health. And the ‘miracle’ that happened was my re-integration, back into my family, my original social, herbal, and spiritual environments.” “Maayo gyud diay kay nakabalik ka diri sa inyo no. Kung nagpadayon ka sa trabaho nimo madayonan gyud ka.” (“It’s really good that you went back to your family and your birthplace. If you stayed on your job, you could have died already.”) Mr. Rivera understood what Tina meant by the “miracle” that was effected by her change of environment and lifestyle. Tina used to work as an accountant in a multinational firm devoted to the exportation of banana and pineapple to North America, Europe, Middle East, Japan, Korea, Singapore, and Taiwan. She was assistant to the firm’s head accountant. Still single, she made her office almost her home. She rarely went home to visit her family who lived near Candlelights, 80 km. away from her office. She worked at an average of 13 hours per day; including Saturdays. She rarely cooked. For breakfast, she would take coffee, bread and butter or margarine. For her lunch, she would buy from the mobile food dealers who sold more meat dishes than vegetables. For her supper, she would go either to a small restaurant near her rented apartment or buy take-out meals from some mobile food stalls. When she got to her place, she would go directly to the bathroom for a shower. She would go to bed with her rosary. She would not pray the rosary though. She just clutched it until she would fall asleep. She would wake up at six and rush for the office. On weekends, she would attend to her laundry. Once a month or every two months, she

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would visit her parents. On other weekends, she would prefer to stay in her apartment to watch her VCD movies. This style was her life…her routine for the whole week, for the whole month, and for the whole year. For more than 15 years, this routine was her kind of life. This must be that kind of life which produced the abnormally growing cells in her body. A sudden turnaround from this kind of life did good to her; not good for her cancer cells’ growth, though. Her renewed contact and more warm relations with her family signaled to her body the release of hormones possibly useful in the rejuvenation of her immune system. It must have enabled her to battle against malignant tumors. Her intake of raw foods (guava, avocado, pomelo, kalamansi, buko, marang, langka, atis, mango, banana, makopa, dalandan, sineguelas, durian, mangosteen), fresh salads and vegetables (like pako, mushrooms, camote tops, malunggay, ampalaya, okra, saluyot, pechay, carrots, singkamas, eggplant, sigarilyas, peanuts, string beans, bataw, patani, kondol, patola, upo, kalabasa, raddish, lettuce, onion, tomato, garlic, ginger, and sesame seeds), and her occasional sip of the local liquor tuba (fermented juice from the coconut blossom), actually helped produce the “miracle.” All of these, by the way, were harvested from her family’s backyard garden and a modest three-hectare farm. But the most important ingredient to her recovery was her integration into the family’s cottage industry—the production of virgin coconut oil and vinegar from sugar cane and a local fruit called duhat. This work did not require her to be separated from her family. Her needs for food, clothing and shelter did not give her reasons to be separated from her loved ones. Mr. and Mrs. Rivera had much to wonder about Tina’s “miraculous” cure. The following morning, all the postulants gathered around Kari who was waiting for his ride for the airport. The rest of the newly-professed took different flight schedules. They gathered inside the gazebo, while leisurely enjoying

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some pomelo. “O, Kari, damihan mo ng kain at mahal sa Maynila ang suha. Mahigit kaya 100 pesos ang kilo nito doon.” (“C’mon Kari, take more pomelo, this is already expensive in Manila; this costs 100 pesos a kilo.”) Gary, a postulant from Manila, gave Kari half of the fruit. “Akina nga…nagpaalam ba kayo kay Fr. Papa?” (“Gimme some…but have you asked permission from Fr. Papa?”) “Wala siya dyan, at saka hindi ko naman pinitas yan. Galing yan sa ref. Pati ba naman yan ipinagdadamot pa?” (“He’s not around; and besides we took it from the refrigerator. Would he still deny us this small thing?”) “Ay naku, kayo talaga, dapat malaman nyo na lahat ng bagay dito ay hindi ninyo puwedeng pakialaman nang walang paalam.” (“You should know that you have to ask permission before you touch anything.”) “Oo nga naman, Gary. Di ba kasama ’yan sa obedience?” (“Right Gary. Is that not part of obedience?”) “Hindi, uy, poverty yan!” (“No, that’s part of poverty.”) “Ha, ha, ha, chastity yata.” (“Ha, ha, ha, no, it’s probably chastity.” Kari was enjoying this carefree exchange with the postulants. While they carried on with their snacks, a cobra slowly revealed its head from a hole under the gazebo’s stairs. It saw nothing blocking its way and so it slowly came out into the open, then quickly slithered towards the direction of the monastery. “Cobra! Cobra!” Gary cried frantically as he pointed at the moving reptile. “Dali, kuha ng pamalo!” (“Get a stick, fast!”) Before somebody from the group could move, the cook was already there with a long pole in hand. He hit the cobra mercilessly with just a couple of whacks. It was still wiggling its last strength when the group gathered around it. “Naku, mabuti na lang hindi ako bumaba, no? Baka nakagat

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ako nyan.” (“ ’Twas good I didn’t go down. I could have been bitten.”) Gary was visibly disturbed, his face turned pale. He gaped at the lifeless body of the snake. Kari gave him this warning: “Gary, mag-ingat ka. Kasi, yang mga cobra na yan ay may photographic film sa loob ng kanilang mga mata. Nakatatak doon ang mga mukha ng huli nilang nakitang tao bago sila mamatay. Isa ka sa mga mukhang ’yon. Pag nasilip’yan ng kanyang asawa o kaya nanay, hahanapin niya yong mukha ng mga pumatay sa kanya. Ako, aalis na…e ikaw dito pa, kaya mag-ingat ka.” (“Gary, be careful. Snakes have films inside their eyes where faces of their tormentors are etched before they die. Their partners or mothers will be able to see their killers through these films and will pursue them relentlessly. I’m leaving soon, but you will stay, so be careful.”) The postulants were clearly affected by that tale, especially Gary, who decided to deliver the coup de grâce. He crushed the head of the dead cobra and made sure that its eyes were reduced to pulp.

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student life It is a wonder to see through creations of history that the soil had to adapt to the houses instead of the houses be made and suited to the local soil.

After a year of novitiate, the four simple-professed reli-

gious (Junie, Methodius, Tony, and Kari) were sent to Manila for their academic formation. Bro. Bobby and Art returned to Manila Students’ House to continue with their theological studies. Fr. Greg took an assignment in the Manila parish maintained by the Candlelights. Aside from Junie, Methodius, Tony, and Kari, there were senior seminarians in the Students’ House: Bro. Rev, Bro. Ralph, Bro. Pixie, Bro. Toto, Bro. Fernan, Bro. Nonie, and Bro. Tom. Fr. Ronnie, the Student Master, escorted Kari to his assigned room. An American Candlelight and a contemporary of Fr. Anthony, Fr. Ronnie had spent twenty years of his life in the Philippines. Five of those twenty years were spent in the students’ formation house. “Kari, as you know, this stage of your formation is called the theologate of your seminary years. You might be wondering why your studies start with philosophy. That is because the theology program we follow is designed for students who finished non-philosophy courses. Those who come directly from college seminaries, like Methodius, will already enter theology without the one-year introduction to philosophy.

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“Two of us are assigned as full-time formators in this seminary. While our main task is the supervision of students, we also serve as ministers of the shrine-church. Every Sunday, you will be assigned to assist as communion giver in one or two masses. Once you have formed your choir group, you may also provide music for a Sunday mass. Sundays here in Candlelights are actually very busy days. Novitiate Sundays are more quiet than seminary Sundays, you know.” “That’s all right, Father. I’ll be able to adjust to the seminary life. It’s just a matter of time. I understand that our priority is our studies.” “Right. Apostolate is secondary. You will have your hands full once you become a priest. So, you better study while you are still given ample time for it. Most priests miss those days when they were free to spend reading a good book, you know.” “I surely will take advantage of that opportunity given to us.” “Yes, you should; and, enjoy it too. In case you need some help, Fr. Greg is already assigned here, and Fr. Mark, our Provincial Superior, they are here to assist you in your philosophy and theology lessons. They are our Ph.D. holders in this seminary, you know.” “Okay, Father, I need their competence.” “Good. Take a rest. The house schedule is over there.” He pointed to a list posted on a wall. “In case you need me, I’m on the fourth floor, exactly the first room. By the way, Fr. Mark will see you tomorrow morning. Catch him when he takes his breakfast with us. Okay?” “All right, Father. Thank you.” “And one more thing, Kari. One of our couples in the parish Charismatic group would like to meet you, the new students. We are invited tomorrow for dinner. They live nearby. Sister Barbie, that’s the name of the parish leader’s wife, cooks well. She promised to serve us her specialty, arroz

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valenciana, among others. Be ready at six tomorrow evening. The driver’s coming over to fetch us.” “Okay, Father, thanks.” Fr. Ronnie made a thumbs-up sign as he left Kari for his office. Kari’s estimation of Fr. Greg was magnified by the information about his academic qualification. In Kari’s eyes, Fr. Greg is the model of a true teacher—one who does what he knows. Kari recalled the Confucian saying: “He who knows, does; he who does not know, teaches.” And the French version: “Qui plus sait, plus se tait.” The more a man knows, the less he talks. The students’ house was a four-storey building sprawling next to a huge church located in a large Metro Manila millionaires’ subdivision. The area, however, was dotted with some squatter colonies—along the bank of the thrash-filled river, on foul-smelling creeks, and in low swampy grounds. Those are sites discarded by the wealthy; sites they neither liked to occupy nor liked to be occupied by squatters. The issue of demolition of shanties was always one that preoccupied the squatters and their sympathizers from the NGOs. It was a real wonder for the sympathizers why the wealthy homeowners would drive out the squatters from places they had discarded and which were clearly not interesting areas for them to occupy. There was apparently another issue at hand: The millionaire homeowners didn’t like to have the squatters at their spitting and smelling distance. Besides, millionaires and squatters are not meant to be mixed in a distinctive place like the millionaires’ subdivision. This is a common wisdom of an orderly society. Squatters to their slums, and millionaires to their posh villages. The millionaire homeowners were the same homeowners who would also contribute to the funds of the Candlelights seminary. Irony of ironies, they would contribute funds to support seminarians who would work in favor of the

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squatters’ interests. It was in the squatter areas that Kari and the other seminarians would spend their apostolate: organizing choir groups, theater groups, prayer groups, bible study groups, community-based health groups, and parish support groups. The seminarians were therefore seen by the squatters as their allies. The priests, who were more present to the rich, were generally considered by the poor to be so remote to them. The whole seminary house had thirty small habitable rooms and seven larger common rooms that included the dining room, recreation room, toilet and shower rooms on every floor, library, visitors’ room, and the chapel. Kari was lodged on the fourth floor which was about two-or-three minutes’ walk away from the chapel. His room, or the room assigned to him, was not spacious. It was smaller than his room in Candlelights Monastery in Surigao; no bigger than 20 square-meters. It was just enough for simple activities: praying, reading, writing, playing the guitar, and sleeping. This room was next to the one previously occupied by Bro. Pixie who voluntarily left after four years of seminary life. He left without even saying goodbye to his fellow seminarians. Kari figured out that Bro. Pixie was rather unusually depressed to be able to face even his friends among the students. But maybe he was acting his character. Kari saw him one week before he left. The Student Master requested Kari to bring him food; so he came to his room with his supper. He was down with fever. He acted disturbed and Kari reached out to his forehead to feel his temperature. Bro. Pixie made a sudden jerk, shifted his position, to avoid Kari’s hand. This action took Kari by surprise and he had to withdraw himself. He stared at Bro. Pixie who bowed his head and folded his arms as if trying to keep the warmth that still remained in his own body. A shiny Rolex watch on Bro. Pixie’s right hand caught Kari’s attention. Bro. Pixie adjusted

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his arms and belatedly covered the Rolex watch with his left hand. Kari’s eyes moved from the watch to Bro. Pixie’s bowed head and back to the watch. Kari still made an effort to reach out to him. “O, Pixie, kumain ka na. Kailangan mo ng lakas.” (“Pixie, don’t forget to take your meal. You need energy.”) He made a slow retreat and left Bro. Pixie alone in his room which until then Kari did not notice was so gloomy and reeking with nicotine and hospital-like odor. Somehow, Kari managed to make his room brighter with colorful drapes and some brightly designed calendar and a couple of frames—one was a picture of his parents’ adopted son while the other was St. Augustine’s picture. Kari had his own bathroom; minus the toilet bowl. He liked his room because it faced the east and the big Shrine Church of the congregation. From this place he could see almost every car and every person coming in. Each time he left his room, Kari would look out of his window to check if there were interesting movements outside the house. Once, he saw one of the young boys from the nearby squatter area pulling one of the door handles of the parked cars. Apparently, the boy just tried his luck on the car-owners’ forgetfulness. Sometimes when they chanced upon an unlocked door, they could run away with the car’s tools or radio. The previous week, Kari learned that a senior citizen’s pack of medicines was stolen from an open car. Obviously, the thief didn’t intend to steal the medicines because the pack was soon found on the side of a road nearby, its contents left untouched. A young scoundrel must have been the perpetrator since he was not able to think of ways of using the medicines or converting them to cash. The hallway outside Kari’s room was always dark and smelled like a damp closet. People and things did not seem to blend into this architectural monstrosity designed with centralized air-conditioning facilities. For some reasons, the air-

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conditioning plans were shelved. But the original design was still kept; that is, the place was enclosed and lacking ventilation. That was why the place smelled ancient all the time. As Kari negotiated through this hallway, he thought it must have been designed for the white medieval monks coming from Europe; and not for brown Filipinos used to Manila’s heat and humidity. Europeans and Americans (and Filipinos who imitate them) are known for this: Their foreign habits or dispositions get ahead of their plans and schedules even if these do not fit into the local situations or native dispositions. Some of the seminarians did not even know why there were non-functional centralized vents in their rooms. They just assumed these were one of the architect’s aesthetic expressions. Kari thought of this vent as a sort of “mindless creation” or a creation of a mind detached from reality. Perhaps the foreign monks had literally translated Jesus’s words: “My Kingdom is not of this world.” That must be why they created a house which was “out of this world.” But Kari thought further and realized that most houses of the rich around the parish and in most cities in the Philippines were houses of stone resembling structures suited for colder climates. Instead of maximizing wind breeze for ventilation and the sun for light, such houses are veritable energy guzzlers with their ill-fitted air conditioners and electric lights. These transplanted European or American structures did suck nonrenewable resources out of the power sources that were meant to serve more people. Just one of those inventions that were meant to serve people inevitably harmed people too, including their environment. It is a wonder for Kari to see through such creations of history that the soil had to adapt to the houses instead of the houses be made and suited to the local soil. Perhaps, houses are representations of their foreign occupants who see themselves as the masters and exploiters of soils. Kari called to mind the books he read which told stories of foreigners’ dominance and their stupidities: Chinua

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Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, Alex Haley’s Roots, Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible, and, of course, Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere. That day, Kari unthinkingly let loose his naturally critical and suspicious disposition. Kari’s new status and his new environment seemed to have stimulated those otherwise hibernating dendrites of criticism which were never pruned away by the monastery’s novitiate life.

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philosophy The older Philosophers have become his mind’s senior boarders.

Inside the refectory, Kari spotted Fr. Mark, the Father

Provincial of the Candlelights Congregation. “Good morning, Fr. Mark.” “Good morning, Kari. How are you?” “I’m fine, Father. Thank you. Fr. Ronnie told me to report to you.” “Yes, that’s right. Take your breakfast.” “I’m okay. I’ve just finished my coffee and toast.” “In that case, let’s go to my office. No class yet, huh?” “Two days more, Father.” Fr. Mark downed a glass of water and signaled Kari to go with him upstairs. Fr. Mark’s room also served as his office. Nothing was added in it except an extra chair for a visitor. Kari took this chair as Fr. Mark sat down and opened Kari’s files on the opposite end of the table. “Kari, your real initiation into academic life will be the one-year philosophy as introductory to your theology program. I believe that philosophy will challenge you to become a more disciplined and systematic learner and thinker. It will hone further your ability to write logically and pursue your arguments about some issues or questions in a more organized way. Your studies during your college days were a bit more simple compared to this philosophy program. Brilliance, however, cannot guarantee success in philosophy.

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Motivation and determination will be your main weapons. I’m sure those qualities are in you. We saw that in your Novitiate.” “Thanks, Father. With your help, I will be able to profit much from philosophy.” “I’m sure, Kari, I’m sure. Remember that your theological studies will be more fruitful if you have a good background in philosophy. Don’t ever think that philosophy is just one of those things to hurdle before theology. Theology itself is very much supported by philosophy. The best approach to philosophy is to already consider it as part of theology. The problem with some seminarians, actually many seminarians, is that they think schooling is just a step to hurdle. They don’t know that schooling is also one of the many components of a good education, which, of course, includes the constant process of knowing oneself and one’s limitations.” “I will remember that, Father. Please, if you don’t mind, I will be consulting you about some topics which are too difficult for me.” “You are most welcome, Kari. In case you don’t know, Fr. Greg is also the man to consult about academics.” “I know, Father. I’m happy both of you are around.” “If you need other things, Fr. Ronnie will take care of them. I wish you a very fruitful academic year, Kari. Enjoy your studies and don’t forget to loosen up a bit. One can’t continue high-strung all the time.” “Thanks for that reminder, Father.” “I’m keeping my own readings here in my room. As you can see I’m also into philosophy—hermeneutics is my line. Have your heard of Ricoeur and of Gadamer?” “Yes, Father. They’re the favorites of Bible scholars. I’ve read about them in the Novitiate.” “Reading about them is different from reading their works. Once you get into them, feel free to take out some of

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my collections.” Fr. Mark stood up and reached for a thin volume. “Start with this short Interpretation Theory of Ricoeur.” He handed Kari a thin book. “There, you might as well start right now.” “Thanks, Father. This is exciting, more exciting than challenging. I’ve read authors write about Ricoeur’s style as more elegant than that of Gadamer.” “Well, ‘elegance’ is in the eyes of the reader. Ha, ha, ha! See it for yourself. And don’t hesitate to approach me if you want to discuss something.” “Okay, Father. I can’t wait to tackle my first Ricoeur.” “Good. But wait…listen here, Kari. I might be belaboring this point, but I really want you to bear this in mind. Student life is different from novitiate life. Novices are closely supervised. They are always under the eyes of several formators. Schedules are customary and the liturgy of the hours strictly followed. Besides, the novitiate monastery’s cloister really functioned as a constant control over movements and that helped maintain a novice’s discipline. Here in the theologate, you are given more opportunity and freedom to leave the house. The cloister here, you will discover, will be shattered by school and apostolate schedules. Make use of that freedom. Use it for more wholesome purpose. Some will not be able to handle that freedom that they enjoy. I tell you, it will be the beginning of your downfall if you can’t put a handle to your freedom. I’m telling you this in spite of my trust in your drive and discipline.” “Thanks again, Fr. Mark. I need those reminders. Who knows what will happen to me if my ‘discipline’ will be surprised by so many things?” “Right, we are all unpredictable, you know.” Fr. Mark grabbed another reading material, Sexuality and Culture, an inter-disciplinary journal of sexual behavior and culture. He opened to a page and showed an article to Kari. “Here, Kari, I want you to read this. I found this ex-

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tremely helpful even if its level of difficulty is intimidating. Don’t stop if you find its language somewhat cryptic. The author’s also into philosophy and the social sciences. This article has helped me tremendously in my understanding of freedom and our social environment. I’m sure this article will be handy as you discover many things around you.” Fr. Mark’s eyes became wider as he handed the material to Kari. As soon as Kari stepped outside Fr. Mark’s office, he became intrigued by the Provincial’s last words. What could be those things around him which he would soon discover? He looked at the cover of the journal he held in his hand. Just how helpful would this article be when “those things” would be right in his face already? Kari’s head shifted to wondering mode which could not but produce furrows in his brows. In their casual attires, Fr. Ronnie and the rest of the students were fetched from the seminary by a black Ford E120. It was around 6:30 p.m.—time for dinner. A road separated the seminary and the Verdant Heights subdivision where Sister Barbie lived. Their house stood on a 6,000 square meter lot that was adjacent to a property owned by a popular movie actress. A couple of security guards opened the gates. A young man in waiter’s attire ushered the group into the house. The Candelights were the only guests for the evening. “Father Ronnie, how nice of you to come. Welcome.” Barbie was in a simple evening gown; but her face was festively highlighted with deeply-blackened well-trimmed brows, fluttering extended eyelashes, and thickly colored blood-red lips. Her flowing tousled black hair obviously competed with Angelina Jolie’s locks. “Good evening, Barbie.” Fr. Ronnie exchanged cheekto-cheek greetings. Some of Barbie’s scent planted on the face of Fr. Ronnie whose nostrils’ movements gave away some hints of reaction to a minor assault.

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“Fr. Ronnie, good evening.” Brother Rex, Barbie’s husband, looked younger with his black formal outfit. He was all smiles as he nodded endlessly to everyone. “Good evening Rex. Thanks again for inviting us.” Fr. Ronnie clasped Rex’s right hand and exchanged more obligatory mutual pleasantries. “Rex, Barbie, meet our new students, Kari, Junie, Methodius, and Tony.” “Pleased to meet all of you.” Rex and Barbie fully displayed their sparkling well-maintained teeth. With extraordinary animation, Barbie bussed the seminarians with her blushed-on cheeks. “Please, come, follow us to the garden. Dinner will be served in a little while. The kids are not with us tonight. They went to the Cultural Center to watch Cecille Licad’s concert.” Their house, a European-styled mansion, looked so foreign and alien. The huge garage enclosed eight vehicles which included various models of BMW cars, a couple of Ford SUVs, and a Ford E120 van. A crimson Jaguar caught everyone’s eyes. Kari’s and Methodius’s eyes exchanged hundreds of discreet expressions which they alone could understand. Inside the house, the color of gold was everywhere. Even the chandeliers had warm golden glow on them. It reminded the students of the rooms of Burj al Arab of Dubai which normally cost $4,000.00 a night. The previous day, they watched a documentation on the Burj on the National Geographic channel. The European carpets, gilded furniture, and costly paintings that furnished Barbie’s place screamed of opulence just like the Burj. The living room showcased several Amorsolo, Manansala, and even an original Miró. A 14th century Belgian tapestry covered a whole 4 meters x 6 meters wall. It depicted a countryside life—women washing along a riverside, little boys frolicking nearby against the background of a village and a huge Church with distinctively-shaped belfry taking a prominent place. Barbie was so proud of this acquisition. She recounted how they brought it straight from Antwerp.

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“We were on our second honeymoon, when we found a similar one displayed in one of the shops in Bruges. We were shopping for the renowned hand-made Bruges lace but a huge tapestry attracted our attention. We wanted to buy it but the owner said it was just one of their decorations. He directed us instead to a large art shop in Antwerp. We were so excited. Rex and I went to this Antwerp shop which had its own atelier producing hand-woven Belgian tapestries. We bought what was their available largest tapestry that day. The owner said that they could make hand-woven tapestries like those in display in the Vatican Museum—8 meters x 12 meters size! Wow! If we only had time to wait, we could have brought one for the house. That place over there [pointing to the wall opposite the garden] would have been its appropriate place. It was not that expensive. This 4x6 meter tapestry cost us only P350,000.00; a dollar was then exchanged for only P36.00. Today, a size like this is being sold for more than P800,000.00 pesos already. The 8 meters x 12 meters then was only P1.5 M. Today it would fetch as high as P4 M. What a pity, we were not able to bring one. But this 4 meter x 6 meter here is quite large for a handmade tapestry. I don’t think there are many of these in the Philippines. You know, Father Ronnie, so many so-called Belgian tapestries are sold now in Greenhills; but they are the machine-woven ones. They look very predictable and their colors are so drab and the images look lifeless. We Catholics are so lucky to have the most collections of genuine Belgian tapestries in the Vatican. God is really good. He didn’t allow these kinds of treasure to land in the hands of businessmen with only profit-making in their minds. Hundreds of antique tapestries are displayed in the Vatican collections to show us how beautiful our faith is.” Barbie’s eyes glowed with extraordinary sparkle while she narrated this tale. Rex constantly nodded his head with every point his wife made. What really caught Kari’s attention was the collection of

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three Stradivarius violins and a cello placed inside a Czechoslovakian glass casing beside a high-end model Yamaha grand piano. He marveled at the probable musicality of those who dwelled in the house. He learned that Barbie’s children studied piano and violin in Austria. They are also members of one of the choir groups of the parish—the one handled by Bro. Ralph. The new students were obviously swamped by the wealth and variety of accoutrements in their faces. Figurines from Zaire, huge vases from Macau, draperies from Budapest, and the marble floor from Tennessee. Even the decorative indoor plants like orchids were sourced from Bangkok. Tulips of various colors were imported from Keukenhof and the decorative bamboos from Osaka. “’Tol, ganito siguro ang bahay ni Herodes, ano?” (“Bro., Herod’s house must be like this?”) Kari whispered to Methodius. “’Tol, hindi siguro. Baka bahay ng Pope. Ha, ha, ha, ha.” Methodius’s giggled like a toddler. Although there were too many loads of irony in this remark, Methodius’s reaction appeared more like merriment than sarcasm. Barbie and Rex saw Methodius, in his boyish ways, as a most charming seminarian. Rex kept on nodding his head as he glanced at Methodius’s continuing “enjoyment.” Kari’s head was gradually populated by the images of Herod, Pope Alexander VI, the 1917 Czar of Russia, King Louis XVI, Imelda Marcos. Would he imagine the faces of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, her husband, and cohorts, if Kari was introduced to Barbie and Rex today? Maybe. The garden, which occupied more than half of the entire property was another breathtaking view. Two Labradors, a Golden Retriever, and a tiny Yorkshire terrier awaited the group. Barbie immediately reached for the Yorkie. “These two Labs are my children’s pets, Tootsie and Britney. The Retriever is Brutus, Rex’s love, and this is my… O my sweetie darling. Methodius, meet my beautiful Lola. I

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call her Lola because she is so grand in her looks. Isn’t she gorgeous, Methodius? My grandmother was such a grand mother.” Methodius was so surprised with the man-to-canine introduction. Back in his place, dogs had no chance to get introduced to people. They just roamed the streets; tasting everything including shit. He didn’t know how to react but just cheese-smiled to Lola who could not stop licking at Barbie’s cheeks. The uniqueness of the garden could not be mistaken. It was a virtual wilderness. The flora and fauna seemed to have been extracted from a Brazilian jungle. Frogs, large lizards, and small tropical turtles littered the whole place. Who knows if there were snakes in there? The nocturnal din from other creatures seemed to join Rex and Barbie in welcoming Fr. Ronnie’s group. The new students were doubly amazed by what they saw. “Incredible!” was Junie’s expression. Tony, however, didn’t seem to have seen much. No reaction; or just the usual disinterested sedate face of a person who has not heard much in his life. Rex and Barbie served aperitif with Spanish sherry and assorted finger foods like home-made celery cookies, pickled Turkish cucumber, Mexican tortilla, Italian salami pancetta and Milano, Hawaiian macadamian biscuits, topped with either caviar, mozzarella cheese, blue cheese, or feta cheese. The sherry and the exquisite finger foods finely stimulated the students’ nostrils, palate, and stomach. “’Tol, para tayong mga bisita ng hari nito, ah.” (“Bro., we’re like the king’s guests.”) Kari whispered to Methodius. “’Tol, mga alipin kamo ng hari. Pinapataba bago pugutan ng ulo, he he he.” (“No, Bro., we’re slaves of the king. Fattened to be beheaded, he, he, he.”) The dinner consisted of a Mediterranean dish of charcoal-grilled lamb chops with asparagus and steamed Norwegian salmon with buttered leek and spinach and toasted garlic. It was crowned by Barbie’s arroz Valenciana specialty—

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topped with first class tahong (mussel) from Cavite. Everyone got inebriated by bottles of Champagne and the 1965 St. Emilión red wine. Dessert was poached peach in a special Windsor sweet-and-sour syrup, dark chocolate moist cake, and Himalayan coffee. Fr. Ronnie preferred his coffee in espresso preparation. This was later capped with Hennessy XB Cognac and a piano piece from Barbie. Barbie’s interpretation of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata had everyone, except Bro. Tony and Methodius, mesmerized. Tony and Methodius were already falling asleep. Methodius had four glasses of wine and four shots of cognac. Tony must have consumed a similar quantity. His face looked like an overriped strawberry. Everyone was merrily commenting on their boozy slumber. Rex and Barbie were visibly elated by the stupid looks in their visitors’ eyes and the sounds of tipsy voices from Fr. Ronnie and the seminarians. They were all dreamy and their abdomens seemed to pull them down towards the earth. When they got into the Ford E120 van, Kari couldn’t repress a comment, “Fr. Ronnie, di ba gluttony ang pinagawa sa atin?” (“Wasn’t that gluttony that was done to us, Fr. Ronnie?”) “Hoy, Kari, praise the Lord nga dapat. Pasalamat tayo at nabiyayaan tayo ngayong gabi. Ha, ha, ha,…” (“Hey, Kari, just praise the Lord. Thank Him for our blessings tonight.”) Bro. Bobby’s voice carried a natural naughtiness to it. Everyone was amused; including Fr. Ronnie. When they came into the Students’ House, Fr. Ronnie didn’t go directly to his 4th floor room. He went straight to the refectory to prepare green tea for himself. “Tea is good for an assaulted belly. Come, who wants to join a tea party?” “Kayo na lang, Father. Matutulog na kami,” (“You go ahead, Father, we prefer sleep to tea.”) Junie’s voice sounded so heavy. “Mas masarap ang tulog kaysa tsaa, Father.” (“Sleep is better than tea, Father.”) Bobby added.

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Everyone had difficulty climbing the stairs. Giddy, they headed for their rooms to have their rest as a reward for having punished themselves with a most pleasurable delectable dinner. Fr. Ronnie took his time sipping three cups of tea in front of the recreation room’s television. As the game between Chicago Bulls and Utah Jazz progressed, Fr. Ronnie noticed an unusual discomfort in his stomach. He felt like his lower abdomen was pulling down his diaphragm and back muscles. A feeling of a generalized stomach pain with some rumblings alerted him to what was coming. With his belly in revolution, his butthole couldn’t seem to have the power to hold itself shut anymore. He panicked and hurriedly ran towards the bathroom. When he hit the toilet seat, a sudden movement of loose trots squirted straight into the bowl. Fr. Ronnie gasped for air as he felt the lacerating pain with every squeeze of his bowel purging itself of toxins. His anus functioned like a fireman’s water cannon as disgusting fluids from his insides rushed out freely into the throne. He thought about the food that Barbie served. It must be this, it must be that, or it must be the drink or the dessert. He couldn’t figure out the exact culprit. Then he heard the third floor announcing noises of flushing water closets. He cleaned himself and weakly went upstairs to check those who were affected. The six toilet doors were shut; all occupied. “Are you okay?” Fr. Ronnie’s weak voice projected hints of worry. “Aaahhh…Father, ang sakit ng tyan namin.” (“Father, we all have stomach pain.”) “Father, grabeeehhh…di kaya ako ma-dehydrate nito?” (“Father, we might get dehydrated.”) “Nakuu…sabi ko na nga ba. Parusa na ito, Father.” (“Father, this must be punishment already.”) More water closets flushing were heard but these came from the upper floor. Everyone must be affected by now,

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thought Fr. Ronnie. “We have Diatabs in the medicine kit. Take two tablets and don’t go to bed without drinking warm water with some amount of sugar and salt. This will keep you hydrated. I’ll check the guys upstairs.” He intended to go upstairs but he felt the coming of another attack. He rushed for the secondfloor comfort rooms instead. That night, the Candlelights seminary became a busy center of bowel-distressed purgations that poisoned everyone’s most anticipated rest. The following morning, Fr. Ronnie discovered that everyone, except Junie, suffered from diarrhea. “Hindi kasi ako kumain ng arroz valenciana Father. Ayaw ko kasi ng tahong. Palagay ko, yong tahong ang may problema.” (“I didn’t eat arroz valenciana. I don’t like mussels. It must be the mussels.”) Junie explained. “Tama, Father. Ang daming kinain ni Junie pero di siya nagtae. Yong tahong ang may kasalanan.” (“Right, Father. Junie ate a lot but he didn’t get diarrhea. It must be the mussels’ fault.”) Bobby’s voice was weak this time because of his three visits to the comfort room. Fr. Ronnie scratched his head and sheepishly commented, “I made four visits myself. What a pity, this happened. Barbie and Rex must be aware of it already. They also enjoyed their arroz valenciana.” “Sayang naman yong aming kinain at ininom kagabi, natapon lang. Wala pa naman yon sa amin.” (“What a pity, we wasted all that we ate and drank. We don’t have them at home. It was my first time to taste them.”) Methodius grinned as he gently rubbed his stomach. Kari kept his silence as he sipped his second cup of hot tea for his breakfast. “It must be because of excess, it must be because of our excesses; desire…lack of control of our desires…no control of our appetites….moderation is always the key,” he told himself in silence. “Never again…never again…”

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When Kari entered the school of theology, every attempt to read philosophy was a battle with his differentlydisciplined mind—a mind programmed and ordered for other tasks. Different commands and function keys not congruent with philosophical readings were still all inside his head. These resident cerebral powers make up a populace of gnats and bugs when Kari entered into a different discipline like Philosophy or Theology. His head served like a cornucopia of hundreds of nocturnal creatures. But he was determined to go forward, managing his problem progressively. Reading a number of books became a gradual but advancing process of handling words, and then phrases and sentences… until he was able to gain another foothold towards a more enjoyable reading experience despite the gnats and bugs. Yes, the gnats and bugs still remained in his head as regular residents. But Kari was determined to tackle philosophy. His advanced reading of Ricoeur’s theory of interpretation helped him deal with his own view of the Bible. In their class on epistemology, majority of Kari’s classmates constantly whined about not being able to comprehend the professor’s prescribed course readings. Kari, however, was then gaining the reputation of being an excellent student in philosophy. His professors even considered him a rare find. They didn’t realize Kari struggled with his studies. “Kari, ano bang gagawin dito sa Philosophy na ito? Hirap na hirap na kami.” (“Kari, these readings are too difficult for us; what should we do?”) “Eh, basta basahin nyo kasi ang reading materials. Kung hindi nyo makuha sa isang basa, ulitin ninyo; kung sa pangatlo ay hindi pa rin, eh di pang-apat na basa baka sakaling maintindihan nyo na.” (“Read them, of course. If you can’t get the meaning in one reading, a second reading is necessary. If in the second attempt you still don’t get it, read on until you succeed.”) “Ha?! Ganon? Bakit namin gagawin yon? Kung hindi namin maintindihan sa pangalawa o pangatlo, hindi na talaga namin ’yon

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ma-intindihan kailanman.” (“What? Why should we do it? If we can’t understand it after second or third reading, we will never be able to understand it.”) “Teka, Kari, ano ba talaga ang dapat naming gawin para maintindihan namin ito? Kung sinu-sino naman kasi ’yang mga philosophers na ’yan. Hindi na lang si Rizal o di kaya si Mabini, kaya pa namin yon.” (“Kari, what should we do? There are too many of these philosophers, why not just give us Rizal or Mabini? We can tackle them.”) “Hay naku. Kung nagbabasa na lang ba kayo at huwag nang magreklamo. Alam nyo naman na ang reklamo ay walang maidagdag na karunungan yan. Bukod sa maubos ang oras ninyo sa karereklamo, dinadagdagan nyo pa ang inyong pagka-mareklamo.” (“Well, whining will not help you; just read and read. You will not gain knowledge from whining. It even adds more to your troubles.”) “Ay sus, si Kari talaga. Sabihin mo na kasi ang sikreto mo kung pa’no mo ginagawa ang pag-intindi sa philosophy. Pag ako kasi, sa oras na binuklat ko na ang libro, ang dami na kaagad gumugulo sa isip ko. Hirap mag-concentrate.” (“Just tell us your secret. My head is hopeless. Everytime I open a philosophy book my head is in uproar. I can’t concentrate.”) “Oo nga Kari, ano ba ang meron dyan sa utak mo at minamani mo lang ang philosophy?” (“Right, Kari. What’s in your head that philosophy is just peanuts for you.”) “Minamani! Naku…sinabi ko na sa inyo. Basa lang nang basa, hanggang sa makuha nyo na. Habaan nyo kasi ang pasensya ninyo. Huwag pansinin ang gumugulo sa isip. Umpisahan ninyo sa isang paragraph. Kung hindi nyo maintindihan ito, ulitin ninyo. Tapos, susunod na paragraph ulit. Kung hindi talaga ninyo makuha, humiram kayo ng libro na sumulat tungkol sa binabasa ninyo; baka sakaling makatulong ang komentari. Kung hindi pa rin makatulong, himingi kayo ng tulong sa mga formators ninyo. Kaya nga nandoon sila para tulungan kayo eh.” (“Peanuts yourself. I told you. Read and read and read until you get it. Be patient. Don’t mind

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those uproars in your head. Read it paragraph by paragraph; and eventually you will be able to attack the whole book. If still you can’t get it, read materials that talk about your author or topic. If none of these would work, go to your formators and ask for assistance. They are there to help you.”) “Kari, matrabaho’yan. Eh, ano kaya…kung ikaw ang magtuturo sa amin.” (“Kari, that’s so tiring…why don’t you help us instead?”) “Ano?! Hirap nga din ako tapos lalo nyo pa akong pahirapan.” (“What? You can’t torture me that way!”) Kari thought that the real problem was not in their inability to comprehend. His classmates just did not know how to read beyond their former dispositions and abilities that had produced their own cerebral gnats and bugs. With their unceasing complaints against their gnats and bugs, they had already suffered defeat. So far, Kari’s gnats and his bugs were still alive and close by; but, most of the time, sleeping soundly. They, too, must have enjoyed Kari’s philosophical musings. Whenever Kari was confronted by the works of the more recent philosophers, like Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, the gnats and bugs suddenly became restless. But Kari already knew how to proceed in spite of agitations. Sometimes Kari noticed that the philosophers he had tackled in the past and kept as residents in his head had become gnats and bugs themselves. They had become his mind’s senior boarders. Now, his old boarders were breeding themselves with some boldness as they had mated with the new boarders who, unexpectedly, had also become as stubborn as the older residents. Nevertheless, Kari had learned to master both the art of inattention and attention—leaving the unattended, allowing them to lose their power and to become dormant, almost useless, while the beneficiaries of his attention gained more life and quickly alerted his cerebrum. But again, it was, to his knowledge, still a case of unceasing determination to move in spite of various attention-hungry

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gnats and bugs and other brain-boarders. It was in his philosophy year that Kari learned that most of the moral questions asked by the great Christian teachers, like St. Clement of Alexandria, St. Augustine, and St. Thomas Aquinas were also tackled by the earlier Greek thinkers like the Platonists and the Stoics. Most of the Greek thinkers’ positions were already grafted into the Christian teachers’ explanations that also relied on some Biblical insights. Kari learned that Clement of Alexandria (2nd century), in defense of the goodness of procreation against the practices of the Gnostics, adopted a Stoic rule formulated by Musonios Rufus: That the sole lawful purpose of marital intercourse was procreation or breeding. According to the Stoics, procreation was rational, for it conformed to natural law. The Stoics themselves were against contraception for it ran against civic virtue and the desirability of a large family. Later Christian teachers, including Augustine, followed Clement’s lead in appropriating the Stoic ideals. Kari’s head was spinning on these revelations; all the while, the information he got was that the Christian Church’s theologians were getting all their ideas from the scriptures. The anti-Gnostic character of the early Christian teachings on marriage, sex, procreation, contraception had influenced the later generations of Christians. It was in Augustine, however, that Kari saw the teaching taking a more dramatic turn. After Augustine, the Manichean teaching against procreation was still a threat to several communities. It was Augustine who guided the later Christians. Even St. Thomas Aquinas’ teaching reflected the Augustinian and Stoic influence: that procreation was the purpose of sex and that this conformed to the law of nature. His teaching further developed the Stoic idea of procreation as the rational purpose of marital sex. This time he made use of the more sophisticated Aristotelian understanding of the ordering of human life according to reason.

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One of Kari’s teachers in philosophy guided him into a deeper research on the Augustinian pursuit of perfection as being inspired in stages: first, by the philosophical position of the Gnostics via Manicheanism; second, by the Stoic’s doctrine of moderation, and; third, by the neo-Platonist philosophy of purgation and perfection via the writings of Plotinus. By the time they were introduced into the historical antecedents of Christian doctrines, Kari already understood how philosophy functioned as a very important “tool” (or handmaid) of theology. Kari discovered that this role of philosophy in Christian theological reasoning became a matter of tradition even in the cases of the so-called progressive theologies like those coming from Western Europe as well as North America. Kari also learned later on that the sociological sciences, including social philosophy, had become more important tools for liberation theology. Liberation theology is a version of theology that is identified with the names of the Latin American theologians like Gustavo Gutiérrez, Jon Sobrino, Juan Luis Segundo, Leonardo Boff, and others who all thought of transforming theology into an effective means for social transformation (reminiscent of Karl Marx’s text: “The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point, however, is to change it.”). Kari’s encounter with Marx in theology actually puzzled him. His previous association with the leftists had left in his mind a negative picture of the philosopher. But in the theological school, the dialogue between theology and Marx’s philosophy created a more positive impression on the minds of the students. Marx, therefore, was somehow rehabilitated through his presence in the very important topics discussed by liberation theology: liberation praxis, ideology, class analysis, labor and capital, value, alienation, private property, commodity fetishism, solidarity, etc. These concepts gave Kari more possibilities for a better understanding of the many

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social problems which had always confronted and confounded the Christian churches. Kari thus realized that his previous understanding of Marx was so limited—it was so limited that it only touched on the topics of class struggle, dictatorship of the proletariat, and classless society. What the theological school offered surely installed Marx as one of the most important dialogue-partners of theology. Marx’s comprehensive critique of capitalism and its processes (including environmental degradation) became part of the critique of a society that made churches as partners in the exploitation of fellow human beings. Because of this fact, Kari looked at priests who joined the leftist struggles in a better light. Kari listened to illustrations used by his professors in explaining the historical character of truth and morals. The sinfulness of artificial contraceptives could be associated with the following historical facts: The ones who defined this particular sin were mostly male celibates. These celibates were, of course, guarding the virtue of chastity. Sexual pleasure for them, as reflected in their writings (not necessarily in their behavior), presents a lower kind of value. Most of them treated sexual desire as related to women being titillators of men, drawing them to sin. The view of these celibates on sexual pleasure was very far from the positive picture presented by the Bible’s Song of Songs. Kari could not help it but become critical of some teachings which he used to hold as divinely-established truths.

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community apostolate He was like the bibingka that was slowly cooked by top and bottom fires—the top fire of social forces and the bottom fire of personal forces.

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ari had limited exposure to people like the wealthy or indigent members of the parish. But he was immediately assigned to join his fellow seminarians to work among the squatters. Their main task was to organize young people for the choir and theater groups; and at the same time, gather people (mainly housewives) for the community prayer group. The squatter communities were located in the three places discarded by the moneyed class: near the river, in the creek, and in the swamps. Kari was assigned to work in the area near the river. Here was found the second largest group of squatters—250 families. From time to time, Kari would also visit the creek and the lower swampy areas. Kari was able to gather a dozen of young people to compose the core of his choir group. All the members were in their teen years. Half of them were students and the rest were out of school. Their parents, unskilled and uneducated, came from many parts of the Philippines. Most of them migrated to Manila to work as laborers, jeepney and tricycle drivers, carpenters, or helpers in wealthy households. More than a year passed and Kari’s choir increased to more than twenty members; including Mulong, who was a student in a college nearby. Fr. Dan, a member of the Candlelights parish team, helped Mulong pay his tuition fees and other school expenses. Kari was able to train Mulong, along

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with two other members, to play the guitar and the indigenous bamboo flute. Aside from his natural ability for music, Mulong possessed a very good voice, something that Fr. Dan greatly admired. Mulong also expressed his desire to become a priest someday. Handling the choir apostolate was fairly easy. Kari’s guitar and musical skills were more than enough for this assignment. All that the group did was sing in one of the Sunday masses and, afterwards, spend an hour of singing practice with Kari. These were predictable activities and became simple routines; until one of the members of the choir suggested that they take part in the protest rallies involving their fellow squatters. Protest leaders had organized a series of marches of hundreds of squatter residents against the National Housing Authority to alert the government about their plight. Kari’s group was supposed to provide some intermission numbers during some idle hours in front of the NHA office. Kari and the group found the protest march quite exciting. Although at times they were harassed by the police, the church songs the group played did placate some of them. Protest marches to the NHA were far more moderate than those leading towards Malacañang. The police officers controlling the marches were also less rabid than those guarding Mendiola (Chino Roces) Bridge. Kari and the group became regular supporters of the squatter protesters. Learning about Kari’s involvement, Fr. Greg invited the young man to be part of the rally organizers. “Father, saka na lang, ang dami-dami ko nang ginagawa.” (“Some other time, Father. I’m preoccupied with a lot of things right now.”) “Ok, but let me tell you: Those organizers, they will surely need your presence.” “Sige po, pag nakakaluwag na ako.” (“Yes Father. Later on,

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when I have mastered those obligations in school.”) Kari’s refusal to entertain Fr. Greg’s invitation was actually a more conscious decision to place himself at a distance from a group with which he was formerly associated. His previous involvement with the leftists was something that he wanted to relegate to his past. His present connection with the letists was a work more imbued with religious significance—something which Liberation Theology had clarified for Kari. Kari realized that among the priests in the parish, it was only Fr. Greg (and to a certain extent Fr. Dan) who had made some efforts to deal with the immediate problems of the people in the squatter areas. The other priests were busy with church rituals and their own frequent recreational socialization with wealthy parishioners. Perhaps, Kari thought, they had never understood what the liberation theologians had discovered. Or, perhaps, they were just coasting along with their everyday habits. Kari organized the prayer meetings attended mainly by women from the squatter community. In many instances, he found it difficult to find appropriate ways to make scriptural texts sensible to these people. It was tiring and energysapping to force himself to find “inspiration” from the Bible when the squatters themselves were “really” inspired to live despite their loads of hardships and deprivations. “Brod, alam ko kahit na mahirap ang buhay, tuloy pa rin dahil alam ko nandyan lang ang Diyos na gumagabay sa amin.” (“Bro., life must go on because I know that God is always here to guide us.”) “Brod, hindi naman malupit ang Diyos sa mahihirap, ano? Kahit malupit sa amin ang buhay; kulang sa pagkain, salat sa pera at gamit, alam naming hindi ito gawa ng Diyos.” (“Bro., God is not cruel to the poor, is he? Life may be cruel to us: scarce food, no money, no property—we know these are not orders from God.”)

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Brod, ano po ba ang mas tama? Ang magsimba o ang tumulong ako sa aking kapitbahay na may sakit?” (“Bro., what is better? To go to church or to help your sick neighbor?”) Sometimes situations were just too hard to face. Kari could just make some excuses like, “Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow.” Or “Bro. Methodius will visit you next time.” Or “Just keep on praying, God will show His mercy.” “Tito Brod, puntahan mo si Ate, nadoon siya sa amin, lagi na lang siyang nakahiga, hindi masyado makakain dahil sa kanyang sakit. Puntahan mo siya Brod, baka sakali madagdagan ang kanyang lakas.” (“Uncle Bro., will you visit my elder sister? She’s now bedridden. She’s unable to eat. Visit her, Bro. You might be able to inspire her and she might regain her strength.”) “Brod, hindi ka na dumadalaw kay Papa. Di na talaga siya nakakalakad. Hindi na kasi niya kayang magbayad ng PT.” (“Bro. I don’t see you visiting my Papa. He can’t walk anymore. He can no longer afford a PT.”) “Brod, bakit kaya ang mister ko binubugbog lagi ang aking mga anak? Kung minsan Brod gusto ko na rin siyang saksakin habang siya’y natutulog.” (“Bro., why does my husband beat our children? Sometimes, when he’s sleeping, I feel like stabbing him with a knife.”) Sometimes squatters posed questions which, for Kari, were just too gross or outrageous to handle. “Brod, mortal sin ba talaga pag gumamit ako ng kondom?” (“Bro., is it a mortal sin to use the condom?”) “Ano po ba ang mas grabeng kasalanan? Mag-kondom o magparaos? (“What is more serious? Condom use or masturbation?”) “Brod, yong anak kong dalaga, nabuntisan ng kanyang Tito, ano ang gagawin ko?” (“Bro., my daughter was impregnated by her Uncle. What will I do?”) “Brod, pag may mens ako, ginagamit pa rin ako ng mister ko. Kasalanan ba yon?” (“Bro., even during my period my husband still insists on having sex with me. Is that a sin?”)

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“Kakainis si nanay Brod, lagi akong dinadala sa mental. Brod, ayaw ko nang pumunta doon. Paano, kinukuryente nila ako. Tapos, bawat kuryente nila umuurong yong titi ko. Baka lumiit na eto kagaya ng sa dwende.” (“Bro., my mother always brings me to the mental hospital and they electrocute me regularly. I don’t like to go back there. Every time they apply current on me, my dick retreats and becomes smaller. I don’t like it to become tiny like that of a dwarf.”) “Brod, grabe ang mga tao dito sa amin. Nasa tabing-ilog na nga sila, dito pa sila tumatae sa tabi ng aking mga gulay.” (“Bro., I can’t understand these people. They are already along the river bank, they would still defecate near my vegetables.”) When the whole settlement along the river burned down, Kari struggled to find consoling words for his choir and prayer group members who were affected. He found nothing to give them except his presence. Fortunately, Fr. Greg gave him some tasks to do which meant greater exposure to squatters and to some benefactors. He was made to manage the distribution of galvanized roofing materials to the affected families. This job endeared Kari to many squatter residents. More people regarded him as a regular minister than a mere seminarian fulfilling a part-time apostolate. Nevertheless, such kind of stint gave Kari a greater parttimer’s satisfaction. He discovered his ability to insert into various social involvements on top of his so-called more religious activities. Moreover, his philosophical and theological studies did acquire greater relevance when these were linked to what were tackled in his university days as sociopolitical issues. Kari was further thrown into other familiar social problems that acquired disturbing features because of his status as a contemplative religious. These were not the familiar interior forces that shocked him in Guimaras, in the shower room, or in his bedroom. The social forces did cause disturbances in Kari; but unlike his interior troubles, these external troubles

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were beyond his control. Kari’s inner troubles erupted from his inside even in the absence of people; while, his involvement with people had more jarring impact which challenged his old ways of dealing with troubles. The inner troubles allowed Kari to clear his own ground while the social troubles did some disorientation to his awareness inside a seminary home ground. He had to adjust to both forces—factors that continued to contribute to Kari’s struggle and development. Kari was like the bibingka that was slowly cooked by top and bottom fires—the top fire of social forces and the bottom fire of personal forces (Kari’s psyche, genes, hormones, and memories). The demands and challenges posed by his psyche and by the social forces around him made Kari more attentive and vigilant. This vigilance did not mean less torment because his mind had to struggle hard to deal concretely with some distressing issues like homelessness, joblessness, prostitution, and despair among the poor. The affluence of the many parishioners and the indifference of some Candlelights priests to those issues compounded his troubles. Kari slowly and deliberately examined his role as a contemplative religious; even as Fr. Greg saw in him a potential effective social agent. Kari came back from his prayer group meeting and went directly to the refectory for the evening meal. The whole place was filled with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of utensils. Everyone was there, including Fr. Mark and Fr. Frondo. Fr. Mark saw Kari enter the hall. “Kari, grab your plate. There’s still a seat over here.” Methodius and Bobby waved at him as Kari was all smiles to everyone who, by the looks of their faces, were obviously stirred by spirits. He took his plateful share of pasta generously sprinkled with parmesan cheese, and then approached Fr. Mark, who was seated beside Fr. Frondo. He took the vacant seat on Fr. Frondo’s left side. Kari became

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conscious of the bottles of red wine on top of the two long tables. “Kari, meet Fr. Frondo. He’s our Canon Lawyer.” “Pleased to meet you, Kari.” “How are you, Fr. Frondo?” “Good. I’ve heard about you. Fr. Greg is all praises for your social involvements. Just be careful.” He shifted his head to Fr. Mark and said: “Kari doesn’t like to be mixed up with the activists, does he, Fr. Mark?” “Frondo, look at Kari. He’s one of the more mature students. I’m sure he knows his limits.” “I can’t tell. I can’t surely tell. No, when you get entangled with politics, you will no longer be as clear and clean as before. We have to preserve the purity of our religious life, you know. I might just have to avoid them if I were you, Kari.” “Aww, Frondo. You can’t always go ahead with your prejudices against activists and tell Kari here to anticipate mistakes. Kari can cope, I’m sure about that.” “Our studies are teaching us how to cope with the challenges, Fr. Mark.” Kari munched on his spaghetti alla puttanesca. He found in it the most subtle aroma and delicious taste of Spanish anchovy. “That’s just another problem, Mark. You’re bringing the students to this school of theology which has bred leftist priests. I told you about the danger but you still don’t listen to me. They should be transferred to UST. Don’t wait till it’s too late.” Fr. Frondo’s voice became more audible to everyone in the room. Fr. Ronnie was looking at Fr. Frondo from the corner of his eyes, while Fr. Greg stared straight into Fr. Ronnie; their eyes met and they cast meaningful grins at each other. “Kari, don’t mind our bickering, that’s just one of the ‘intramural games’ we play among ourselves. Here, have some red wine. One of our parishioners brought that puttanesca and

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ten fantastic bottles of 1968 Bordeaux.” Fr. Mark obviously wanted to dissipate the gravity of Fr. Frondo’s arguments. He poured a generous amount of dry red wine into Kari’s glass. Then he tapped his empty glass with his spoon which took everyone’s attention. “Brothers, brothers! Fr. Ronnie has an announcement to make.” Fr. Frondo grimaced and maintained his grave and more impatient demeanor as everyone shifted attention towards Fr. Ronnie. Kari saw Fr. Frondo’s fretful moves but missed the exchange of looks between Fr. Ronnie and Fr. Greg. “Right. Two more Sundays and we will have the ordinations of Bro. Rev and Bro. Ralph…” Claps and cheers interrupted Fr. Ronnie’s speech. “Archbishop Lardizabal of Segovia will come for their ordination.” More cheers and claps. “Bro. Rev’s ordination will be in the morning; Bro. Ralph’s in the evening to be followed by a common reception. I want all those who are handling choir groups to organize a combined choir to sing in the ceremonies. You still have two weeks for practice. Sr. Beatriz has volunteered to play the organ for the choir.” Bro. Rev and Bro. Ralph expressed some reservations about the combined choir groups. “Fr. Ronnie,” Bro. Ralph spoke first, “I think I would prefer to use my choir group for my ordination and Bro. Rev here also prefers his own group.” Bro. Rev explained, “I think it would be more difficult to come up with a combined choir since some groups have members who are not really singers. We can’t expect to train them and come up ready in two weeks. While if I stick to my choir which is composed of our parishioners’ children, it will be easier to produce more reliable performers during my ordination.” “That’s also true in my case. My choir members come from good backgrounds and they have better ears when it

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comes to playing instruments and singing songs. Besides, I have two members who play the violin; they could just be drowned by guitars and bamboo instruments.” The eyes of Methodius riveted on Kari as well as on Bro. Bobby’s direction. Kari and Bro. Bobby handled groups from the poorer sections of the parish. Both of them used indigenous musical instruments. Obviously, Bro. Rev referred to children of the wealthy parishioners as “our parishioners’ children.” Bro. Ralph’s choir members with “better ears” (like the children of Barbie and Rex) also came from “good backgrounds” and not from the “not good” social backgrounds of Kari’s and Bobby’s choir group members who presumably had “bad ears” for music and “noisy” instruments. Fr. Ronnie insisted on the idea of a combined choir group. “We couldn’t miss this opportunity in improving our sense of community inside our parish. Let’s make that happen.” Fr. Greg gave a two-thumbs up to Fr. Ronnie’s firmness. Bro. Rev and Bro. Ralph could only look at each other. Disappointment was written on their faces. That night, Kari went to bed preoccupied by Fr. Frondo’s, Bro. Rev’s and Bro. Ralph’s ideas and behavior. They made Kari think of Bro. Eddie, Fr. Papa, and Fr. Anthony of the Surigao monastery. It was only after one hour of involuntary ruminations that Kari was able to get to sleep.

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the telephone booth It was as if Christianity had gone drunk and had collapsed, and there was this seminarian, struggling to maintain composure with his illusions about peace, justice, and care of creation.

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ari’s alarm clock screamed one hour before the scheduled community morning prayer and Eucharistic celebration. All residents in the students’ house were obliged to get ready for the day’s common inaugural activity which fulfilled some provisions of the Rule—the official provisions came in black-and-white print, handed down from the rules and regulations set by the Founders of the congregation, and further implemented by local superiors through the authorities of the Father Superior General and, most of all, the Pope. Kari had been doing his preparations slowly. He always did his rituals slowly; but not as slow as Bro. Toto who never came on time for prayers. Bro. Toto, a senior to Kari, thought he was senior to every student in the house. He would always come in late. Kari was known for his punctuality when it came to schedules. Bro. Toto was better known for his tardiness. In this seminary, tardiness was equated with Toto. Even the Student Master could not help but define tardiness as “the state of being a Bro. Toto.” The Student Master had become philosophical about Bro. Toto’s habit. He saw it as something indicative of Bro. Toto’s being-in-theworld-waiting-for-the-opportune-time. Twenty minutes to go before the common morning praise, on his second year in the seminary, Kari set off for the chapel located at the second floor of the Students’ House.

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The morning air outside the building had not crept into the interior rooms or the corridors. The lack of ventilation made the air inside the house always stuffy. Kari negotiated the corridor which obviously needed some airing. He was bothered by its effect. He thought of his allergic rhinitis. He walked faster. He wanted to get into the chapel and take advantage of the air conditioners. Kari was just about to hit the middle landing of the stairs when he noticed something from the corner of his left eye—a 280 lbs. motionless human figure, slumped into the table of the telephone booth on the second floor, head rested on the phone book, right arm dangled like the phone’s handset. Startled, Kari descended the stairs slowly. This human figure that struck him snorted heavily while saliva dripped out from its open mouth. The telephone handset pointed at a whole case of beer; but now the bottles were all drained. Their contents liberally poured and presumably transferred into this motionless body. Kari saw this body, Fr. O’Brien, last night as he left the recreation area. Fr. O’Brien was in the phone booth with just his undershirts, casual pants, and slippers, talking to somebody over the phone; but there was yet no case of beer. Merto, the janitor of the priests’ house, must have hauled it there before he left for his night break. Fr. O’Brien could have had a good (or an awful) time guzzling bottles, undisturbed and unrestrained, while talking to this somebody from evening till dawn. After freely imbibing the beer’s abundance, this priest probably turned into an ecstatic being. Perhaps, he didn’t have the knees to lift himself into his air-conditioned room which was just in the adjacent house built for the priests. This adjoining but separate house is reached via a specially-built door located between the second and third floors’ stairway-landing. It was also through this door that students crossed into the priests’ house to “pilfer” some Coke or, if they were lucky, beer and some cigarettes left on the tables. The priests also freely took

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this doorway as they were led towards the telephone which ministered to warm-blooded callers. This door beckoned to criss-crossing night movements. It became privy to every nocturnal creature’s solitary activities. The sight of Fr. O’Brien exposed Kari to an unfamiliar scene which made him more awake. As his eyes widened, he was actually overwhelmed by some mixed feelings of shame and confusion—a sense of engulfing shame for having seen something not appropriate for his eyes; and a feeling of confusion for not being able to comprehend its significance. It was a scene which could not retrieve a reasonable reaction from Kari’s brain. He was stunned by the irrational picture featuring the figure of a priest knocked out by a case of beer. It was an untypical situation which had no counterpart in the pool of typical information in Kari’s mind. He had not encountered any similar situation like this. Thus the scene could not draw out a typical reaction from Kari. The scripts provided by the seminary or the school of theology did not include this particular scenario. Kari was in no position to act because this was not familiar. He didn’t rehearse this part before. Flight was the only act that Kari felt compelled to perform. Nevertheless, Kari was still drawn to think: “What am I going to do? Am I supposed to help him, this priest, whose status and predicament make me feel embarrassed and confused? What if this slumped body was a body of a simple man, somebody who happened to be common or ordinary or lay? Would I have stopped and mustered some kind of wholesome response? ‘Maybe,’ I would say, ‘most likely.’ There could be nothing then, no distressing feelings, that would have blocked my way towards Fr. O’Brien. But there was this expectation that I have about priests or ministers which lie between me and Fr. O’Brien. Somebody who is expected to minister to people could not really be helplessly slumped drunk like this. It is unthinkable to see a minister

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being ministered for having himself drunk excessively. How should one then behave in a situation like this?” That situation had the making of the Good Samaritan Parable; but no, it was not. It was more like an inversion of the Parable. The expected dispenser of assistance was in a state of mind-boggling helplessness encountered by a hapless victim of panic. Never in Kari’s entire life would he imagine a male minister knocked down by alcohol, visible and unprotected, exposed like a wilted eggplant, before the eyes of the entire seminary. Fr. O’Brien must have thrown up because the whole place was suffocated by the stinking and disgusting urine-like stench. Kari held his breath as he walked hurriedly towards the chapel. He got there ahead of everyone. His knees, however, were quaking as he pulled the cold doorknob. The prayer room, full of old heavy air, was dark with just a single artificial candlelight in the tabernacle. He should have genuflected but he could not. Kari felt more acutely his trembling body parts as he went for the switches and turned on the lights and the two air-conditioning units. He went to the place where his breviary rested. He was doing something but was not into it. His mind was still stirred by Fr. O’Brien’s insobriety. Kari struggled to maintain his composure as he concocted explanations for what he had just seen. Gradually, Kari felt the familiar but faint gusts playing between his eyes and the artificially-lighted tabernacle. His nostrils turned into pathetic air passages clogged by swollen nasal glands. Then the other seminarians and the two house priests came in. One by one they poured into the chapel; leaving their slippers and sandals outside. Kari searched for some telling expressions on their faces, but there were no special signs from the ten individuals; except perhaps their unusually heavy-looking demeanor. Inside them must have been some brewing feelings, like bewilderment, sadness, or resentment. But that was not possible to inquire and talk about inside the

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chapel. Kari’s inquiring eyes met Methodius’s astonished eyes. In a monk’s brown habit, Methodius was a whole picture of monastic shock. The Superior of the house signaled for the morning prayers. The residents recited aloud some psalms and read short biblical passages from their breviaries. Bro. Toto came in after the psalms. Kari’s mind was still preoccupied with the phone-booth scene. Although he was no longer feeling as affected by the initial shock, he still felt heaviness inside his head; as though a whole pot of excrement as heavy as lead had been pushed into his skull cavity. He was also sneezing uncontrollably and more frequently than ever. The common prayer just breezed past Kari’s rambling thoughts and clogged nose. When the mass began, his head already felt packed and perplexed; still suffering from a headon collision with an incomprehensible reality. The front lobes of his brain had become numb and he felt stiffness as the mass dragged on. He sensed a throbbing numbness in his temple. He was stunned before and this one similarly hit him hard. Then, his brain felt like already in death throes; just like what happened to him a long time ago, when he learned about the Ruby Tower tragedy and when he was harassed by a homosexual. What Kari felt made him re-live that traumatic instance when he had to flee and free himself out of danger. It happened when he was still in his teens. For some reasons which Kari couldn’t recall, a homosexual befriended him and later invited him to his office. When they got there, the homosexual suddenly held Kari and pinned him against the wall. The homosexual brought his mouth into Kari’s mouth, plunged his tongue inside and wiggled it against Kari’s teeth, he grabbed Kari’s crotch, and groped for his genitals while Kari froze. Kari’s next reaction was horror and shock at the encounter of an incomprehensible violence coming from a man who was behaving like a hungry iguana. Kari struggled and he

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was able to free himself from the homo’s scandalous grasp. The homo must have seen Kari’s shocked reaction because he stopped and did not make any further move. Kari ran for the stairs and fled outside. He was stunned and so alarmed that he felt his head turned numb; his head seemed inert and crammed. That was thirteen years ago and the sight of Fr. O’Brien, another scandal and anomaly, made him rehearse those feelings again. The mass just got concluded; without Kari having participated in a real way. He just routinely wiped his nose and shook his head in dismay. He was already talking to Fr. O’Brien inside his head. “What have you done to yourself? Why have you given in to cravings? Why couldn’t you resist them? Or ignore them? You could have learned how to turn your back on them and focus on holding ground until strength comes to you to give you more power to deal with them. How come you have to surrender to something you know will devour you and transform you into slimy vomit for the cesspool?” Leaving the chapel that day was coupled with extraordinary apprehension. After every morning prayer, Kari always darted towards his room to change into school clothes and then go straight down to the dining room for breakfast. His mind would either be lightly preoccupied with theology lessons or schedules of the day. But this time, the move towards the door was a walk towards an anticipated wretched scene—a replay of a sad drama that would have depicted the fall of the ministry of the Catholic male priesthood. Kari was wondering how Fr. O’Brien would look like after one hour. So he trudged along with fellow students towards the phone-booth, expecting the same dismal reality; but Fr. O’Brien was no longer there. He was snatched away from the intensified curiosity of the seminarians. Bro. Fernan, kneeling as if in prayers, was already skimming off the last pool of liquid splattered on the

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floor. The unpleasant stench, however, still gripped the area and pierced everyone’s lungs; except Kari’s whose nose still suffered from congestion. “Brod,” Bro. Bobby called on Bro. Fernan, “faithful servant talaga!” His voice was loud with an ample dose of teasing. A sense of guilt quickly surged from Kari’s chest. Bro. Fernan’s act didn’t miss Kari’s sensitive side. Fr. O’Brien and Bro. Fernan were close friends. Bro. Fernan, however, was one of a kind. He had always been ahead when it meant extending help. He seemed to be always present when his help was needed. Kari put on his casual clothes for school. He dropped a couple of nasal decongestants into his nostrils which gave him quick relief. He grabbed his books and other school materials and went downstairs, slowly negotiating the phone booth which was still screaming loud with vomit’s stench. The powerful smell made Kari walk faster than usual. He should not have used those nose drops, he thought.

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theology A Theologian is one who is searching inside a very dark room for a black cat which is not there, and found it!

T

he students, except Bro. Toto and Bro. Fernan, were already on their seats with their breakfast fares. Kari took the place beside Bro. Methodius who did not stop staring at him from the time he entered the dining room. Bro. Methodius’ wide eyes seemed to lose the ability to blink. He was like a bewildered lost child searching desperately for a mother. “’Tol, grabe ano? Ibang klase! Mag-isip ka na ng kung ano, pero ito di ko talaga lubos maisip.” (”Brod, that was mind-boggling, right? That was surely unthinkable!”) His lower chin quivered as he made his remarks. Methodius betrayed his emotions through his lower chin. That time, Kari knew he was reeling inside with shock and bewilderment. “Oo nga. Di na naman siya makakapapasok ngayon.” (“Right. And he won’t be able to come to class today.”) While Kari was speaking, he noticed the subdued comportment of everyone; except Bro. Bobby who, as usual, was always loud. Most of those in the room were talking in low voice. As if their hush-hush were soft enough; as if their deportment did no longer proclaim the loudest spectacle opened to everyone’s eyes that morning. Normally, it was in the dining room where students talked loudly to everyone. Kari glanced at Bro. Nonie and Bro. Tom, the sophomores enrolled in Fr. O’Brien’s Moral Theology class. They were the only ones who were silent, as if possessed by their meals. These two

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guys just came in last year. They were full of enthusiasm and eagerness to enter the theological phase of their formation. For many times, they would skip common recreation time just to get directly into their school work. The sight of Fr. O’Brien this morning was probably too confounding for them to understand. But that was not the first time that they were able to peep into the priest’s character. It was they who reported about Fr. O’Brien’s appearance in one of his Moral Theology classes: his face unshaven, his shirt wrinkled, and his fly left wide open. To top it all, his hair was uncombed as if he just got off from bed (This was the time when the “fresh from bed” hair was not yet fashionable.) He obviously had a hangover as he mumbled the brief introduction to his lesson while he distributed several copies of Playboy Magazine; supposedly for the class to analyze. That day, Bro. Nonie and Bro. Tom couldn’t stop the queries and the teasing of their baffled classmates. One of the nuns couldn’t resist and made a request: “Check on your confrere, will you?” “Magsa-sabbatical daw ba siya?” (“Will he be on sabbatical?”) Methodius whispered while he munched on his fried eggs. “It’s a sick leave, not a sabbatical.” Kari quipped in a low voice. “Ganon ba?” (“Is that so?”) “Oo. (“Yes.”) Don’t you see? He’s all yellow. I suspect he also badly needs a psychiatrist. Look at his eyes. Parang laging may sore eyes. Mukhang bampira na nga, eh. Grabe.” (“He looks as if he got sore eyes; just like those of a vampire. Bad!”) “Napapansin ko nga. Pati tiyan niya lomobo na nang husto. O yan na si Fernan.” (“I can see it. His tummy’s bloated already. Look, Fernan is coming.”) Bro. Fernan and Bro. Toto came as some seminarians were already leaving. Methodius, Bobby, and Kari stayed with Fernan.

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“Anong nangyari?” (“What happened?”) asked Bobby. “Well, you know the guy. He needs support. He’s collapsing.” Fernan’s words, grave as they were, came too casual. His heavy Mindanao accent and his high-pitched voice just didn’t register alarm. “Paano kasi wala man lang maayos na buhay ang mga ’yan!” Methodius pronounced judgment in his usual agitation. “Anong ginagawa ng mga kalahi niya? Lakwatsa dito…lakwatsa doon!” (“What do you expect? Their lives are a mess. His fellow Irishmen, what are they doing? Just shitting around?”) “I can’t disturb them. They are still in bed. Fr. Peter is saying mass. He’ll be back into bed after that. Fr. Greg is not in his room. I think he left early for the Archdiocesan Labor Center. Meron kasing rally ngayon.” (“There’s a rally today.”) Bobby, in his usual brazen manner, declared: “Wala na tayong magagawa dyan. Lagi na lang ganon ang buhay nila eh. Matatanda na ang mga yan. Tingnan mong nangyayari kay Fr. Andrew, o may nagagawa ba sila? Kanya-kanya na lang talaga sila sa buhay nila. Pauwiin na lang nila nang matahimik naman tayo dito… Tara na at baka ma-late pa tayo sa klase.” (“There’s nothing we can do. That’s what they are. They’re grown-ups. Look at what Fr. Andrew is doing, have they lifted a finger? They’re all in their own private kingdoms. It’s better if he is sent home so we can keep our peace…Let’s go, we’ll be late for our classes.”) As Kari walked briskly to school, he pondered on Bobby’s words. He was right. No one in the priests’ house moved around a common activity anymore. Not even for the liturgy of the hours. Well, they still were served common meals; but each one was left to his own schedule even as everyone followed the time-table of the parish rituals. The rituals dispensed by the parish are not common activities in the sense of shared and community-planned programs. They were fixed rituals, almost unconsciously followed. They demarcated the moments which consequently allowed ample private time for the priests. The priests’ scheduled rituals had

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the effect of also clearing space and time for privacy. Rituals were just like office work; after work, time was yours. The priests, however, had only about two hours of work and outside those would be their private hours. The convent had ceased to operate as a “total institution” for member ministers whose schedules were no longer common. The ministers’ time outside the two-hour work had become the ministers’ sequestered time for personal use. Fr. Greg who managed the parish’s affairs had to work hard without anymore relying on his confreres. His team was composed of parish volunteers who seriously appreciated Fr. Greg’s dedicated leadership. Fr. Greg was one of the more likable and hardworking priests around. He also enjoyed playing basketball. Bobby and Art got along with him well. They were all fond of the game. Methodius was also into it. This was one of the reasons why the young guys in the parish knew and liked Fr. Greg. Every afternoon, the basketball court became alive with the boys; most of them were from the nearby squatter area. Fr. Greg almost always found time to be there and to enjoy a game or two with the young. Sometimes, the other seminarians, who were not as good in the game, felt out of place in their own premises. Instead of joining the outsiders, some of them preferred to walk or jog around the area; like Bro. Toto and Bro. Fernan who frequently visited their friends among the squatters. The sidewalks brought Kari to the school. These were lined with huge mango trees. He jogged regularly in these areas because of the shade and fresh air which the trees provided. Passing through the creek, one would observe that squatters occupied a small single block in this area. Big houses, large ones, dominate the picture. This place used to be the sanctuary of Manila’s old rich. However, many of the rich had also built mansions in the newer and farther exclusive villages for the nouveaux riches where the nouveaux pauvres cannot fol-

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low. As a result, townhouses were built, replacing the houses of the wealthy who had left. No less than twenty religious congregations had established their convents in the parish. They also owned large houses like the Candlelights congregation. Land in this area would then cost P50,000.00 or more per sq. meter. If the average lot size was 2,000 sq.m., every lot-owner in this village could sell his property for more than 100 million pesos. (A religious congregation owns a property with an area of 4,000 sq.m.; another one owns a 3,000 sq.m. land.) If fifteen religious congregations would sell their properties, at least 1.5 billion pesos could be raised for some worthy projects. But ifs like this had never been considered in this part of the world or perhaps in any part of the world. The school of theology stood inside this millionaires’ neighborhood. It was here since 1980; built on a property bought in the 1960s by the congregation-owners. The school enrolment had reached as high as 130 seminarians and a few nuns and pastoral workers as well as 200 lay people studying in the evening program. The day classes were normally for those following a four-year program or those majoring in theological studies. Majority of the students-seminarians came from the provinces: Mountain Province, Ilocos, Pangasinan, Quezon, Bicol, Iloilo, Cebu, Samar, Cagayan de Oro, Zamboanga, Surigao, Butuan, Davao, Cotabato, and the like. It was from the various provincial recruits that congregations were able to fill seminaries of the Marists, Benedictines, Augustinians, Paulinians, Vincentians, Camillians, Candlelights, and others. This provincial origin of the many students could also be one reason why many students found it difficult to grasp the kind of philosophy and theology taught by foreigner/foreigntrained academicians. Most of the seminarians were inclined towards everyday life and grassroots/ground issues which called for immediate solutions or practical involvement.

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Another reason is the lack of a native intellectual tradition similar to that of the Greek or Franco-Germanic philosophical tradition. This lack could explain why most Filipinos lack the appreciation of speculative thinking or theorizing. For them, the more abstract or conceptual issues that preoccupy intellectuals were not very useful. If ever some Filipinos became intellectuals and had developed that love for theorizing, expect that they were keeping a tradition that was either foreign or not indigenous. Even foreigners found it hard to fully enjoy the ride on the train of speculative thinking. Some would even make fun of the absurdity, perhaps, in the partnership between philosophy and theology—philosophy tending towards speculative practice, theology supposed to be a practice-oriented discipline (that is, if Jesus’s ministry is the yardstick; not some imposed doctrines that have been baked in histories of bickering among male thinkers and ecclesiastical powers-that-be). Kari still remembered one of his professors who, during the first day of class in Introduction to Philosophy, shared with the class a familiar anecdote. As he began to babble, Kari knew this priest was naughty. “What is the difference between a Philosopher and a Theologian?” he asked. Of course, he meant to answer it himself. He grinned as he continued: “A Philosopher is someone searching inside a very dark room for a black cat which is not there. A Theologian, on the other hand, is one who is searching inside a very dark room for a black cat which is not there, and found it!” Nevertheless, theories became important for the students when these were brought down to the level of practice or when these aided in every involvement with current social issues, like poverty and human rights violations. Professors who could connect theories with ground issues were thus more popular because they were “effective” and “relevant.” The more left-leaning seminarians (mostly influenced by

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Marxism, Liberation Theology, National Democratic sentiments) would look for ways to bring all courses to the level of practical involvement (some would call this praxis). Jesus Christ, for them, may only be Jesus the Liberator of the poor, deprived, oppressed, and exploited. If a particular theological or philosophical course did not address poverty, deprivation, oppression, and exploitation, the course could be judged as either irrelevant, superfluous, or hanging in mid-air. Most of the professors who taught in this school were foreigners or foreign-trained (in Europe or America). Fr. O’Brien had been teaching in this school. He earned an M.A degree in Moral Theology from one of Rome’s theological schools. Kari arrived early, but most of his classmates were already there. They came from far away places like Marikina, Mandaluyong, and Pandacan, Manila. “Hi, Bro. Kari.” Sr. Nathalie, an Augustinian sister announced her presence. “Good morning, Sister. Hi, Abner. How’s life?” “Ok lang. Sister, tapos na yong project mo? Tapos na daw yong kay Kari eh.” (“I’m okay Sister. Is your project ready. Kari’s done with his work.”) “Bilib talaga ako kay Kari. (“I really admire Kari.”) Not yet, I was so busy with our congregation’s preparation for our Superior General’s visitation. We have to make impressions. You know, she’s coming here next month.” “From where?” Kari asked. “From Rome.” “Aahh, a friend of Fr. O’Brien.” Kari said. Fr. O’Brien’s name produced a sneer on the face of Nathalie, laughter on Abner, and they were chuckling when they entered the room and took their seats for the first subject of the day. The three were always seated together in all their classes. It was a good thing that this subject was scheduled in

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the morning. Otherwise, everyone would be lulled into deep slumber. It was not because the subject was boring; it was because of the professor. The room was large; meant to accommodate 60-70 students. Overlooking the windows was a large area with half a dozen full-grown mango trees. It would have been an ideal site if not for two very busy streets that sandwiched the school. The noise coming from these streets was bearable. What annoyed the students was the air laced with smoke from vehicles. After three or four years, the administrators decided to install air-conditioners in all the classrooms. That made the classrooms more cozy; but more inviting for sleep. Their professor for the first subject was an Italian priest who specialized in sexual ethics. He was gay but not the shrieking type; one they call a “pamenta,” for pa-men tayo (“let’s act like men do”). He did not appear like he enjoyed teaching. His lack of energy always rubbed on his students. Nevertheless, even as they get drowsy most of the time, they have learned from him that: • • •

• • •

the missionary position is a position with a mission; the missionary position is the official position of the Catholic church; the squatting position was not approved by the church because the earth’s gravity will pull the male seed and waste it to the ground; oral sex is not natural since it is not needed for procreation; the pioneers of artificial contraceptives were the prostitutes, mistresses, and slaves; Thomas Aquinas taught that sex with one’s child is more natural than masturbation which is not natural.

They also learned that St. Augustine used to teach that, in paradise, Adam was able to control his sex organ like a trained Doberman who listened and obeyed to the “sit down” and “stand up” commands. After the fall, Adam’s sex organ

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became like an unleashed Pitbull; but normally became like a string beans after each job, and cannot even be prompted immediately for another round. It was in this class that Kari learned how morality changed in time as people and their practices changed in time. For instance, lending money with interest used to be called usury. Now, it is legally called a loan because the presence of the banks and their borrowers became part of the so-called normal life. The Roman Church had also established its own bank: the Vatican Bank. What was unnatural in the eyes of Rome had turned natural in the eyes of Rome. What Rome had defined, Rome would eventually be able to un-define; or so it seems. Just like slavery…meaning Rome tolerated it and then disapproved it. But Rome seemed to wish that all Christians be its obedient vassals. Could one hope that someday Rome will change its mind about artificial contraceptives, just like how the Anglicans did in the 1930 Lambeth Conference? Maybe, if they could see today that contraceptive users are no longer just yesterday’s prostitutes, mistresses, and slaves. Kari and his classmates learned many other things in this theological school: the Bible, the Church, Jesus of Nazareth, Mary, New Age Theology, theology of liberation, popular religion, Mt. Banahaw, virtue, sin, feminism, and a female God. Their formators expected the students to be some kind of experts in religion and theology. It was in the theological school where Kari began to seriously doubt some particular norms which he used to believe as having divine origins. The progressive approach of the school could not but re-awaken Kari’s already critical mind.

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a more serious reaction

Look at that old priest. At his age, he still doesn’t know that the convent is for those who serve.

After school, Bro. Tony, who was also Kari’s classmate,

walked with Kari back to their convent. With Tony’s hearing handicap, Kari learned to speak and shout at the same time. Tony was the most serious-mannered among the students. At least, he looked serious. His hearing impairment must have driven him to a more isolated existence and a lonesome disposition which led to seriousness. It would seem that every physical impairment dictated some unique reactions from the ones who would bear it. A paraplegic doubly compensates with the hands or the head; a sight-impaired person compensates with his hearing; a hearing-impaired most of the time over-compensates with his tongue. That is, he works more with talking than with hearing. The result is that he could no longer hear and be heard in his head. Once, Kari asked Tony if there was still ink in his typewriter ribbon. “Ton, ang typewriter mo, my ribbon pa?” (“Ton, does your typewriter still have a ribbon?”) His eyes searched the room, while he was looking for something. Then said, “Saan, saan ang ibon?” (“Where, where is the bird?”) All of those in the room laughed and laughed until they realized that Tony was not amused by their reaction. On another occasion, Kari asked him if he could borrow

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his typewriter and Tony said he doesn’t smoke. He heard “lighter” in the “typewriter.” Tony was also known to be single-minded; holding on to ideas he regarded as true. In other words, Tony was hardheaded and difficult to deal with. Most of the time, he would be unconvinced about everyone’s arguments. One simply can’t argue with him. That was why no one seemed to like him because he could not talk except when he argued over something. This time Tony was talking about Fr. O’Brien. He insisted that Fr. O’Brien, in the first place, should not have entered the priesthood. He believed that one must be determined to pursue one’s purpose in religious life; no matter what. “If one cannot stand up to one’s commitment, one must quit and not pretend to possess the capacity to live one’s vows as if a life of vice is consistent with religious life. I am not just talking about simple mistakes like forgetting some dates or schedules. I am talking about mistakes because of lack of discipline or lack of commitment to improve one’s character or behavior. I am talking about being true to one’s self. I am talking about being true to one’s profession, to one’s goal, and to one’s life. You might say St. Peter made a mistake and he bounced back. But I would say Judas made a mistake and he hanged himself. St. Peter’s mistake was a lapse; Judas’s was all premeditated and deeply rooted in a selfserving conscience. Maybe for ordinary people, to have committed a mistake means to be able to commit another mistake. In a vowed religious life, once you commit a wrongdoing, one must be able to pack up and leave the congregation. I mean, if you really believe a vowed life is not made for you, don’t ‘make’ it for you! In that case, it would be better for you to hang yourself!” Kari chuckled with these last words. And he thought to himself, “Indeed, if you can’t resist doing it, don’t do it here.”

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“And it’s worse,” Tony continued, now shuddering with greater pontification, “when one makes the convent into one’s penthouse, he could still flaunt his ability to transform it into his own brand of service; casting his pride over authority; acting with self-assurance in front of his brothers; cynical in front of the miserable poor neighbor squatters; squeaking with pure surplus-reasons. It is just simple stupidity; lacking common sense. No propriety whatsoever. Walanghiya!” (“Shameless!”) Kari sighed as he replied in apparent resignation, “What can we do?” “Well, I think it is not about what we can do. It is simply about what people should not do. It is about what they should not do in order that others may have their peace. They should not be disturbing others by their rotten presence. Their absence will help us a lot.” What Tony said had not given Kari much enlightenment or reason to be assured about religious commitment. The image of Fr. O’Brien in the phone booth had become more powerful than any matter Tony had raised before Kari. All the while Tony was talking, Kari was somewhat reliving the PBA (phone booth affair) and the numbness in his head. As Tony was telling him to proceed to the dining room for lunch, Kari glanced at one of the windows from the priests’ house. There was Fr. Andrew…cheerfully waving at them. “Tingnan mo ’yan, sa tanda niyang ’yan, di pa niya alam na ang tinitirhan niya ay para lang sa mga taong nagsisilbi.” (“Look at that old priest. At his age, he still doesn’t know that the convent is for those who serve.”) Kari took a deep breath as he remarked, “Noontime inside that convent must be really cool.” “Hindi pa yata yan nabibilad sa araw. Baka takot maging daing. Ang itim naman. Mukhang bansot na tutóng!” (“He must be avoiding the sun; afraid to get burned. But look at his dark

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skin; and he looks like burnt midget rice.”) Tony seldom talked acerbic and insulting. And, normally, Kari did not sympathize with him when he behaved like that. Yet there was something in Kari that day that somehow complemented Tony’s bile. For the first time, Kari didn’t raise his voice for Tony to hear. Yet, he wondered why Tony was so harsh against Fr. Andrew that day. After the common supper, Kari went directly to his room and didn’t join the common recreation. Too many homework. Kari took the book A Theology of Liberation by Gutiérrez and started taking down notes. But he dropped it later for the compline. Bro. Rev and Bro. Ralph were still in front of the TV. They preferred their extended recreation than the last common activity for the day. As the group sang the last prayer, Kari’s mind was transported back to Surigao City. Night prayers always brought back memories about his birthplace. The past always returned whenever he felt sad or troubled. It came strongly in a form of refuge from the present. Sometimes, visions of a future plan or images of flights or advance plots of an offensive against people he hated were rehearsed in his imagination. The Phone Booth Affair made him very depressed and Surigao lifeline kept on streaming like a video clip from the past.

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more weeds and wheat His life in the seminary transformed from a process of formation into a process of keeping shocking information.

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he elegant Candlelights community center was fullylighted. The newly-ordained Fr. Rev and Fr. Ralph were all smiles and gay. Their families could not contain their joy as scores of members of the parish approached their tables to congratulate them and ask for their blessings. The chorale and orchestra from a leading university competed with the din with their shuffling of Handel’s Messiah, Bach’s Ave Maria, and Mendehlsson’s Magnificat. Two full human-size narra-framed mirrors stood by the side of the orchestra podium—gifts from the two favorite benefactors of Rev and Ralph. Each mirror had the image of the crucified Jesus intricately carved on the crown of the frame—presumably to temper a male celibate’s vanity. Food and drinks were in surplus. The two families of the newly-ordained outdid each other with their lechon—Fr. Rev’s group brought twenty-four lechon de leche; Fr. Ralph’s side hauled ten huge lechon from Mila’s La Loma roasted pigs. Drinks were in abundance but the variety confused Kari. He could not understand why all kinds of alcoholic drinks were on the tables. Fr. Mark, who was with some parishioners, smiled as he caught Kari’s eyes wondering at the incongruity of the whole collection of drinks: red wine, white wine, champagne, Red Label Johnnie Walker, Black Label Johnnie Walker, Blue Label Johnnie Walker, Southern Comfort,

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Jameson, Chivas Regal, Carlos I brandy, Hennessy XB Cognac, Rémy Martin Champagne Cognac, Martell Cordon Bleu, Bailey’s Liqueur, José Cuervo Tequila, and Absolut Vodka. Fr. Anthony, who planed from Surigao for the occasion, could not control himself and blurted out: “If this is poverty, I can’t wait for chastity!” Even in the midst of festive noise, Tony heard Fr. Anthony’s witty remark. Kari’s group (Methodius, Bobby, Toto, Fernan and Tony) attracted everyone’s attention with their boisterous laughter. Fr. Anthony laughed out loud too. But through the waves of designers’ evening gowns and jusi barong of the well-to-do’s, Kari saw children standing outside the grilled gates of the well-lit and merry parish community center. “’Tol, tingnan mo yong mga bata sa labas.” (“Bro., look at those kids outside the center.”) “San, ’tol?” (“Where?”) “Yon o, sa may bandang kalsada. Di ba yan yong mga bata dyan sa may sapa?” (“There, near the road. Aren’t they from the creek?”) “Sila nga yata. Sapa lang naman ang malapit dito. Bakit ’tol?” (“Right. They’re from the creek. Why?”) “Eh, ano…para yatang hindi tama. Nadoon sila sa labas, tapos nandito tayo sa loob, nag-eenjoy. Hinaharangan pa natin sila. Di ba dapat nandito din sila?” (“Hmm…something’s wrong. We are here inside, insulating ourselves, celebrating and enjoying and they are there outside with eyes gaping.”) “Subukan mong papasukin ’tol at giyera ang abutin mo kina Rev at Ralph.” (“Try inviting them inside Bro….and Rev and Ralph will declare war.”) “Hmmm…mali talaga ’tol…may mali.” (“Hmmm…there’s something wrong Bro. Something’s wrong.”) “Gusto mo, kuha tayo ng pagkain tapos ibigay natin sa kanila?” (“Why don’t we bring them food?”)

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“Di yata pwede ’tol.” (“I don’t think that’s possible Bro.”) “Bakit?” (“Why?”) Kari pointed at the locked gates. “Sa’n tayo dadaan? Lahat ’tol may kandado. Pwede lang tayong lumabas kung may susi tayo. Si Rev o si Ralph ang may hawak ng mga susi.” (“Where do we exit? All gates are locked. Rev and Ralph keep the keys.”) “Ayaw mong umikot tayo? Dito tayo dumaan sa may opisina tapos labas tayo sa may pinto sa CR. Walang security guard doon.” (“Let’s do something. We’ll pass through the parish office and through the CR. There’s no one guarding that way.”) Bobby was intrigued by the hush-hush conversation between Kari and Methodius. He joined them and asked, “May binabalak kayo ano?” (“I know you’re up to something.”) “Eto, eto…’tol, bakit hindi? Gagawin na lang natin eh bakit di natin gawing big-time ’tol. Bobby sali ka dito. Si Fernan tawagin mo.” (“Yes, why not? Let’s make it big-time. Bobby, join us. You call Fernan.”) Kari’s eyes sparkled. “Ano na naman yan ’tol?” (“What are you thinking Bro.?”) Bro. Fernan approached the group and listened to Methodius’s plan. “Ganito…Bobby, Fernan, pinag-usapan namin ni Kari na magdala ng pagkain sa mga bata na nakatanghod dyan sa labas. Ang iniisip ko, kuha na tayo ng lechon de leche. Ang dami naman nyan, kahit tatlo kunin natin di nila mapansin. Tapos dalahin natin sa sapa. Sigurado piyesta doon pag may dala tayo.” (“It’s like this…Bobby, Fernan, Kari and I decided to bring food to those kids ogling outside. I thought we could instead bring lechon to them. Three lechon is possible to bring to the creek community. They will surely have a feast.”) “Ha, ha, ha!” Bobby could not control his amusement. He agreed to the plan and even suggested more. “Dala tayo ng dalawang lechon de leche. Ako at si Methodius ang magdadala. Ikaw Kari hablot ka doon ng dalawang malalaking Chivas. Ikaw Fernan, kunin mo yong malaking cake.” (“Ha, ha, ha…Me and Metho-

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dius will take care of the two lechon de leche. Kari, you grab two bottles of Chivas. Fernan, get that huge cake right there.”) Fernan protested: “Ano ba yan? Sigurado, makikita tayo nyan. Paano nyo yan palulusutin?” (“No. They will see us. How are we going to bring those things outside?”) “Madali lang yon, etong si Fernan talaga. Basta, kunin mo yong isang malaking cake. Hindi tayo sisitahin ng waiter dahil naka-habit tayo. Kari, kuha ka ng dalawang Chivas. Sabihin lang na para sa seminaryo. Di na sila aangal dyan. Kita tayo sa may CR doon sa labas. Hintayin nyo lang kami ni Bobby.” (“That’s easy. Just get that cake. We’re wearing our habits, the waiters won’t bother us. Kari, you take two Chivas and tell them that those are for the seminary. They will not complain. We’ll see you at the CR outside. Wait for me and Bobby.”) They all agreed and the conspirators moved according to plan. Fernan and Kari had no problem collecting their stuffs. Kari was able to get a big plastic bag and deposited two Chivas Regals and a big bottle of Carlos I into it. Fernan chose the biggest chocolate cake. Bobby and Methodius approached the last buffet table near the exit. “Waiter, can you help us bring two lechon de leche to the student house refectory? Some of our guests don’t like to come here. They’re not properly attired.” “Yes Brother.” He signaled for help from the other waiter. “Here, take these two. Be sure to include their support, the banana trunk support. Bro. Methodius, can you please help me with the sauce?” “Okay, Bro. Bobby.” The two waiters picked their lechon de leche. Bobby and Methodius followed behind, carrying lechon sauce and some achara. They didn’t look back. The waiters were already near the parish office.

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“Waiter, just leave the lechon there. We’ll take care of them.” He pointed to the extended ledge of the parish office counter. “Thank you very much. God bless you.” “Don’t mention it Brod.” When the waiters were gone, Bobby whistled at Kari and Fernan who waited outside. “’Tol, hubarin nyo na muna ang habit nyo. Nandito na ang lechon!” (“Bro. take off your habits. The lechon are here.”) They disrobed and left their habits just outside the refectory. Then they moved swiftly with their loot towards the street and waited for a tricycle. No one from Fr. Rev’s or Fr. Ralph’s group noticed what transpired as a perfect execution of a plan to share resources. “’Tol, tama ba ’tong ginagawa natin?” (“Bro. is this right?”) “Ikaw talaga Kari…kanina sabi mo mali ang hindi kasama ang mga bata doon sa kainan…ngayon naman mali itong ibigay natin ang mga pagkain sa kanila?” (“Kari, a while ago you said there’s something wrong in the way kids were staring at the feast…now you think this sharing of food is wrong?”) “Hindi ’tol, nagtatanong lang.” (“No, Bro., just asking.”) “O, ayan na ang tricycle. May kasunod pa. Dalawa na ang kunin natin. Di tayo kasyang apat sa isang tricycle lang. Kita tayo kina Aling Mena.” (“There, the tricycle is coming. Let’s take two rides. We’ll see each other at Aling Mena’s place.”) “Okay.” Bobby and Fernan went ahead. Kari and Methodius were in the other tricycle. “Pare, umikot ka lang muna dyan sa may bandang kanan at may dadaanan lang tayo.” (“Driver, take a turn that way, we’re going to fetch somebody.”) “Bakit, ’tol, sinong pupuntahan natin?” (“Who is it Bro.?”) “Yong mga bata ’tol, sabihin natin umuwi na at may lechon na sila sa bahay.” (“The kids…we’ll tell them about the lechon waiting for them at home.”) Kari was so fired up that evening, but still thought

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whether they were Robin Hood’s or Jesus of Nazareth’s disciples. Three years passed and Kari advanced further in knowledge of theology, and in becoming more dedicated to the prayer group and choir apostolate. He got more involved in various socio-political activities. His professors confirmed his exceptional intellectual acumen as well as his diligence in research. The Student Master always received commendations for Kari’s accomplishments in school. Fr. Greg admired him for his involvement in various social issues. Fr. Greg provided much of the positive things that gave Kari inspiration for his stay in the seminary. Kari was into his third year theology and Fr. Greg had shown great interest in Kari’s academic formation. During lunch, Kari was always seated beside Fr. Greg. “Kari, how’s school?” “Okay, lang Father. Daming trabaho. (“Fine, Father. Too much work.”) But I like the challenge, especially when many of us would be exposed to the likes of Paolo Freire, Bishop Helder Camara, and Gustavo Gutiérrez.” “Ganon ba? Hinay-hinay ka lang din at baka mabibigla ka naman. Teka, maiba ako. Kumusta naman ang apostolate mo? I heard you are handling three groups.” (“Is that so? Slow down. You might have indigestion. By the way, how’s your apostolate? I heard you are handling three groups.”) “Oo Father. Pero itong choir group naging theater group din. Pareho lang naman halos ang mga miyembro. Yong sa prayer group, sumasabay naman sa alternative medicine at community-based health program. Mga kabataan ang una. Yong pangalawa ay mga nanay.” (“That’s right, Father. But the choir group is also my theater group. The prayer group is also with the alternative medicine and community-based health program.”) “Nabalitaan ko nga pala yong pambabato sa inyo ng mga barangay tanod noong presentation ninyo tungkol sa mga squatters. Hindi ba natakot ang mga kasama mo?” (“I heard about how the baran-

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gay tanod harassed you by stoning your show. Did they scare your members?”) “Natakot din yong iba, lalo na yong mga baguhan pa sa grupo. Pero ang galing talaga nitong si Mulong, siya pa ngayon ang laging nanghahamon ng bagong project. Pati na yong ibang mga kasama niya, galit na galit na kay Marcos eh.” (“Well, some were terrified, especially the new members. But Mulong, one of the members, even insisted on staging more shows. All of them really hate Marcos.”) “Ganoon ba? Ingat lang. Ngayong piyesta meron ka na bang nakasalang na project para sa iyong theater group?” (“Be careful. This coming parish feast, do you have a project for your theater group?”) “Meron na Father. Kaya lang hirap din ako sa mga rehearsals dahil wala akong pondo para masuportahan ang production at mga miyembro.” (“Yes we have. But we lack resources. I don’t have funds for the rehearsals.”) “Anong kailangan mo?” (“What do you need?”) “Konti lang naman Father. Basta meron lang kaming pagkain everytime we do rehearsals at saka konting pamasahe ng mga bata pwede na yon.” (“Some money for snacks and tricycle fare for the kids.”) “Sige, sabihin mo lang sa akin at tutulungan kita.” (“Okay, I will help you.”) “Talaga? Matutuwa yong mga bata. Kahit sa gabi pwede na kaming magpraktis.” (“Are you sure? The kids will be happy. We will be able to have evening rehearsals.”) “Sige, mamaya, punta ka ng office at bigyan mo ako ng detalye ng gastusin nyo.” (“Afterwards, come to my office and bring a detailed list of expenses.”) “Salamat Father.” (“Thanks, Father.”) Kari’s enthusiasm was so transparent. “Teka, baka gusto mong sumama minsan sa akin?” (“By the way, you might like to join me one of these days.”) “Saan po?” (“Where?”)

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“Sa Labor Center. Siguradong madagdagan pa ang experience mo sa apostolate. May mga trabaho doon na tamang-tama sa talent mo. Minsan kasi iniimbitahan pa nila ako para magbigay ng lectures. Ipakilala kita.” (“In the Labor Center. It will be a very good exposure for you. They got plenty of work that will suit you. I will introduce you to the group.”) “Sige po. Sabihin nyo lang kung kailan.” (“Okay, just tell me when.”) “Okay, mauna ako. Sumunod ka na lang sa office ko.” (“I’ll go ahead. See you later in my office.”) Fr. Greg left the refectory for the parish office while Kari finished his dessert. Fr. Greg was the only priest in the Candlelights who made Kari’s resolve for religious life still intact; despite the presence of Fr. O’Brien and Fr. Andrew. Fr. Andrew was one of the most powerful figures to have made Kari’s consciousness squirm. Kari considered Fr. Andrew as one figure of irrationality and absurdity; of a depraved personal life hiding under the canonical cassock. If one could peep into this hiding place, a perfect misrepresentation of ministry could be discovered. Fr. Andrew had, in fact, caused wounds, incurable ones, in the memory of those who became victims of his own agony and misery. Kari himself was a direct witness to Fr. Andrew’s ways. Once, he asked for some form of assistance from the priest. It was Bro. Bobby who suggested to Kari to approach Fr. Andrew. Bro. Bobby said he was once a beneficiary of Fr. Andrew’s generosity. “Good morning Fr. Andrew. Baka naman matulungan nyo ako sa production ng aming theater group. Kailangan namin ng costumes; baka meron kayo dyang nakatabi kahit konti.” (“Good morning Fr. Andrew. You might be able to help our theater group’s production. We need constumes; you could share some of what you have set aside.”) “Sure, sure. Come to my room. I don’t have any stuff

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but I can fund some of your needs. Magkano ba?” (“How much do you need?”) “Kailangan po namin ng isang terno para sa aming lead role na babae. Mahirap pong maghanap e. Bibili na lang kami. Mga five hundred din po yon.” (“We need a terno for our leading lady. It will cost us five hundred pesos.”) “Ok, five hundred lang pala.” (“Okay, that not difficult.”) They entered his room and Fr. Andrew took five hundred from his drawer and gave it to Kari. “O, eto, pagkasyahin nyo na.” (“Here, I hope that’s enough.”) “Naku salamat Father. Matutuwa ang mga bata nito.” (“Yes, thank you, Father. The kids will be delighted.”) As soon as Kari turned for the door, Fr. Andrew’s hands went for Kari’s butt. They lingered there for a while until Kari was able to walk faster and extricate himself. Fr. Andrew was so amused at the reaction of Kari who was still astonished even after he crossed the door separating the priests’ convent and the student house. On that same day, around 7:30 p.m. Bro. Tom was in a hurry, breathing heavily, and gasping for air as he caught Kari on his way back to his room. “O, asa man ka gikan?” (“Where have you been?”) “Gikan ko nag-attend ug mass bay. Si Fr. Andrew ang nag celebrate. Pagkahuman nag-adto ko sa iya sa sacristy. Kami na lang duha didto, kalit man lang ko niya gigakos unya gihalukan. Lips to lips lagi, ang dila niya sige ug kisi-kisi sa akong dila. Ngano man to Kari? Unsa man to, fatherly kiss?” (“I attended this mass celebrated by Fr. Andrew. After the mass, I went inside the sacristy where Fr. Andrew embraced me and kissed me lipsto-lips, his tongue wiggling and pushing against my tongue. Why did he do it? Was it a fatherly kiss Kari?”) Kari wanted to scream at Tom and slap his face for his naïveté and stupidity. Kari was both horrified by his ignorance as well as by Fr. Andrew’s disgusting behavior. Kari

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could not imagine how a minister could do such a thing to an innocent seminarian whose fault was to have exposed himself to a fatherly figure. He could not also believe how Tom could innocently interpret a wet and hungry kiss on his lips as a fatherly kiss. For Fr. Andrew, every young man’s kiss could have been a warm and moist consolation for his desiccated convent existence. Again, Fr. Andrew showed his ways; and this time to Mulong, the more regular member of Kari’s group. After a Sunday mass, Fr. Andrew engaged Mulong with a stimulating discussion about the priesthood. Mulong had expressed to Fr. Andrew his intent on pursuing a vocation to priesthood. Their exchange led Fr. Andrew to invite Mulong into a vacant counseling room where they, presumably, could talk more seriously. Innocent as he was, Mulong went inside the room. Once he got there, Fr. Andrew closed the door and with lightning speed pulled Mulong’s hands and with a thrust of his still sturdy knees, pinned Mulong into a corner. Mulong was so surprised that he did not have time to react when Fr. Andrew’s hand went to grab his crotch and kissed him lipsto-lips. Fr. Andrew had some of his time glued to Mulong’s lips and enjoyed several more seconds of caressing, until Mulong struggled, got away from his grip and scampered outside for air and relief. Outside the counseling room, Mulong dashed towards Kari and the choir members. “Grabe, putang inang baklang pari yan! Pwe!,” expelling out some spit with fortitude. (“That homo priest…son of a bitch!”) “Bakit, anong nangyari?” Kari was baffled. (“What’s wrong?”) “Putang ina, hinalikan ba naman ako!” (“That son of a bitch kissed me.”) “Sino? Sinong humalik sa ‘yo?” Asked one of the girl choir members. (“Who kissed you?”)

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“Si Fr. Andrew! Hinatak niya ako sa kwarto tapos kinapaan niya ako at ni-lips-to-lips!” (“Fr. Andrew grabbed my front and he kissed me lips-to-lips!”) Mulong’s Visayan accent was erupting so hard and had become as explosive as his anger. Some of the choir members were amused at what happened. Rather than show outrage against Fr. Andrew’s act and pity for Mulong, some could only imagine how a dirty old homo priest could drive himself to ravish an innocent-looking 16year old teenager. This, to them, was probably extraordinary and even comical. They could have regarded it as one sacred ritual—a practice set apart from ordinary practices. But Mulong was serious and fuming mad. “Anong gagawin mo?” (“What will you do?”) asked Merly who was one of those who were still in disbelief. Furious over the incident, Mulong exclaimed: “I-report ko yang pari yan. I-expose natin yang baliw na yan!” (“I’ll report him. Let’s expose that madman.”) “Long, hayaan mo na muna, wala yatang magagawa ang mga kasama niya dyan. Tingnan mo, mas grabe pa nga yong ginagawa niya sa mga car wash boys, eh wala man lang reaction yong mga kasama nyang pari. Parang kasama na yata sa buhay nila ang lahat ng klaseng katarantaduhan.” (“Long, don’t bother. Look, he’s been doing worse things to the car wash boys. His confreres did not even lift a finger. It’s already part of their permissive life and all of their follies.”) While Kari was saying those words with resentment, resignation was also written into his voice. Then he fully understood why Bro. Tony was so incensed every time he saw Fr. Andrew. “Putang ina talaga. Masusunog sana sa impyerno ang matandang baklang ‘yan!” (“Son of a bitch…may that old faggot burn in hell!”) Mulong was already up in arms. He was already enlisting Lucifer to his cause. The car-wash-boys’ case was another hard-to-believebut-true tale in the many sexual exploits of Fr. Andrew. He would bring himself and a boy, sometimes two, inside a

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movie house and there allowed himself to be consumed by the compelling forces inside him. They usually stayed in the darkest uppermost portion of the balcony (KKK=Kataastaasan, Kasuloksulukan, at Kadilimdiliman). Fr. Andrew would be chained by the extremely pleasurable art of fondling boys’ genitals. He would then reward them with food and some money. He would be into this pursuit regularly (as in once or twice a month). Some of the young boys of the parish would broadcast Fr. Andrew’s vice. It is from one of them that Kari heard a blow-by-blow account of one of his pursuits. The Candlelights priests and brothers did not seem to have done anything to control or confront him. Perfectae caritatis, the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, the cloister discipline, the common life, the Candlelights Rule, the priestly ordination, the Christian baptism, self-determination, all of these were powerless over the soul of Fr. Andrew now gripping his body. A spirit created by Fr. Andrew’s acts had hovered above everyone in the convent, somehow already pulling people into a world where discernment, sense of service, and decency were lost. Fr. Andrew needed money to support his habit which, only God knows, could have been there even before he joined the Candlelights. Although priests regularly receive financial allowance, it was not enough to maintain costly vices. Fr. Andrew and the other priests (Yes. They too have vices of some sort. Fr. C., Fr. Dan, Fr. Peter, Fr. Jonie, Fr. Frondo, Fr. Ralph, and Fr. Rev) have ways of supporting their un-priestly activities. Fr. Greg’s “vice” was difficult to discover; if he had any. He remained one of those (very few, like Fr. Mark and Fr. Ronnie; Kari could count them with his left hand) whose good behavior influenced Kari’s estimation. Kari was still so innocent with the ways of some priests who were somehow addicted to the Sunday collection ritual. Yes, priests—plural…suggestive perhaps of a “tradition” based on the presence of multiple practitioners whose actions

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constantly reproduce a pattern of behavior already taking the character of a shared ritual. Such a behavioral pattern points again to clusters of action that could represent fragile characters’ susceptibility to mimesis—imitating others, even to the point of imitating destructive behavior. A fallen nature, humanity is; even ministers could not live up to their mission to counteract humanity’s dive toward Sin. One Sunday mass (11a.m.-12noon mass), Kari assisted in the distribution of communion. In addition to the main celebrant, there were usually two or three more priests and two or three seminarians who would be assisting in the communion service. The 11a.m.-12noon mass was one of the most populated masses in the parish. There must have been five or six ministers giving communion at that time. There was this unwritten custom observed by communion givers. The one who finished last in the distribution must bring the offering-collections bags and unload them into the money chest. About a dozen of collection bags were to be hauled. With the emptying out of every collection bag, coins and bills (more coins than bills) would drop and sprinkle like waterfalls. Fr. Andrew assumed the role of the last distributor of communion (a ploy to complete the Collection Bag Activity [CBA]) to be able to get the right to collect all the donation bags. What he did not know was that Kari was left behind to assist the celebrant who delegated to him the cleaning of several chalices. When Kari was done with the job, he exited through the altar’s left-side passage. This dimmed passage, lighted only by candlelights, would exit towards the front entrance of the seminary. The collection chest was located in a corner where the passage turned towards the exit. When Kari approached that turn, he saw Fr. Andrew snatching wads of bills from a collection bag and dunked them into his soutana’s pocket. He must have been doing this act several times while Kari was busy fixing things in the altar.

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When he saw Kari, his eyes widened, but only for a moment; with surprising promptness, he regained his composure and, with hand motion, invited Kari to join him in the looting. Kari frowned and shook his head as he quickly walked past Fr. Andrew who, apparently, still had to continue with his own business. He looked like a professional in what he was doing. His old age did not show in the way he nimbly executed his act. The fluidity and dexterity of his arms, the swiftness of his movement, the quick reflexes of his eyes—all of these were artfully executed to serve this Sunday crime. Fr. Andrew’s cassock looked so hungry that day as handfuls of bills were stuffed into its wide-mouthed pockets. Fr. Andrew must have thought that God was not watching him. God, after all, was supposed to be busy snatching typical crooks away from hell, like the robbers, drug pushers, and hired killers. Since God was not in the collection chest, Fr. Andrew had therefore judged proper to exercise his own prerogatives. The Divine presence in the old priest’s conscience was never a power like God was powerfully present in the battles against the Pharaoh of Egypt. Kari wondered how many starving soutana pockets were also active on that very Sunday. That scene was another load which had gradually cramped Kari’s congested memory bank. His life in the seminary seemed to have transformed gradually from a process of formation into a process of keeping shocking information. Kari’s sense of purpose, now pummeled by various unfortunate events, had been tested. But he still convinced himself that all things would turn out right in God’s time. After lunch, Kari went straight to Fr. Greg’s office which was located very near the mass offering’s money chest. The door was open. Kari saw Fr. Greg signing some papers on his table. Fr. Greg saw Kari from the corner of his eyes and said, “Come in, Kari. Halika.”

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“’Di na kayo nag-siesta. Deretso kaagad sa trabaho.” (“No more siesta? All you do is work…”) “Mag-siesta din ako mamaya. Inuna ko lang ito para pagbalik ng secretary ako naman ang magpahinga. Babalikan kasi ito ng mga kumukuha ng Baptismal Certificates. Ganito talaga pag Sabado, maraming pinipirmahan. O, ano, may mga detalye ka na ba sa gastusin ninyo?” (“I’ll take siesta later. I’ll just finish this so that my secretary will no longer bother me while I’m taking a rest. I’ll have to sign these Baptismal Certificates. Too many of these when it’s a Saturday. So, do you have those detailed expenses?”) “Meron na Father. Eto, isinulat ko lang kanina sa refectory. Konti lang naman’yan. Di pa nga aabot ng isang libo.” (“Got it. It’s a small budget. Less than a thousand pesos.”) He handed the paper to Fr. Greg. Fr. Greg examined the list. “Pwede na eto. Gawin ko nang isang libo sarado para may extra kang pang-gastos kung sakaling mashort ka.” (“We have a budget for this. Take this 1,000.00 so you have extra money for other expenses.”) “Salamat po.” (“Thank you.”) Fr. Greg was all smiles as he handed Kari ten 100-peso bills. “Salamat Father. Sige po, alis na ako at nang makapagpahinga na kayo.” (“Thank you, Father. ’Have to go, so you can take your siesta.”) “Wait, Kari, sandali lang. Mayroon sana akong gustong itanong sa yo. Maupo ka muna.” (“Wait, Kari. I need to talk to you. Please, be seated.”) “Ano po yon?” (“What is it?”) “Kumusta naman ang katayuan mo dito sa Candlelights? I mean, kinukumusta kita dahil alam kong hindi madali para sa mga seminarista ang buhay dito. Alam mo ang tinutukoy ko.” (“How’s your stay here in Candlelights? I mean, I’m asking about your life in the seminary. I know life here is no longer easy for the guys. You know what I mean.”)

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‘Eh, Father yon po bang pag-aaral ko?” (“Is it about my studies?”) “Hindi yon. Ang tinutukoy ko ay ang tungkol kina Fr. O’Brien at Fr. Andrew. Alam mo ang…” (“No. I’m referring to Fr. O’Brien and Fr. Andrew. You know their…”) “Alam ko po…at hindi nga madali sa akin kung papaano ko sila maintindihan. Sa totoo lang po, hindi talaga ako mapakali kung minsan. Tinatanong ko nga ang sarili ko kung talaga bang kailangan kong ipursigi ang pagiging Candlelights ko. Alam nyo po yon, minsan di naman natin mapigilan ang mga naglalaro sa utak natin.” (“Yes, I know…and life here in the seminary is difficult because of them. Sometimes, I even ask myself whether I should continue to pursue my vocation. You can’t control those thoughts.”) “Naiintindihan ko yon Kari. Lalo na at matagal-tagal ka na rin dito. Ang dami mo na ring nakikita. Ilang taon ka na ba dito sa Manila?” (“I understand. You have seen many things... How long have been here in Manila?”) “Mahigit tatlong taon na po.” (“More than three years.”) “Tatlong taon na rin ako noon sa theology nang dumaan ako sa mga pagsubok na yan.” (“It was also during my third year when I entertained leaving the congregation.”) “Naisip nyo na rin pong umalis noon?” (“Did you also consider leaving?”) “Aba siyempre. Lahat yata ng mga nagpapari ay dumadaan sa stage na yan. Iba-iba nga lang ang mga dahilan natin.” (“Of course. It seems that everyone entering the priesthood is bugged by doubts. We just don’t have the same reasons.”) “Ano po ang nangyari…I mean, if you don’t mind. Baka puwede nyong ikuwento…” (“What happened? If you don’t mind…”) “Kari, ganito yon. When my superiors sent me to Rome for further studies, they were grooming me either for an administrative or academic position. What I had in mind was the importance of that study for what I loved most—my

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involvement with the workers. Superiors rarely knew what was in the heart of their protégés. They made their own plans for me; I had my own plans. “During my seminary years, I was already a regular visitor of the Archdiocesan Labor Center. One of our professors in ecclesiology wanted us to study the involvement of church people in labor problems. The people in the Center wanted my association with them to be a fruitful experience for me, that is, for my so-called formation. They were very careful in handling me. They must have thought about my upper bourgeois culture as a liability. Their caution, however, was perfect; otherwise, I would have been too half-baked if I were thrown immediately into the fray, so to speak. Gradually and fearfully, I learned about the skirmishes between employers and employees, between the police and the labor unions, and between the conservative and the radical people in the churches. Gradually and surely, I learned how church people were trying to live out their faith in Jesus. They did this by siding with workers whom they considered victims and oppressed by our too profit-oriented and self-centered ways. After my seminary years, I wanted my superiors to assign me here in Manila so that I could continue my involvement with the workers. They sent me, instead, to Rome. “It was not an entirely unwelcome assignment, but I was really affected by the new environment in Rome. The first time I visited the Vatican, I went immediately to St. Peter’s Basilica. I wanted to see that huge cathedral that, our professor told us, caused the breakup of the Church into Catholic and Protestant churches. Inside St. Peter’s, I felt so small. Everybody inside the place looked so small because everything inside it was gigantic. The columns were awesome, the space felt like it wrapped the sky, and the things you find there—Bernini’s and Michelangelo’s works reduced all I’ve known, all I’ve seen, into Lilliputian proportions. When I went up to St. Peter’s dome and moved around 360˚ to view

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the whole City of Rome, I looked at the world that wanted all other worlds to kneel down and bow before it in submission—not because the Popes really wanted that. But Rome was really there, before my eyes. The imposing and dominating city would never know inferiority or weakness even when already reduced to ruins. “I never expected to feel the emotions that battered me as soon as I went down to the Vatican grounds. I, a Filipino, wanted to make sense of that something that I felt—a pity, or extreme sorry feeling for the Philippines—an insignificant, small, forgettable territory, nation, that was once a plaything of powers who wanted their prominence to ring loudly and send a message to all people that what matters in life is power, riches, and fame. I saw myself a part of that story of colonial domination. There I was in Rome, a spectator, could be a pawn, in the endearing story of Christianity and its call for vocations that willingly mixed conquest and cruelty with Jesus’s message of forgiveness and compassion. “That moment…that moment, I questioned myself, ‘What am I doing here?’ I questioned my vocation, ‘Should I really continue to be part of this lie for my whole life?’ I wanted to get away. I wanted to go back home and leave the Candlelights and concentrate on working for the underprivileged workers in the factories. “I talked to one of the priests of the congregation and he assured me that it was just one of the many stages that priests pass through in the course of their formation. ‘Your commitment is not destroyed by this experience and don’t ever let your frustrations stand before you and prevent you from fulfilling your dreams. Even inside the congregation, you can still do what you think is right. Make a difference even if everyone has done what to us is clearly wrong…make a difference.’ “I finished my studies and here I am, trying to live a life different from what I think is not right. You, too, Kari will

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have to do that which is different. Don’t ever forget that it’s you who will be proven right later on and not them who make you feel bad, and make you forget your dreams.” Kari left Fr. Greg in his office. He felt his words of encouragement. Somehow, he had to remind himself of the need for determination and perseverance. Kari, however, had to deal with more challenges than Fr. Greg’s words could handle. Perhaps, not even St. Augustine and Thomas Merton could help him hurdle those challenges. There were too many things which had caught Kari wondering about his life inside the seminary. Such things had generated not a few questions about his place in the Candlelights. They were no longer just questions about the Candlelights but already about himself and his role inside the congregation. Kari borrowed some books about the Little Brothers of Jesus and about Charles de Foucauld—an indication of his search for an alternative to Candlelights. Yes. Kari started to look for an alternative. Too many incidents inside the Candlelights had been chasing Kari. He found himself slowly retreating into a corner—confused, harassed, and, many times, frustrated. Sometimes, he wondered if he was the one responsible for painting himself into that corner. Kari fell into sleep while reading the books which he hoped could extricate him from his woes.

22

with god’s drinkard When homily came, his hangover imposed itself on his tongue. Words from his mouth also sounded inebriated.

K

ari woke up at the behest of his alarm clock. After taking his breakfast, he walked fast to the parish office to meet his choir members who were assigned to sing for the ten o’clock Sunday mass. Mulong was already tuning his guitar while the rest of the group scanned through their songbooks for the assigned songs. The huge church which could accommodate a thousand worshippers was sparsely populated that hour. Not even onehalf of the available seats were occupied. Kari wasn’t surprised at the turnout of mass-goers. Fr. Dan was the assigned celebrant. Parishioners always avoided Fr. Dan, especially in a morning when he always appeared to struggle concentrating. A night owl, Fr. Dan hated morning schedules. But if he could not avoid it, he had to force himself even if it would mean mumbling his way through the whole celebration. True enough, when Fr. Dan started the mass, he was again munching his words. When homily came, his hangover imposed itself on his tongue. Words from his mouth sounded inebriated. Most of the people inside the church appeared tolerant; but some could not hide their impatience with their distorted facial reactions. Others complained to their seatmates. Kari could not hide his own version of impatience

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through his deep breathing exercises. But he could not avoid thinking about Fr. Dan’s ways. He was no longer listening to the homily. Fr. Dan had a “vice;” a less confounding one though. He is neither fond of boys nor of girls. He just constantly whined about his friends who lived in a squatter area near the church. While he complained about their dire straits, a bottle of whiskey had to keep him company. His friends’ extreme poverty elicited much sympathy from Fr. Dan who felt he had to form his own private cause. While State agencies, NGOs, and other Church associations have their own ways of dealing with problems of joblessness, hunger, illiteracy, homelessness, and disease, Fr. Dan did what he thought was his own “personalized mission.” It was a time when people witnessed the rule and the devastating effects of the Marcos dictatorship. The 1970’s1980’s Philippines was in real ferment. It was a period when perhaps nobody could ignore the presence of activism or the call of social involvement. Inside the churches, the seminaries, theological schools, convents, even monasteries, the influence of the spirit of social involvement or prophecy could not be missed. If one was a student, professor, social worker, or a priest, it was impossible to be unaffected by the socio-political effervescence of the times. Priests, monks, seminarians, and nuns reacted according to their own inclinations. Many of them joined the activists on the streets; some even joined the New People’s Army. Others, the greater number, were more inclined to hold on to what were familiar. They had their own old ways of responding to social troubles. Many, however, were ensconced in their fears, timidity, and rationalizations. Not a few took refuge in anesthetic gratifications: food, drink, exercise, gimmicks, leisurely socializations with the affluent, prayer rituals, or sex; or all of the above. Fr. Dan looked friendly and accommodating; too friendly and accommodating perhaps. In his almost five years of

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stay in Manila, he had established very close ties with about five families living among the squatters nearby. They became his regular beneficiaries. Fr. Dan, a New Zealander, responded with zeal to the problem of urban poverty. But it was only those who were close to him who benefited from his zealous beneficence. Fr. Dan was also a heavy smoker. When Kari needed his nicotine fix, he would usually go to him for some cigarette sticks. But before he was able to escape with his loot, Kari had to spend about half an hour or more, listening to incoherent murmurs from Fr. Dan’s tongue already limping from whisky shots. Most of the time, Kari had to patiently endure Fr. Dan’s commentaries on some opera singers or classical music spinning on his phonograph. Spending time with Fr. Dan was torture. Nevertheless, one could stay with him patiently for free cigarettes and, if one is disposed, drinks. There were times, however, when Fr. Dan shared stories which were too juicy to brush aside as wearisome. Such stories could have totally engaged Kari’s attention if it were not handicapped by Fr. Dan’s way of talking—he mumbled and ate his words. Nevertheless, one story really had Kari in full attention. He knew the guy that Fr. Dan talked about: a certain Rodolfo, 63 years old, jobless, alcoholic, with six children, and living in the nearby squatter area. In his visits with some squatter families, Kari would frequently see Rodolfo already drunk as early as 7 or 8 in the morning. Fr. Dan was a benefactor to one of Rodolfo’s children, Hector— married, with three children, and worked as a tricycle driver. Fr. Dan bought a tricycle for Hector’s family. Through the course of several patronage transactions, Hector revealed to Fr. Dan some family secrets. Rodolfo had four daughters, three of whom were victims of his incestuous assaults. It was a habit he did each time he got drunk and when his wife was not at home. His wife eventually discovered his perverse habit; but only after one of the daughters got pregnant. Her

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daughter’s child was known by everyone to be their youngest. All of his daughters migrated to the north, including the youngest, far from the vice of their father. Fr. Dan’s eyes moistened as he told this sordid tale. He felt part of the family’s utter brokenness. He would double his whiskey shots whenever he felt shattered by the miseries of his friends. Fr. Dan also looted the church collection coffer. He badly needed the money to support his “adopted” families. He gifted them with motorcycles for their tricycle transport business. For another family, he bought a small house and lot (a modest one which probably did not cost him more than fifty thousand pesos since the land had no title yet). Another family was able to start a small store; also from Fr. Dan’s contribution. They visited Fr. Dan regularly. Kari frequently saw him dole out cash as he slipped this into his visitor’s hand or shirt pocket. With all the personalized welfare he dished out, amounts of cash had to be sourced from somewhere. The parish’s coffer invited him for his privately maintained “charities.” Sometimes, when Kari happened to meet some of Fr. Dan’s beneficiaries, he would see some kind of pride exuding through their faces. They seemed to consider themselves legitimate dependents of the priest, and as such they were supposed to be part of his privileged and beloved extended family members. The extended-family values which they still held as sacred have dovetailed with Fr. Dan’s ways. “Brod, hoy Brod, offertory na. Kantahin na natin ang offertory song, Brod.” (“Bro. It’s offertory. Let’s play the offertory song.”) Kari, had to force himself to get back to the mass. He massaged his face with his hands and brought himself to attention. The choir led the assembly to sing, “Kunin mo, O Diyos at tanggapin mo, ang aking kalayaan, ang aking kalooban,

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ang isip at gunita ko. Lahat ng hawak ko, Lahat ng loob ko, Lahat ay aking alay sa iyo.” … (Take O Lord and receive My freedom, my being, My mind and my consciousness. All that I have, All that I am, I offer all to You.) Surprisingly, Fr. Dan sang the offertory song with much expressiveness. His operatic voice lent much life to the community singing. The assembly did like it. They seemed to have forgiven him for his odd behavior.

23

heartaches and motorbikes “I still wonder if Fr. C. really considered me a caring friend or just a native caregiver, inferior in every sense of the word “native?”

A

fter the mass celebration with Fr. Dan, Kari spent another hour for choir practice. Some of the members could not help but comment on Fr. Dan’s oddities. Some were curious about his manner of saying mass. “Brod, bakit ganon magsalita si Fr. Dan? Para siyang may Chiclets sa bunganga niya.” (“Why is he like that? Fr. Dan seems to be chewing Chiclets while he’s talking?”) “Pag si Fr. Dan ang nagmimisa, wala talaga akong naiintindihan. Ang dami ko tuloy naiisip na iba.” (“My mind wanders when Fr. Dan celebrates the mass.”) “Pwede palang magpari ang ganon, Brod?” (“Bro., I didn’t know that the priesthood is open to people like Fr. Dan.”) On his way to the refectory, Kari met Methodius who just assisted in the distribution of Holy Communion. “’Tol, tapos ka na sa choir mo?” (“Bro., is your choir over?”) “Oo, ’tol, tara na, kain na.” (“Yes, Bro. Let’s go and take our lunch.”) “Sige, sabay na tayo.” (“Okay, let’s go.”) They were about to turn towards the refectory’s door when Fr. C., a senior priest of the Candlelights, hit the last rung of the priests’ stairs. Fr. C. would always attract other people’s attention with his loud whistles to the tune of Irish folk songs.

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“Hi guys.” Fr. C. briskly walked past Kari and Methodius who didn’t even have the opportunity to respond to his almost obscure greeting. “’Tol, di ba ikaw yong nag-alaga kay Fr. C. pagkatapos niyang ma-bypass?” (“Bro. you were his caregiver after his bypass, isn’t it?”) “Oo ’tol, matagal-tagal ko rin siyang inalagaan. Kaya lang, parang limot na nya yon.” (“Yes, it was for quite a time. But he doesn’t seem to remember it anymore.”) Kari felt some weight in his chest as he said those words. “Ganon yata ang mga foreigners ’tol. Di nila kinikilala ang mga tumutulong sa kanila?” (“Don’t you think that’s the way of foreigners; not showing some sense of gratitude?”) “Hindi naman ’tol, baka may Alzheimer’s lang.” (“Not really Bro. He might just be suffering from Alzheimer’s.”) “Ha, ha, ha,…” Fr. C. was one who did not have to reach into the “cookie jar” since he was friend to wealthy people who owned several “cookies factories.” But this didn’t mean Fr. C. was after their cookies or their factories. Fr. C. had always impressed everyone with his handsome bachelor figure on top of his Honda 650cc. motorbike. No, he appeared more like a dashing playboy ready to pick up his girlfriend for a joyride across the Tagaytay highlands. His looks may really catch one clueless about his priestly identity; but in fairness, when he talked he would always make fatherly sense. This fatherly sense may not, however, be always perceived as a ministerial quality. That is, it may not always be expected to be translated into a ministerial act. Fr. C. would rather be characterized as a priest with a very pleasing fatherly voice, humor, and wit. Some people were naturally attracted to him. Fr. C. was already in his late fifties when Kari was assigned in Manila. But his age did not seem to be significant to some people. That was probably because he hailed from

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Europe. “He is old but he is cute.” “He looks very mature and appealing.” “He is so attractive.” Fr. C.’s well-to-do Filipino lady-friends are also generous with flattering words. Fr. C., a friend to the affluent in the parish, may not be accused of making an option for the rich but he could be observed as a favorite of the many wealthy people in the area. Although he frequented some of their homes, he could not be accused of chasing their wealth. Kari didn’t think money was what he needed. Fr. C. used to celebrate masses for the poor people in one of the squatter community’s chapel. He did this for more than ten years until he stopped. He did not appear to be against the poor, but he never went back to them. Kari didn’t know why; it must have been because of health or security. Some squatters who knew him wondered why he stopped visiting them. Children, who were fond of him, missed his afternoon visits. Most of them talked about his cheerfulness. “Si Fr. C., lagi kaming kinakarga noon. Tuwang-tuwa siya.” (“Fr. C. used to carry us in his arms. He was always pleased to see us.”) Three times a week, he would be motorbiking to the place of one of his friends and take a swim. He even invited the seminarians to join him in one of those visits. Some went along. They wanted to take a closer look at the affluent section of the parish. They have seen how the house maids stood by the poolside; ready for services: snacks, coffee, music, TV, fresh towels, and toiletries. Getting wet with Fr. C. in the swimming pools of millionaires was an opportunity that none of the seminarians would have been able to experience without his connections. It once occurred to Kari that this was probably one of the rewards for being a servant of the Church; something very appealing for those who would be looking for rewards or refuge from the stresses of priestly service. Fr. C.’s connections rewarded him with a big Honda

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motorbike. Nowadays, such bikes would fetch the price of more than half a million pesos (±P650,000.00). It could have been cheaper in Fr. C.’s time but still beyond the reach of ordinary priests. Kari had seen priests owning motorbikes (also stylish ones); but these were functional bikes reasonably priced at P20,000.00 to P50,000.00. These were regularly used for parish work. Several priests went around their parishes with their bikes. Fr. C.’s bike, however, did not look like it was for work. Kari felt it looked more like it was for display, for show, and for enhancing the reputation. With his big bike displayed on his side, Fr. C. became bigger and more distinctive than the ordinary priests. Fr. C. may not really be one of those mortals who have to rely on some privately-owned properties or toys to be able to get the attention of other people. He had enough attractive traits to make him distinctive. His natural endowments were things that people could consider as no ordinary qualities of ordinary humanity. These got the attention of some who showered him with generous servings from their abundant resources. It was no fault of Fr. C. that he was able to attract the rich to himself. Kari was however flooded with questions about the many incongruous things which he had gradually discovered. He always wanted to see Christian discipleship as a special calling. He looked at Fr. C. as a special person; not an ordinary human being. Kari considered Fr. C.’s religious life vows and ordination to the priesthood as very special vocations. Priests, as persons set apart from the ordinary life, were not supposed to crave for attention; but instead, should strive to give attention to others. The big bike, therefore was an anomaly in the eyes of Kari. Kari hasn’t forgotten what he read in his bible: “Sell that which you have and give gifts to the needy. Make for yourselves purses which don’t grow old, a treasure in the heavens that doesn’t fail, where no thief approaches, neither moth destroys. For where your treasure

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is, there will your heart be also.” (Lk 12: 33-34) Kari felt he could not really judge Fr. C. He didn’t know much about Fr. C.’s heart. All he knew was that Fr. C.’s bike and his habit of spending much time with the rich people in the area would indicate some inclinations of the heart. But who would really know what the heart hides from the ordinary mortals’ eyes? The heart is like a deep well. All that we can see is its surface. Its bottom we cannot fathom; unless it runs dry and exposes its own depth or shallowness to the naked eye. But this is not the only reason why Kari remembered Fr. C. well. It was also because he perceived his bottom to be lacking in what Filipinos would call as “utang na loob” (a deep sense of indebtedness or a debt of gratitude) which Kari thought Fr. C. should have or could have also learned. Kari might have been expecting too much here; but he still felt such was a valid expectation. Kari felt he wasn’t really expecting a goat to lay an egg. When Fr. C. had undergone a heart bypass operation, Fr. Mark, appointed Kari as Fr. C.’s personal attendant. Being one did not involve a 24-hour nursing care but only required some basic assistance: keeping his room clean, drawing the window curtains for some morning sun, bringing food to his room, being there to ask about his needs, greeting him “good morning” or “good day,” and seeing to it that he was comfortable. This went on for more than two weeks or until Fr. C. was well enough to move around without help. Kari didn’t really know if Europeans or whites have the Filipino’s strong sense of utang na loob. Many times Kari would meet Fr. C. in the convent’s corridors. He would greet Fr. C. with his brand of enthusiasm. Kari felt so awkward when Fr. C. greeted him with a quick stare and a perfunctory “Kari, how are you?” Fr. C. then rushed towards his big Honda motorbike. Kari could just see Fr. C.’s side as he ran toward his big toy. Kari thought he was really in a hurry so he

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didn’t mind the cold shoulder. The second and third time that they met again, Fr. C. had the same formal line: “Kari, how are you?” Just the same, Fr. C. rushed to his bike. Kari was left alone questioning both himself and his own behavior: “Was I expecting too much? Is it really possible to treat in such a mechanical manner a person who cared for you in your time of need? I still wonder if Fr. C. really considered me a caring friend or just a native caregiver, inferior in every sense of the word “native”? (Was it the same ‘native’ in ‘Pacquiao the native’ who kayoed in less than 3 rounds the superior-race descendant Hatton?) I’m just curious whether the natural-born feeling-superior races could really regard their used-to-be inferiors as possible equals? But then, in the case of Fr. C., how come he has high regard for those natives who have rewarded him with expensive treats? I wouldn’t really know whether what he needed were the gifts or friendship; maybe, for him, friendship and fineries should go together. I am poor, but I wouldn’t consider myself a poor candidate for true friendship…it could be that no one among us could really measure up to what Fr. C. relished in life.” “Hoy ‘’tol, lalim ng iniisip mo ah…di ka na umiimik diyan.” (“Hey Bro. What’s bothering you…you’re so quiet.”) “Ha? Oo nga eh. Di ko kasi lubos maisip kung bakit hanggang ngayon ay sakop pa rin tayo ng mga dayuhan. Pati tuloy sarili nating pag-uugali, pati puso natin, kaluluwa natin, sakop na rin nila. Mga dayuhan…dayuhan…dayuhan…” (“Huh? Well... I really don’t understand why we are still under the grip of foreigners. Even our own ways, our heart, and soul, are all choked by foreigners. Foreigners…foreigners…foreigners...”).

24

moy-moy

He placed Moy-moy on a bench; he sat down and stroked his hand several times on the lifeless body of the monkey, his tears dropped on its legs.

Graduation day came. Methodius and Bobby just com-

pleted their theological studies. Methodius graduated ahead of Kari because he didn’t have to take philosophy; it was his major in his college-seminary years. “Fr. Greg, salamat sa referral ninyo sa LUSSA. Kung wala kayo baka malayo ang assignment namin.” (“Thanks for the LUSSA referral, Fr. Greg. We could have been assigned in a far-flung area without it.”) “Oo nga Fr. Greg.” (“Right, Fr. Greg.”) Bobby seconded Methodius. “Kahit saan naman very enriching talaga ang pastoral year. Huwag ninyo itong sayangin. Baka lakwatsa lang ang mangyayari ha?” (“Any assignment is enriching. Learn from it. You might just waste your time.”) “Kayo naman, Father. Kilala ninyo kami ni Methodius.” (“You know us Father. You will not be disappointed.”) “Joke lang. Alam ko naman ’yan…magbibigay ba naman ako ng recommendation kung wala kayong karapatan? O, magbihis na kayo at laro tayo.” (“Just kidding. I know your dedication. Come on. Change into your shorts and let’s play.”) “Si Father talaga…ang hilig-hilig nyo talaga sa basketball.” (“Father, you’re such a basketball fanatic.”) “Teka lang Father, ibabalik ko lang itong ginamit kong mga li-

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bro sa library. Hintayin nyo na lang ako.” (“Father, wait for me. I’ll just bring these books to the library.”) “Sige Father, susunod na rin ako.” (“Okay Father, ’will be there in a minute.”) Fr. Greg displayed a few weaknesses that seemed harmless. Or, his good qualities would somehow outpoint the unpleasant ones. Kari considered his few faults as mere weak points. Fr. Greg’s good qualities were something that people admired. His confreres appreciated his helpfulness. Seminarians looked up to him as a model. Parishioners highly valued his active social involvement with the poor. Everyone liked his sermons. His superiors consulted him over important matters. Fr. Greg is articulate, warm, intelligent, and goodlooking. “Ay sayang, ang guwapo niya. Bakit siya nagpari?” (“He’s so handsome. Why did he enter the priesthood?”) Ladies would wonder and make no secret about their disappointment. Very few couldn’t be infected by Fr. Greg’s outgoing manner; only killjoys could in fact find fault in his joyful nature. When Fr. Greg decided to become a priest, his mother was so delighted. She even organized a party-gathering of influential people to formally announce her son’s entry into the Candlelights. That time, Fr. Greg’s siblings were already professionals: two successful lawyers and an architect based in the USA, a graphic designer in a top Australian advertising agency, and an international law professor in Cambridge. Fr. Greg’s decision to joint the Candlelights was more than his mother could wish for. His father couldn’t hide his pride as he talked about his son’s future training in Europe. He took his degree in theological studies in Rome. Upon his return to Manila, his superiors advised him to take a teaching position; but he didn’t like to spend his time in the seminary. He preferred a parish where, he said, he could be more effective. His passion for basketball as well as his fond-

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ness for kids would be more appropriate for someone involved in parish work. He was initially assigned to oversee a couple of Candlelights students in Surigao monastery; afterwards, he got the assignment he desired in one of Candlelights’ parishes in Manila. He was very popular in the parish especially among the young. Girls liked him for his good looks and spontaneous humor. Boys liked him for his basketball skills and playfulness. Most seminarians were close to him and he was warm to them. He always joked around and tried to make everyone feel at home. Kari still remembered the day Fr. Greg purchased a monkey for a pet. He called it Moy-moy. Fr. Greg’s contagious playfulness elicited a spirited response from Moy-moy. One thing which Fr. Greg did not anticipate was the monkey’s excited response to a special signal—it masturbated when one made noise with one’s lips. Every sound of “tsuptsup-tsup” became a signal for the monkey to masturbate. It wasn’t long before everyone did it on the poor pet. Even the lady helpers, the cook, and her two children tried the trick on Moy-moy; until the accident. It was Fr. Greg’s birthday and he brought two black-forest cakes and two gallons of ice cream for the celebration. He removed the containers from the box full of dry ice and brought the stuff to the dining hall which instantly turned lively and noisy. Afterwards, the cook screamed, “Aay, si Moymoy. Fr. Greg si Moymoy, tingnan ninyo!” (“Oh no! Fr. Greg, look at Moymoy!”) They were startled by the very loud scream of the cook. The seminarians followed Fr. Greg outside the kitchen and there was Moy-moy lying lifeless. Still limp and warm, its eyes are all white. His whitish tongue was sticking out of his mouth. Fr. Greg made a big mistake by leaving the box of dry ice near the place of Moy-moy who gorged it all. Fr. Greg displayed his very soft side that day. He covered his eyes with his left hand and wept. Then he picked up Moy-moy and

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walked towards the garden. He placed Moy-moy on a bench. He sat down and stroked his hand several times on the lifeless body of the monkey. His tears dropped on its legs. Moy-moy was one of Fr. Greg’s means of expression. Kari would say he did not need devices to express himself since he was just irrepressible even without them. But that was how Fr. Greg would also express himself. Sometimes it was by way of a portable piano, or a pedigreed dog, a rubix cube, a video game, or a colorful (but not expensive) motorbike. Sometimes, a simple thing like a unique flower or a good joke would already excite Fr. Greg. He made sure that everyone would share his fun. So many people missed Fr. Greg when he was sent again to Surigao. He was working in a place where Kari and his fellow seminarians did their community exposures after their novitiate year. So many challenges awaited him; but there were not too many things to do in Surigao that could match Fr. Greg’s energy and enthusiasm. It was in Surigao where Fr. Greg became part of Surigao Secretariat for Social Action (SuSSA). He worked with the group for more than a year. He became so engrossed in the center’s involvement with labor issues. Some friends from Surigao would be broadcasting nothing but praises for Fr. Greg’s work. He was even chosen as one of the board of directors of Surigao Church’s Labor Center. Everyone was thus surprised when, one day, Fr. Greg asked to be re-assigned to Manila. After the congregation’s annual meeting, Fr. Greg got his wish and was back to his previous assignment. For months, he was again at his favorite role as the animator of the young and an advocate of labor. Kari didn’t inquire about the reason behind Fr. Greg’s untimely transfer. Four months after Methodius’s and Bobby’s graduation, Fr. Greg’s mother died. The whole Candlelights congregation went to his wake at his family’s residence. It was then that

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they realized how wealthy was Fr. Greg’s clan. By the looks of their ancestral house, a mansion, Fr. Greg’s line properly belonged to Manila’s Old Rich. His successful siblings who arrived (three from the US, one from Europe, and another from Australia) completed the family picture; which included Fr. Greg, the youngest, who sanctified the whole lineup. After her mother’s funeral, Fr. Greg decided to take a break. It was difficult for Fr. Mark to approve of Fr. Greg’s application. But he was somehow compelled to release Fr. Greg from his assignment. This was like releasing him from his problem which has tormented Fr. Greg since his transfer from Surigao to Manila. Fr. Mark assigned Fr. Rev as replacement of Fr. Greg. This was actually a no-choice decision for Fr. Mark. Fr. Greg had no peer among the other Candlelights priests. Three weeks after his release from the parish assignment, Fr. Greg went up to the Guadalupe seminary to visit the Priests’ House. He was driving his motorbike. It was eight-thirty in the evening. He never made it to the seminary. His bike was swiped by a speeding car. He got knocked down and thrown into the opposite lane of EDSA where his body rolled towards the oncoming vehicles. A Pajero run over his head. The car that swiped Fr. Greg was seen speeding away. It was too dark to identify the perpetrator’s vehicle. Fr. Greg died on the spot.

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toothless vows and impotent laws The vow of chastity also means becoming available to everyone. Fr. Frondo’s version seems to be the special availability to everyone who provides him special company and relaxation.

Fr. Greg’s accident was a front-page news item in Metro

Manila tabloids and broadsheets. It also reached Surigao’s socially-involved groups. It was, however, a more shocking news to his parishioners. It was a heartbreaking news for Kari. Fr. Greg’s death felt like a death sentence on Kari’s hopes. Kari kept on replaying in his head what Fr. Greg told him that day when he gave him funds for the theater group’s rehearsals. After Fr. Greg’s burial, there was not much talk about him anymore. Kari was somehow taught that everyday life was more important than an accidental death of a special person like a priest. Life must also go on inside the seminary or inside the priests’ convent. Indeed, life must go on even as strange parallel life stories competed with his image of a priestly minister’s life. There were still several of such strange parallel lives. In the absence of a Fr. Greg, they seemed to have grown bigger and terribly frustrating; even heartbreaking… The student formation team got reshuffled in a time when the students were already feeling uneasy with so many, many things around them (socio-economic crises, political turmoil, national troubles, Church relevance, vocation and

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social involvement, Fr. Greg’s accident). Fr. Daddy was elected as the new House Superior and Fr. Frondo as the new Student Master. Fr. Ronnie was transferred to Surigao monastery. Fr. Frondo viewed the situation differently. Rather than identifying the negative conditions that surrounded the seminarians, he pointed at the students and their “loose” ways as the main problem. He communicated this to Fr. Daddy who agreed with Fr. Frondo’s diagnosis. Fr. Frondo and Fr. Daddy arranged a meeting which inaugurated their official supervision of the Student House and the students. It was Fr. Frondo who called the shots. Fr. Daddy’s views served more as reinforcement to Fr. Frondo’s canonical views. No one among the students raised any point or any question. They were silent the whole time. It was, however, a turning point for most of the students. “Me and Fr. Daddy thought of transferring all of the students to UST starting next school year. UST’s program is better. It is soundly founded on ecclesiastical provisions and the Canon Law. Rather than strengthening your resolve to promote the Church and its laws, your present academic formation encourages you more to forget about your role as a religious of the Catholic Church. “There will be a gradual transition from your present school to the UST school of theology. It will start with your schedules and assignments here in the Students’ House. “You have to submit a written account of all your activities outside the seminary. This means you will have to ask permission every time you go to school, to your apostolate, and most especially when you take your weekly break. This means we will be monitoring your movements. Canon Law provisions actually commands us, your Superiors, to be strict as regards supervision of seminarians. “You must be present in all of the liturgical hours. You cannot make your school schedules and studies as excuse. If

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you fail to attend one or two sessions with the group, you will have to make up for it with your private recitations. Nothing should be missed and sacrificed for other matters. Many of you here would rather go to your room and study than join us in prayers; some of you even prefer recreation from community liturgy. No, you cannot miss common prayers. Let’s be clear on that. “Your apostolate will have to be minimized. You should never join any political rally or social action movements. Limit your involvements to prayer groups and choirs. May I remind you to please do not encourage girls by making friends with them. Always be mindful of your celibate state and your vows. “Every week, we will have two-hour sessions to better clarify Canon Law’s provisions regarding the responsibilities of seminarians. I recently discovered that your school did not even bother to include Canon Law in your subjects. These sessions will surely help you. I expect you to be there always. “Fr. Daddy, did I miss anything?” “Ahh, hrmmm…well…yes, you listen to Fr. Frondo. Discipline is what we really need here. We can’t become good monks and priests without discipline. Discipline should start early among you boys. Be disciplined in all matters. Fr. Frondo and myself are here to assist you in your formation. I expect your cooperation in the coming days. We expect you to collaborate with us. We need your unwavering obedience.” Fr. Daddy kept on motioning with his lighted cigarette in hand. Fr. Frondo further alleged that the students were passing through various forms of crisis themselves. A couple of indicators were their rather loose schedules and free movements around the squatter areas. The new House Superior and Student Master teamed up for a last-ditch effort to bring some sense of order or meaning to the Student House. They thought of handling the

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situation through their old means of dealing with “disorder”: canon law. They reminded the students that provisions of the law of the church would have to be strictly implemented and that was supposed to be done for their own sake. Provisions after provisions were invoked. A sense of pity for those elders gradually formed in Kari. They just didn’t know, he thought, what was going on around them. They didn’t know who they were dealing with anymore. They kept on talking to students who have already turned their backs on them and made up their minds to be indifferent to their legalistic and centrist senses. The students were already reaching out to another world. They obviously didn’t like their lives to be caught in the canon lawyer’s web of archaisms and inconsistencies. Even Kari’s concentration was affected by the recent events. For hours, inside the school library, he held a book but his mind was drawn by so many unruly thoughts. From time to time, one could hear him exhaling volumes of air. Methodius, who was observing Kari for quite a while, approached his table. “’Tol, kumusta? Parang wala ka yata sa sarili?” (“Bro., how are you? You look confused.”) “’Tol, ikaw pala. Wala…ano lang…dami lang iniisip.” (“Bro., it’s you. No…just too many things bothering my mind.”) “’Tol, parang ang hirap nang magpatuloy sa loob ano?” (“Bro., I don’t think I could still persevere.”) “Bakit, ’tol, may plano ka na? (“Are you already planning, Bro.?”) “Tatapusin ko lang ang pag-aaral ko ’tol, tapos aalis na rin ako.” (“I’ll just finish my studies and then I’ll leave.”) “Ganoon ba?” (“Is that so?”) Kari’s eyes widened. This news from Methodius was too soon. But the recent events and the scandalous stories were no secrets to Methodius. Perhaps, Kari thought, it was just a matter of time that seminarians would be leaving soon. He closed the book in his

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hands. “Ako, di ko pa alam kung ano ang gagawin ko. Buti ka pa at sigurado ka na yata sa mga plano mo.” (“I don’t know yet what do. I envy you for your decision.”) “May naghihintay na sa aking trabaho ’tol. Kinuha na akong full-time pastoral worker ng LUSSA. Pagkalabas ko sa Candlelights ay deretso na ako sa kanila.” (“I have a job waiting for me. LUSSA hired me as a full-time pastoral worker. I’ll work for them after leaving Candlelights.”) “Ang galing mo naman. Tinitingnan ko pa kung lilipat ako sa Little Brothers o talagang aalis na ako sa religious life. Pero, decided na rin akong umalis dito.” (“You’re so smart. I will consider Little Brothers or leave religious life. But I’ve decided to leave Candlelights.”) “Sabi ko na nga ba at kahit ikaw ay di makakatagal eh.” (“I just thought so. Nobody could endure Candlelights; not even you.”) “Alam mo ’tol, kung si Fr. O’Brien lang at si Fr. Andrew, baka kakayanin ko pa. Pero tingnan mo, talamak na ang katarantaduhan dito sa Candlelights. Pati na yong mga namatay na Fr. Jonie, Fr. Peter,…sino pa ang natirang matino? Kaya mo bang i-tolerate sina Rev at Ralph, Fr. Dan at Fr. C. at Fr. Frondo? Si Fr. Ronnie at Fr. Mark na lang ang natitirang maayos ang buhay. Di ko na talaga kayang magtagal.” (“You know, if it’s only Fr. O’Brien and Fr. Andrew I might be able to persevere. But misbehavior already pervades Candlelights. Who’s left? Can you tolerate Rev and Ralph? Fr. Dan and Fr. C. and Fr. Frondo? Only Fr. Ronnie and Fr. Mark are left with rectitude in them. I can’t stay any longer.”) “’Tol, kahit saan ka naman pumunta, alam kong may magagawa kang maganda. Lahat naman tayong seminarista eh hindi pa nahahawa ng buhay ng mga pari.” (“Bro., wherever you go, you will be able to contribute something. No one among us is yet infected by the priests.”) “Sana nga ’tol. Sana nga.” (“I hope so, Bro. I hope so.”) “Umasa ka ’tol…sige, ’tol, may klase pa ako. ’Kita tayo mama-

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ya.” (“You bet, Bro. I still have a class…see you later.”) “Sige, ’tol. Huwag mo munang ipagsabi yong plano ko.” (“Right on, Bro. No one should know our plans. This is just between us.”) “Oo, atin-atin lang yon…ay, oo nga pala, si Bobby at Art aalis na rin. Nagsabi na sila kagabi.” (“Of course, this is just between us…by the way, Bobby and Art are already leaving. They told me about their decision last night.”) Fr. Jonie was another member of the congregation. He too died recently but not through an accident. He was known by his confreres as gay and for his preference for grown-up boys. He loved to kid with the seminarians and even kissed some of them if given some chance. He too was trained in Rome. When he left for the U.S., he stayed there longer than necessary and was soon sick. He was rumored to have AIDS and died of severe infections and other complications. He was not popular to parishioners and there were no inquiries regarding his whereabouts. He was never missed; but Kari wondered about Fr. Jonie’s behavior. Fr. Peter, a foreigner, was the superior of the Priests House. He is tall (6”) and overweight (± 250 lbs.). He is talkative, almost noisy and often dominating every conversation. He appears threatening but reachable to many of the well-to-do parishioners. He is over 50 years old. He came to Manila when he was only 29 years old. Fr. Peter had a female Filipina friend who went daily to the parish. They would meet inside a closed cubicle that functioned as counseling/consultation room. The lady was petite even to Philippine standards. Their meetings became regular until the lady brought in a sewing machine into the counseling room. She would be seen sewing something. She was regularly visited by Fr. Peter. After 6 years, the lady became one of the teachers of the pre-school that was set up for the children of indigent families of the area. The lady did not have qualifications for the job. She could still be seen

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sewing, like a dedicated housewife, inside the counseling room. She was brought to a mental institution a month after Fr. Peter’s death. When Fr. Frondo assumed office as Student Master, he applied the law’s force on the Candlelights students. Kari felt that the imposition of the law was unnecessary. He kept these developments seriously in his heart. Kari felt other things as well. He felt the brewing emotions which he had not felt for a long time since his entry into the Candlelights. These feelings were associated with resentment and resistance. He felt anger and despair shaking him. Fr. Frondo was fond of running/jogging. He once hoped to find a place in major national and even international running competitions. Kari knew him to be outgoing, talkative, and very proud of himself and his accomplishments. He had intense interests in ladies who would approach him for counseling or for other matters. He had a special relationship with a lady physio-therapist who took care of his muscles/body. Their meeting became more frequent and longer than necessary. The vow of chastity also means becoming available to everyone. Kari thought that Fr. Frondo’s version seems to be the special availability to everyone who provides him special company and relaxation. Kari wondered: “What tales would these priests tell their relatives and friends when they get back home? What life will they paint for those who, in the future, would ask about their past? What stories would they silently keep to themselves? Will they be able to say admirable things which, because of people’s limited vision or credulity to clerical tales, have been hidden from public scrutiny and which only the Divine Being could see? What darkness could they dispel as they remember their unheard of intentions, hidden actions, guarded secrets, impervious grins, messianic homilies, and piercing imperious eyes? How would official ecclesiastical doctrines and sacred

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rituals command further on their remaining lives? Would the candlelights’ rays in their wakes dispel the darkness that their lives have summoned to cloak the eyes of those who still hope for peace on earth?” It was one of those ordinary late Saturday evenings. Kari had to grapple with one of the assigned readings: Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship. The book must be finished tonight. Another book waited for him for tomorrow. At midnight, he felt a craving for a cold bottle of Coke. Kari figured out he needed two more hours to finish the book. So, he checked the cooler in the students’ recreation room; but there were only bottles of water. Fr. Frondo and Bro. Toto were still watching a video titled Running Brave. “Kari, look at this movie. This is just what I was looking for. This runner just sneaked into the qualifying rounds and he made it into the Olympics. He didn’t have a track-andfield shoes but used an ordinary running shoes. He won gold in his event! That’s the man!” “That’s fantastic Father. Are you still practicing for the marathon?” “Of course, of course. Can’t give up that dream. Bro. Toto here will be with me this Sunday. He’s going to document my progress; to take pictures, you know.” “Tama, Kari. Gusto mong sumama?” (“Right, Kari. Would you like to go with us?”) “Thanks, but I can’t. The major subjects are lined up on Monday’s midterm exams. I have two more books to read. I’m looking for a bottle of Coke to keep me more awake.” “Try the other side, Kari. We have plenty in the fridge.” “Okay, Father. Toto, I’ll go ahead.” “Sige, good night.” Kari went to the priests’ dining room and grabbed one Coke from the cooler. But before he was able to straighten up to leave the place, he heard a doorknob turned. A door

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opened and Kari saw the parish lady physician being held close, as in b.f.-g.f. close, by no other than Fr. O’Brien who recently came back from his sabbatical leave. Kari hid himself behind the breakfast counter as the couple headed for the exit diffusely lighted by two artificial candlelights. Their faces indicated a post factum fun. Fr. O’Brien’s face was not the usual wretched-looking Fr. O’Brien whom Kari usually caught having regular conversations with the convent cook and househelp. Here is Fr. O’Brien holding a trophy, looking manly and aggressive after a conquest. Here was an astig Fr. O’Brien far from a depressed and melancholic alcoholic minister whose regular socialization was with the convent’s helpers. Kari exited through the door that had been witness to innumerable criss-crossing movements of nocturnal creatures’ solitary activities. When Kari picked up The Cost of Discipleship, he had much difficulty in getting back his concentration. Fr. O’Brien’s face intruded between him and the book’s pages. Kari finally finished it at three in the morning. He set up his alarm clock at nine o’clock and went to bed exhausted. Kari had more questions than ever: “But how are they supposed to continue living out their vows? Will they be able to steer clear of the paths that their souls have anticipated for their bodies? How can they avoid those ways that they have dreamed about and planned for, even while they are raising the host during consecration? How will they forget those delightful sensations that cling to their palates even as they drink the wine from the chalice? Could someone please explain why I should force myself to believe in the ex opere operato theory? To get pacified? To believe in the greater mercy of God? To continue receiving the host from these ministers’ consecrated hands?”

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let the living bury their dead He was standing there almost transfixed by this image of a young girl reduced to a shadow.

Nobody among the priests seemed to have made any

move to correct what was becoming so wrong. Nobody seemed to have raised any complaints about what was becoming so loose and free. It was as if one could simply continue saying mass, hearing confessions, blessing corpses, officiating weddings on one side; and doing parallel activities of incongruous types on the other side and still believe that the Church of Jesus Christ is alive and is going to triumph in the end. Again, Kari asked himself: “What if one no longer believes in this? What if all that we could see is the illusion that this belief had created? What if there were more among us who would think this kind of situation should be stopped? What should those priests think and do? What should one do?” While some more parallel happenings were unfolding inside the convent, many of the seminarians (all Filipinos) were trying their best to get busy translating their theological formation into practice. They were still under formation; under the gaze of some formators who made sure that the inexorable contagious atmosphere will be countered by involvement with meaningful work in the wider community and away from the priests’ loose and permissive environment. Most of the seminarians, if not all of them, were involved in choir activities. Others have their own prayer groups or youth groups. Most were talented with the guitar.

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Some were better musicians and could even read complex notes. The latter were able to train their choir members as better singers and performers. Kari had been busy with his own choir group which also doubled as a theater group. The members were also regular participants to the weekly prayer meetings/bible sharing held in the presence of a few elders (mostly women devotees) of the squatter community. All of them came from the nearby squatter area where hundreds of families lived in squalor, overcrowding, and depression. It was through Kari’s regular work with the choir and the community theater group that he was able to get a real close look at poverty, unemployment, disease, prostitution, drug abuse, broken families, dependence, inattention, and the lack of will and commitment to translate the gospel of Jesus into something real. It was against this reality that the parallel activities going on inside the priests’ convent have appeared more anomalous and incomprehensible. When Fr. Greg was still alive and funding some of Kari’s community theater productions, he also offered some assistance to those in extreme cases of need. Fr. Dan had his own apostolate; but it was a very private enterprise and mostly hidden from the public. Fr. Greg’s community involvement was open and had the blessings of his confreres. Concerned parishioners were also involved in Fr. Greg’s projects. It was one of those ordinary visits/assistance to some badly-stricken families that ferociously hit the heart of Kari’s old brain. When Fr. Greg was still around, Kari referred this case to him who immediately donated some money for the family’s needs. Aling Rosa’s husband died from a lingering lung illness. He was the sole breadwinner of a family of six; the youngest of whom was a four-year old daughter. During the wake, people came. Rosa was hoping for their contributions for her

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husband’s burial. But she could only resign to the fact that all of her visitors would come from the neighborhood squatter area. The third night of the wake was extraordinarily frustrating for Rosa—all her collections and the little money left by her deceased husband were all gone. She was spending for the snacks more than the amount she received from the visitors’ donations. Visitors took more resources than bring help to her family. She felt desperate and helpless. Rosa could no longer make ends meet as her family tried to survive on meager contributions from her more helpful neighbors. She finally forced herself to beg for assistance from a nearby sari-sari store. The storeowner did extend some help; but for a price. As payment, Rosa had to satisfy his sexual appetite. Rosa complied in order to bring food to her family’s table. She thought her body was the reasonable exchange for the goods she brought home. Her head, however, was filled with gusty thoughts, a flurry of anxiety, and guilt. Self-pity crowded her already worried and confused mind. Five days passed and the corpse began to give off a faint stench. Fungal growth appeared like a shadow from the corner of its left eye. This warned that it was overdue for burial. The formalin injected was only good for three days. Visitors no longer brought themselves near the decomposing body. Rosa, however, could not yet bury her husband. She could not raise enough contributions for the burial fee. Seemingly, no one from the barangay office took notice of her troubles. It was this time that Michelle, the eldest, Rosa’s 16year old daughter, decided to visit some of her friends who were working in a beer house near the parish church. She was made the bar’s stripteaser-dancer; and thus, spared from the sexual advances of several customers. When Kari visited the wake, Michelle was already on her third day of waged-dancing in the beer house. He brought the family two bags of groceries and some cash from Fr. Greg. Kari went inside their

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cubicle-house to give the stuff. It was around six-thirty in the evening and the place was already in darkness. There was no electricity and the only light available was a candle placed on a small table behind Michelle. The children were all there— gathered on the floor and around a shared dinner of rice and fish. As Kari looked at Michelle, he could not see her face; only her silhouette which formed against the candlelight. The edges of her head and her moderately wavy hair glowed against the candlelight rays. Kari stood there almost transfixed by this image of a young girl reduced to a shadow. “Salamat sa pera Brod. Bukas din baka mapalibing na namin si Tatay.” (“Thanks for the money Brod. Tomorrow, we might be able to bury our father.”) Michelle’s words were almost inaudible. Kari’s ear drums got enveloped by distressing hums inside his head. “Si Fr. Greg ang nagbigay ng mga ’yan,” (“It’s Fr. Greg’s money.”) Kari said in a very weak voice, almost a whisper. “Pakisabi sa kanya Brod, salamat.” (“Give him our thanks.”) Kari could not recall all the words that he said, but he still managed to tell her that the money is from Fr. Greg. He said goodbye and paid his last respects for the dead. Rosa, by the way, was already confined in a mental institution. She escaped from a world that produced smelling cadavers like her husband; and away from candlelights that reduced her young daughter, Michelle, into a mere shadow. As Kari left the wake, he heard people calling him: “Brod, kape muna.” (“Brod, let’s have coffee.”) “Alis ka na Brod?” (“Are you leaving now?”) “Brod, sama ka sa lamay.” (“Brod, join the wake.”) “Brod, ba’t ikaw lang?” (“Brod, where are your confreres?”) Kari couldn’t make his eyes focus on anything or anybody. He just waved his hands and smiled. He pushed his lower teeth against his upper teeth, to maintain the smiling

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appearance. Nobody suspected about how he felt inside. He went home perplexed. He went directly to the chapel and poured out his feelings and his thoughts to God. After meeting Michelle, it suddenly dawned on him that his life in the seminary had been transformed from something hopeful into something almost regretful. As Kari thought about what happened during the past five years of his stay in a religious community, almost everything in his life seemed to have become a part of an evolving cosmic conspiracy to make religion a façade of every farce; a representation of every illusion; a justification for every disgrace; a cover for every fraud; a shield for every lie and deceit; and a weapon for every self-centered passion. “God, I’m confused. I’m exhausted.” Kari blurted out prayers of anguish and exasperation. Kari forgot the common evening meal. He skipped the common recreation. He didn’t join compline. He just went to bed and waited for the night to slide into the smaller hours. Then, it started to rain. Outside the seminary, people were rushing to seek for shelter. Kari felt the urge to go outside and soak himself in the rain.

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kari’s ark The more-than-fifteen religious congregations were one “in spirit” with the flood victims. Their bodies cannot be found among the flood survivors.

It was a Sunday…three months after Fr. Greg’s acci-

dent. One more semester and Kari would finally complete his studies. Kari woke up to the call of his alarm clock. But he shut it off. He was no longer obedient to it. He sat up but his head wanted to resist orders that came from his body. His breathing became a conscious effort; the inhale-exhale rhythm laborious. It seemed senseless for Kari to follow-up exhalation with an inhalation. He wanted to hold back habit and stop the rhythm of life. A profound sense of loss had sank deep into his lungs. Kari could not figure out what that day and the rest of the days would offer. The religious life that captivated Kari and that had made St. Augustine and Thomas Merton his heroes had become a thick fog. It turned into an opaque world from which he wanted deliverance. The meetings with Bro. Étienne L., a member of the Little Brothers of Jesus, did not bring encouraging results. No matter how Bro. Étienne L. would convince Kari to bide his time, the more Kari felt riveted to feelings of exhaustion and impatience. There were not enough appropriate words that could provide Kari some consolations to his troubles. This parting message was not enough to pacify him: “Well, if you

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can no longer wait, it’s not necessarily a sign of willfulness. I fully understand your situation. But always remember this: There is nothing in this world that can destroy the love of Jesus that is there in your heart.” Kari removed the battery of his alarm clock and went back to bed. He could hear people outside…walking towards the church for the morning mass. His body sank heavier into his bed and sleep caught him surrendering into a one-day ritual of hibernation. A loud thunder shook the world and Kari. He heard people outside who were getting into the church for the six p.m. mass. He realized that he slept for over 12 hours, skipping breakfast and lunch. The sky was very dark. He turned on the radio and it warned of an impending storm. But suddenly, his thoughts reminded him about the scheduled prayer meeting in one of the squatter territories. Kari rushed to the bathroom and took his 3-minute shower. He put on his casuals, slipped into his sports shoes, and went downstairs. He didn’t wait for the community meal. He was alone inside the refectory. He grabbed what was on the table and quickly finished his supper. He took the bible, guitar, and umbrella; and then, went right away towards the tricycle station. He got into his destination in less than ten minutes, before the heavy rain poured. The house was located in an area lower than the surrounding streets; one hundred fifty meters away from the nearest road. It was six-thirty p.m. Only the owner of the house and his family were there. The other members of the prayer group could not attend. The family members wanted to continue with the meeting; but they could not concentrate because of the rain’s constant beating on the tin roof. Leaks were everywhere, but enough pails and water containers were placed under every dripping roof. There was never a pause from the rain. The clock showed eight in the evening and there was no change in the rain’s intensity. Thirty more minutes passed.

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Then, Kari heard from the neighbors that the river nearby overflowed its banks. It was panic time. Kari thought it was tough for the family to escape from the flooding waters with all their appliances. But in no time, their valuables, including their refrigerator, were hauled upstairs. The stools, tables, chairs, and other heavier furniture were left on the ground floor; but joined together by a thick rope and all tied up to one of the posts. All the kids upstairs were noisily watching several household items washed away by the water that already swelled four feet above the lowest ground. And then the household lights went off. But people were ready with their candles and flashlights. Kari realized: it was no longer possible to go back to the seminary. When Kari looked outside the front window, he saw the outlines of some roofs of single-storey and low-lying houses already inundated. He wondered about their occupants. There were no more movements visible in the flooded areas. The clock struck eleven and the rain had not diminished a bit. Only four more rungs and the second floor would be flooded. The tables downstairs floated and swayed with the gentle waves created by the rushing water. Kari stretched his neck through the open western window and he saw the big houses perched on higher grounds immovable and quiet in the face of the flood, storm, and squatters’ panic. The rain finally stopped at four in the morning. Nobody, except the children, was able to sleep. Those who were awake monitored every movement of the water which nearly reached the last rung of the stairs. Kari couldn’t sleep because the house owners were constantly worried about the water level. At six in the morning, the water level was still on the second to the last rung. Kari looked into the window towards the eastern direction. There, on the road, he saw hundreds of people, women, children, and elderly who stayed overnight

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under the rain. Another seminary nearby (Immaculate Conception Seminary) allowed some of the squatters to take refuge in their yard and in their wide garage. The seminarians and a couple of priests busily distributed warm drinks and food for breakfast. Kari’s hosts started to unpack some bread and prepared their own version of breakfast in bed. Kari could not move out of the house. There was no way for them to cross the wide space now covered with water eight to twelve feet deep. When one looked towards the river, everything seemed peaceful; no movement of people could be observed on that side. Except for the residents in a few two-storey dwellings, everyone was on higher grounds, on the streets, and inside the other squatter compounds opposite the flooded areas. Hundreds took refuge in those higher grounds that welcomed them. Water dictated what must take shape that day. At eleven o’clock, the water subsided to ankle deep. After having munched another piece of bread for snacks, Kari grabbed his things and left his refuge. He didn’t forget to express his gratitude to his hosts even as he hurried up for the seminary. He found the way but he was so careful to avoid some ruts and pointed objects that might have been carried by the flood. His shoes were thickly coated with chocolatey mud. When Kari reached the street in front of the Immaculate Conception Seminary, he saw Methodius, Bobby, and the rest of his confreres-seminarians helping around. “Kari! ’Tol, ‘kala namin nalunod ka na. Kagabi ka pa namin hinanap.” (“Kari! Bro. we thought you were washed away by the flood. We were looking for you last night.”) Methodius looked in Kari’s direction. But he immediately went about carrying people’s stuffs salvaged from the muddy waters. Methodius still looked so energized even if he stayed up awake the whole night inside the nearby seminary. They already helped the people evacuate their homes just before the river swelled high. Some of them did swim

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towards some very low areas to move those who were trapped in their houses. It was another misfortune for the squatters; but for Kari, it was another instance which showed that seminarians and a couple of priests nearby could face up to the occasion even in the absence of those ministers-priests who opted to stay in their rooms, presumably praying very hard to stop the rain which might reach their place perched 50 ft. above the riverbanks. The more-than-fifteen other religious congregations, Kari pondered, were also one “in spirit” with the flood victims. Their bodies cannot be found among the flood survivors. If only Fr. Greg was around…, Kari thought. Kari joined Methodius and Bobby in assisting the flood victims. Kari’s desire to help his friends gave him the strength to keep on working for more than an hour. He went back to the seminary after taking his lunch with the members of his prayer group. Methodius and Bobby stayed to help build temporary shelters along the roadside.

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brokeback mounting Religious vows were powerless over love’s ardor; not even the convent could stop it.

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is drooping eyelids shut his eyes as he leaned against the tricycle’s backrest. Kari already imagined himself flat on his bed, enjoying a much-needed sleep. He was unmindful of his muddy shoes as he arrived at a time when the seminary was also taking its after-lunch break. The priests’ convent and the parish office all laid quiet and sleepy. “The right time for a good sleep.” Kari whispered to himself. Kari came from the opposite end of the seminary entrance. All the convent residents had their own keys to this entrance. He was already leaving the locked door behind him when he heard two voices arguing over something. The intensifying altercation made him stop. He decided to wait and hid himself inside an improvised kitchen next to the entrance leading towards the sacristy. Gloria and Ruby, the two secretaries of the parish were there. They were giggling and seemingly enjoying the whole scandalous exchange. “Hoy, Bro. Kari, dali diri basi makit-an ka diha.” (“Hey, Bro. Kari, over here; they might see you.”) They wanted Kari to hide himself deep into the corner of the room. He was told Fr. Rev and Fr. Ralph were into a fight. Fr. Rev and Fr. Ralph were the only ones who made it to the priesthood. They came from a batch of six candidates which included Bro. Pixie who left the Candlelights just when Kari started theology. From the students’ house they trans-

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ported themselves into the priests’ house, carrying with them the huge narra-framed mirrors gifted to them by their parish benefactors. There, they began their lives as ordained ministers. Their ordination, however, seemed quite anomalous visà-vis an incident which was about to be played before Kari’s ears. Apparently, Fr. Rev and Fr. Ralph were quick to have learned the art of imitation of behavior permeating their new abode. Fr. Rev was back from his Surigao assignment. He requested Fr. Mark for a “better” job. “Hoy, Ralph, abi siguro nimo wa ko kabalo no. Gibayran man daw nimo si Rudy ug dako-dako nga sapi ba!” Fr. Rev was the more aggressive. (“So, you really think that I don’t know you paid Rudy a huge sum of money.”) “Pastilan, Rev, unsa may akong mahimo kung si Rudy mismo ang miduol nako.” (“Come on Rev, what could I do? Rudy was the one who approached me.”) “Unya mupaak pud diay ka nga kabalo na man ka nga kami nang duha!” (“So you took advantage of him; while you knew that we already had a relationship.”) Fr. Rev’s voice was breaking, sounding like a frustrated male chimpanzee fighting for his rights over a partner. “Rev, ha, ayaw raba diha ug hinambog kay gisulti man ni Rudy nako nga gikamang man daw nimo siya diha sa guard house. Abi siguro nimo nga wa ko kabalo no. Ingon-ana man gyud ka. Tan-awa, kahinumdum ka? Bisan gani kabalo ka kaniadto nga kami pud ni Pixie, imo siyang gikawat nako. Unsa may gihimo nimo, gibayran nimo si Pixie? Imo siyang gipalitan ug Rolex no? Sa imo gikan tong iyahang bag-ong Rolex no? Karon, imo na pud kawaton si Rudy nako no!” (“Rev, don’t be boastful. Rudy told me that you sneaked inside the guard house. You think I’m dumb? Look, that just shows your character. Do you remember? Even if you knew that Pixie and I were lovers, you also stole him from me. What did you give him? You bought him a Rolex didn’t you? His new Rolex, that’s from you isn’t it? Now, you’re again stealing Rudy from me!”)

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Their mind-boggling exchange pierced Kari’s ears. The secretaries were so attentive to every detail. They behaved like captive listeners to a soap opera being played over the radio. They were glancing at Kari from time to time. Looking at each other more frequently, their eyes became wider with every revelation. Their mouths were even ready to break into muffled laughter. “Tan-awa Ruby, ingon gyud ko nimo nga sila ni Bro. Pixie ug Fr. Ralph.” (“Ruby, I told you, Bro. Pixie and Fr. Ralph were lovers.”) “Bitaw no. maayo gyud ka mukilatis ha. Pwede ka nang magNBI detective” (“You’re good. You can now apply as an NBI detective.”) “Shhh! Saba mo diha!” (“Shhh! Quiet!”) Kari signaled for silence. But Gloria and Ruby were really so disciplined, not as if they have been prepared for situations like these. They were so behaved and attentive because they wanted to hear every juicy detail of what was broadcasted before them. They understood every word. They were from Cebu. “Putang ina mo, bigatlon!” (“You son of a whore, bitch!”) Fr. Ralph exploded. “Kangkarot! Uhhh, mas bigatlon ka! Puta!” (“Faggot! You’re a bigger bitch, whore!”) A struggle ensued as Kari heard them screaming harder at each other, probably already slapping and scraping each other’s face, and pulling each other’s hair. The quiet and enclosed space made their shrieks and grunts thunderous and the disturbance caused by their shoes and their bodies hitting the walls produced some tremors. Religious vows were powerless over love’s ardor. Kari, couldn’t pacify them. He felt his presence might greatly embarrass the two priests. “Nganong pirmi man ko nimo ginatarantado. Ha? Nganong pirmi man ko nimo ginagago. Ha? Ha?” (“Why do you always make a trick on me. Ha? Why do you always deceive me? Ha?

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Ha?”) “Raalph…intawon…Raa…”(“Raalph…please…Raa…”) “Hayop ka…hayop kaaah…” (“You, beast…beast…”) Heavy thuds made against a concrete wall were heard by the three eavesdroppers. Then, the place became still and silent. The three inside the kitchen were still unable to move in utter surprise and disbelief. They heard hurried footsteps going towards the priest’s convent door. Troubled hands unlocked the door and beleaguered feet were drawn by the stairs toward the direction of the convent rooms. It was then that Kari made a move. The two secretaries were behind him. Kari’s drowsiness was gone; obliterated by the incident. The three ran towards the convent door and there they saw Fr. Rev lying on the floor; unconscious. A pool of blood on the cold cement framed his head. “Si Fr. Rev, patay na!” (“Fr. Rev’s dead!”) “Oh my God…Intawon!” (“God! Have pity on us.”) “Fr. Rev! Fr. Rev!” Kari raised his voice to wake up Fr. Rev. “Dali! Ruby tawag sa ospital. Padala ug ambulance. Gloria, adtoa si Fr. Mark sa taas. Dali!...Fr. Rev…Glo, pagbalik nimo dala ug ice! Dali.” (“Quick! Ruby, call an ambulance. Gloria, call Fr. Mark upstairs. Bring some ice when you come back.”) Kari knelt near the side of Fr. Rev. He felt Fr. Rev’s pulse. Kari could hardly notice his breathing. “Fr. Rev. Kadungog ka nako? Fr. Rev?” (“Fr. Rev, can you hear me?”) Kari felt the rush of sickening horror into his head. “Muanhi na daw ang ambulance Brod.” (“Brod, the ambulance is coming.”) Ruby’s voice trembled. “Ruby, pagkuha daw ug tissue ug plastic bag diha sa office, dalia. Basi naa kay tuwalya…” (“Ruby, please get some tissue and a plastic bag from the office, quick. You might have a towel…”) “Naa koy face towel…” (“Got a face towel…”) Ruby came back with a plastic bag, her face towel, and a box of tissue paper. She took some tissue paper from the box to

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wipe her face already white and soaked in sweat. “Intawon uy…naunsa na man si Fr. Rev uy.” (“God help us…how’s Fr. Rev?”) Sounds of harried feet coming down the stairs announced the arrival of people. Fr. Mark led the anxious group which included Fr. Dan, Fr. Andrew, Fr. O’Brien, and Fr. Frondo. They saw Kari insert the face towel and tissue paper under the bleeding head of Fr. Rev. The priests’ eyes were all alarm and confusion. “Kari, what happened?” “Fr. Mark, there’s no time for it. Please, open the entrance doors. Hurry up, please. The ambulance will be here in a minute. Glo, where’s the ice?” Fr. Mark unlocked the doors. “Eto po.” (“Here it is.”) Gloria handed Kari two ice trays. “Intawon uy…” (“Have pity on us…) “Fr. Dan, your handkerchief please.” “Here…take it.” “Nia ra ang plastic Brod.” (“Here’s the plastic Brod.”) Kari took Fr. Dan’s and his own handkerchief. He removed the ice cubes from the tray and wrapped them with the handkerchiefs and then with the plastic bag. The ambulance arrived right after he placed the ice pack on top of Fr. Rev’s head. “Makikiraan…makikiraan…” (“Make a way…make a way…”) The ambulance attendants brought the stretcher. After putting around his neck a C-support, they rolled Fr. Rev into the ambulance. In less than two minutes, Fr. Rev was off for the hospital. Fr. Rev survived. “It was an accident.” That was what the Candlelights told the doctors and the parishioners. Fr. Ralph was transferred to Surigao novitiate while Fr. Rev recuperated inside the Manila Candlelights convent. Kari, Ruby, and Gloria were requested to keep quiet about the incident. “We don’t know what God has in store for us. But He must be telling us something through this

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incident. Let’s trust in the wisdom of the Lord who made heaven and earth.” Fr. Daddy’s words rang out loud in the ears of the three witnesses. Kari could not make much sense out of these “wise words.” What was clear to him was that the Candlelights didn’t like them to make any statement about Fr. Rev’s “accident.” If the Candlelights only knew, Kari had been fearing such an incident to happen—as a logical product of misbehaviors which he had encountered in the Seminary and those which he had observed in the Surigao Novitiate.

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a last testament Candlelights could not have helped me during my novitiate days. I think nobody was there to tell me anyway.

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efore Kari reached the end of his theological studies, one of his professors required a paper about cross-cultural communication. He wrote his piece. But Kari didn’t get the approval of the professor who judged the work as unsatisfactory. Actually, Kari was no longer focused on what the assignment was about. All that he wanted to say was that he would be leaving Candlelights and, in that paper, he laid down some of his reasons for leaving. This was Kari’s farewell testament: “The years after Postulancy and Novitiate were years of frustration, failures, and disappointments, as well as years of grace. My frustration, failures, and disappointments have indeed become hurdles toward other fertile grounds. Those were years of more intense knowledge about myself and the local Church as I have been active in many forms of engagement. Quite naturally, I faced many of the Church’s problems which also became part of my own. As a postulant, I was slowly led into a clearer understanding of myself and what it meant to be a Christian who desires to become a member of Candlelights. Systematic initiation brought me into the next step of my formation— the Novitiate. It was here that the Formators and more particularly the Novice Master tried so hard to imbibe in me

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(along with others) the essentials of the Candlelights brand of religious life. I was quite enthusiastic in my training, to say the least. In fact, I was very diligent in the practice of what was, to my mind, the ideal Candlelights expression of the Christian faith. I was faithful to my duties and obligations as a novice trying to know Candlelights and preparing to live by her ideals in the future. The Formators saw me, I suppose, as a promising Candlelights priest-in-the-making. The Novitiate provided an ideal setting that, to an extent, matched the ideal life which I saw in the books. There were no inconveniences to disturb my sense of security except those coming from my own mind’s resident gnats and bugs. No social troubles came to shake the time of settled regular monastic life. The period after the Novitiate had become the time of unsettledness and ambivalence. It was during this period that my Novitiate training was challenged by the broader settings of the seminary, theological school, and the parish communities. In the novitiate, the focus was very limited: learning the essentials of Candlelights religious life. I assumed that this training was enough to make us ready in our eventual involvement with the real world. I say “real world” for we were “trained” in a setting which effectively isolated us and set us apart from the rest of society. Familiarity with the human situation, exposure to issues like injustice, oppression, untold sufferings of the poor, corruption, loss of love of nation and cultural identity, and the study of cultural elements that competed with the various expressions of the Christian faith were not part of the Novitiate formation. Our formators must have thought that the formal theological training will take care of such important matters. But the theological school came too lately. I needed the proper training or at least the proper attitude when I was later thrown into the wider community of squatters. Once we got settled down in the

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student house, we were already initiated into community work like organizing prayer groups, choir groups, theater groups, community-based health programs, etc. In fact, we were thrown into the community without the close guidance of ministers. The main problem I see is that almost all of Candlelights’ personnel (in the local Church) are not competent to face the situation or the social issues I mentioned above. Candlelights is caught flatfooted in this department. It was also within the post-Novitiate period when I witnessed stark poverty and the unimaginable sufferings of the poor; as well as the wealth and unprincipled spending of the rich. It was a time of talking and laughing with the financially destitute; and a time of observing the distant glances and telescopic sympathy of the rich; a time of breathing the air of misery in the slum areas as well as that of the sanitized environs of the wealthier parishioners. It was a time of thrice witnessing hundreds of slum-dwellers forcibly evicted from their homes, their dwellings demolished and wrecked next to the walls and foundations of plush homes (and many religious houses). These sufferings and miseries of the poor affected me so much. I said that this is not God’s will that the people were experiencing. But the people thought otherwise. Most of the poor people say their misfortunes are part of God’s design (talagâ ng Diyos). They thought of their poverty and subjection to the miseries of material deprivation as part of God’s plan. Theirs was a widespread conviction which did not distinguish God’s will from the ways of some people and the negative effects of social structures. This kind of outlook must be a kind of cultural blindness; one that blocks the prophetic character of the Christian faith. In Candlelights, I was taught to seek God’s will in everything—even in my psychological and physiological feebleness which I assumed God has also willed. I suppose that belief formed part of my cultural upbringing too. I also misunder-

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stood St. Teresa’s writings which were full of “thank you Lord for suffering for you.” I knew better after studying theology. That was the time when I realized that Jesus could not have willed the miseries imposed on people. I could not help but feel bad and think about the injustices committed against them. I tried to explain this to some of my friends in the slum areas but they seem unable to understand. They must have been waiting for more help; but I was not ready to offer concrete solutions to their problems. I was not prepared. The understanding of holiness as to mean prayerful and sacrificing—being meek in the face of innumerable injustices committed against people is not easy to understand. I remain baffled by the many Filipinos who find themselves united with Hesus Nazareno. These problems I mentioned, among others, became clearer to me as I approached the end of my theological studies. I was confronted by the reality of the local Church before me and was challenged or forced to decide what steps to take in order to respond to the challenges of evangelization. Candlelights had her rich spiritual tradition to offer to the local Church; but it remains to be “decoded” in order to become meaningful for the people. The local culture and society, however, have many more urgent problems to face which Candlelights could not immediately meet head-on. I say this to mean not only Candlelights’ human resources but also to her whole tradition. Many of her doctrines and actual practices, if not re-thought and revalued in our present context, could hinder the communication of the gospel of Jesus. Candlelights is a historical and, therefore, cultural phenomenon. She is a product of a certain period dominated by a particular worldview and a philosophy foreign to Filipinos. The Filipinos possess a rich cultural heritage. They have in their culture the abundant sources to express the Christian faith even without much use of Platonic

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or Aristotelian categories. This is a task of Filipinos who are attuned to their culture. (I am not unaware, of course, of the presence of negative elements in our culture.) I see this as a remote concern of Candlelights in the Philippines. Many of its activities are focused mainly on internal problems that thereby developed its tendency to become a ghetto-like community. This preoccupation with its own problems I could not share for I feel I am not called to it. (Candlelights, I think, could not help it but be concerned this way. It possesses built-in elements in its tradition that create problems as regards the communication of the faith in the Philippines). The more urgent concerns of the local Church within which Candlelights is inserted bid me outside Candlelights. I was compelled to choose. I have not talent and energy enough to face both problems of Candlelights and the local Church. My eventual decision, however, was not really to choose the local Church. I chose to detach myself from Candlelights.” This paper got a low grade of 80%. However, in the final exams, Kari gave the professor what he wanted Kari to say. Kari got a 100% mark.

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time to go Don’t be like the bat who sleeps and even defecates in its face while the hawk is flying high and preparing itself for more life-giving pecking.

Life must go on. Kari had to move on. He finally de-

cided to spend his life outside the Candlelights congregation. It was at this time that memories became more active in Kari’s head: about his family, his law studies, and Claire. All these came back as if forced on him by his own frustrations. Kari told Fr. Ronnie about his decision to leave. Fr. Ronnie, who was attending a Candlelights’ conference was taken by surprise. But Kari was also surprised by this kind of reaction. He was unsympathetic to Fr. Ronnie who was counting on him to persevere and, together with him and the other seminarians, “to pave the way for change.” Kari told him that there was no longer any motivation left in him to make him stay and work for the congregation. Kari wanted to say, “I should have realized earlier that life would have been easier if I focused on more feasible projects and probably more socially relevant involvements. I really wasn’t thinking about any particular alternative. All that was in my mind was that I didn’t have to spend my life in a place where conditions are rather bleak and where my effort would be so disproportionate to a task which, in the first place, is no longer significant to me.” He didn’t express this to Fr. Ronnie. All that Kari wanted him to know was that he wanted to leave—that his heart

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no longer rested in the Candlelights tradition. But he kept so many things as private memories. They were memorable experiences—those memories he didn’t mention to the priest. It was already in the middle of the first semester of Kari’s final year in theology. He approached Fr. Mark and asked him about the possibility of financing his tuition until he is done with his M.A. He agreed, although he thought that Kari could still change his mind after a year off from the seminary. He was a reasonable man; one reasonable man Kari couldn’t forget. The Provincial assured Kari that he was most welcome whenever he changed his mind. He promised to Kari that while he is still the Provincial, seminarians will not be transferred to UST. Kari was not the only one who decided to leave. In a span of three months, seven of them were gone. Methodius, Bobby, Junie, Art, Nonie, and Tom left the Candlelights. They were not ordered to leave. The only ones left were Bro. Tony and Bro. Toto. One is deaf and the other one is always late. (Five or six years later, Tony left. Toto, who was ordained priest, tardily followed five years after. Even Bro. Fernan, one of the most respected confreres, left the congregation for a greener ministerial pasture in the United States. All of them, however, got married after so many years of service. Bro. Tony married a simple salesgirl. Bro. Toto got hooked by a widow. Bro. Fernan, who was ordained priest, married a Protestant lady minister.) Fr. Rev and Fr. Ralph persevered. Fr. Rev was still the parish priest of Manila Candlelights Church. Fr. Ralph became the Vocation Promoter of the Candlelights Congregation. Both were happy and gay in their positions. It was not easy for Kari to leave the congregation; and, it was not a sudden decision. As stories after stories unfolded before his eyes, some helpful explanations came from his theological studies. These studies incorporated different

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academic disciplines which enlightened Kari more about his faith, about the church, and about Jesus of Nazareth. Kari was enlightened about the gospel of the Reign of God in our midst where the poor are the more privileged beneficiaries of God’s invitation. For almost five years, Kari learned much in this convent about people who have professed to follow Jesus’s gospel of compassion and forgiveness. If only to guarantee or reinforce fidelity to the gospel, all of them living inside this convent professed to follow the so-called evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Not many people realize that these vows are meant to function as means. They are indirect means to some more important goals: One becomes poor so that sharing of resources especially for the poor becomes easier; One becomes chaste and celibate so that exclusive relationships will be avoided and make way for availability to others; One becomes obedient so as to restrict one’s natural prejudices and become receptive to higher and more insightful views of other people.

So, Kari learned that sharing is the goal of the vow of poverty; availability to people is the aim of the vow of chastity, and; openness to better insights is intended by the vow of obedience. For almost five years, Kari became a living witness to stories that mocked those religious vows. He had to leave the congregation to leave behind various kinds of heartbreaking stories. Would it be a more “Christian” decision if he persevered and faced the Candlelights challenge inside the institution? Would he be more faithful to Jesus of Nazareth’s call if he remained a Candlelights religious and prove that the Candlelights ideal is possible? Was the Candlelights’ challenge really the essence of a

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religious life? And those who would not face it were not called to perfection? Was Fr. Gabriel right, after all, when he had to discard him as a disturbed individual, who was unfit for the religious life? These are a few of those critical questions that Kari wanted to resolve in himself. He made his decision. Kari made a phone call that day. He informed his parents about his decision. They wept. “What a journey! How did I ever get into this,” he told them. “You wept when I left for Guimaras, you rejoiced when I entered the Candlelights, and now you are weeping because I’m leaving the Candlelights.” Kari felt the sobs of his mother; but he pictured herself preparing his favorite kare-kare for his homecoming. Kari took shelter at the Immaculate Conception Seminary until he finished his theology. After his thesis defense, he transferred to one of the houses in the squatter area fronting the Immaculate Conception Seminary. Kari’s sister started to send him some monetary support. Mulong joined Kari and they rented a place in the middle of the site. There, Kari made every effort to blend with the people who probably wondered why he chose to be among them. Kari was unable to sleep during the first night of his stay among the squatters. It was a Saturday and the weekly community dance was held in front of their house. Maximumvolume music that reached three kilometers away blared the whole night and into the short hours. Kari’s ears, just fifteen feet away from the loud-speakers, endured what could be an unintended, but most tormenting, torture of his life. The next day, the couple living downstairs had a riotfight that reached up to the wee hours; a 20-episode soap opera boomed into Kari’s ears. Sleep was so precious that on the third night, without taking any food, he went to bed at

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6pm. After barely one hour of sleep, he was awakened by a piercing voice coming from the adjacent house. The father was beating his 15-year old boy whom he caught experimenting with shabu. The boy’s mother was pleading for the father to stop; the father listened but he went on for hours, translating his rage into blistering curses and incoherent shouts. The next day, Kari’s tonsils were swollen and he was told by a doctor to take Tylenol and a whole 7-day course of Ampicillin. The whole time he was recuperating, he noticed the unusual smell coming off from both the interior and exterior surroundings of the house. His room reeked of unfamiliar but distressing smell of cockroach excrement. The air from the outside emanated from the ever wet pathway soaked by the canal which collected water from open sinks and improvised bathrooms and latrines. Kari had to get used to this situation. He did get used to it in time. When Kari recovered from his illness, he took a “shower” in the community faucet. There were curious eyes focused on him scrubbing his body. Kari forced himself to ignore the presence of questioning stares. But after this experience, he vowed not to take a shower in the open bath. He and Mulong would be content in making their cramped latrine as a shower room. Even when Kari started to teach in one of the colleges nearby, he still shared the place with Mulong who was already finishing college. Kari would still remember an inaugural short lecture which he delivered at the beginning of the school year. He thought his students were listening. But he also doubted whether they really got his point. Many of them probably just took down some notes as handy pointers for exams. The following is that piece of lecture: “Every opening of the school year is a new beginning for all of us, even for the more mature and regular members of the faculty and the administration. We all share this pros-

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pect of a new beginning in a new school year. Most beginnings are exciting; especially, for the first years. The firsts are indeed exciting! I hope this excitement will stay, in different intensities of course, to lift us up to a greater sense of freedom and to a life full of energy. Speaking of beginnings, freedom, and energy, I like to consider some insights that we could harvest from that ancient story of our ancestors about the beginnings of life. We know that story: Si Malakas at Si Maganda, the story of the first man and woman as it is handed down to us by our folks of ancient time. In that story of our beginnings, the hawk (lawin or a large bird) figures out prominently. We could consider the hawk here as playing a major role. We are told that it was the hawk, through its pecking, who split the bamboo and caused the appearance of the first man and woman. Another version of that story of our beginnings is about two coconuts floating in the sea. Again, the hawk, who was soaring in the heights, but with that extraordinary sharp eye, saw the coconuts. The bird came down and pierced the fruits with its beak. As a result, Man and Woman were freed from confinement. What meaning could this narrative yield for us? Now, I wish that all students and learners, including professors, be like the hawk: free and alive and ever ready to cause nature to burst with life. Through our own flying and pecking, we could be like the hawk ourselves. Flying and pecking, by the way, are not easy. These demand strength, courage, freedom, concentration, sensitivity, and acumen. All these qualities are indispensable for flying and pecking. Our studies, most of the time, may bring us to real heights. There, with the clouds, we are taught to fly and glide freely. But these same studies could also train our eyes to be sharp for what is concrete—that sharpness of sight should lead us to places where pecking is to be done.

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The hawk’s scaling the heights enabled it to view many things from above. Note that the heights did not prevent the hawk from spotting the concrete bamboo or the coco below and then pecking on them to release life. Our studies could enable us to be better prepared for the concrete work of promoting life—a life that is Malakas and Maganda. Very often, students get the impression that higher learning had no connection with life’s problems. We should teach ourselves to appreciate learning for its connection with wonderful down-to-earth pecking. It is the ability to distinguish between what is full of life and what is empty; one that our learning would afford us. We thank our learning for teaching us to avoid useless trivialities and concentrate on activities that matter most—activities that produce in us strength and beauty. Not truth as absolute one, but strength and beauty. It is in art that humans can excel and not in search for what is infinite, for finite beings can only deliver its own image; delivering one’s finite face can’t prevent us, however, from delivering it with strength and beauty; and perhaps truth is what is unveiled by strength and beauty. We should be like the hawk. Don’t be like that bat (paniki) that is sleeping while the hawk is gliding and bursting with life. Don’t be like the bat who sleeps and even defecates in its face while the hawk is flying high and preparing itself for more life-giving pecking.” Complacency in us actually reflect the bats’ practice of hanging on to walls or trees. As bats, we could only show our shadows in the dark; busying ourselves stealing fruits from others, or, most of the time, eating the undesirable rotten ones. (Kari was not, of course, unaware about the most potent fertilizer from the bat’s manure. He also heard that bats are indispensable to the process of pollination of the exotic durian’s flowers.)

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going back home After leaving the Candlelights, he made more important decisions.

The alarm clock had brought Kari back into the world.

It’s 4 a.m. and Mulong was no longer in his bed. Kari got up and fixed his bed as he heard Mulong making noise downstairs. From where he was, Kari could guess that Mulong was in the “bathroom.” He got alarmed since he knew he spends so much time washing himself. He even thought Mulong was sabotaging his scheduled flight for Surigao. He got his towel and underwear and hurried for the stairs. “How could he do this? He knew I have to be in the bathroom first. I will be late for my flight if he competes for that bathroom! I know he doesn’t have early schedules today. Why is he in the bathroom?” Kari made noise as he hit every rung of the stairs. “Long, ‘tagal ka pa?” Kari made Mulong hear his worry, so Kari projected a harried voice. “Oy Kari gising ka na? Sandali na lang. Lalabas na.” (“Hey, Kari, you’re up. Just a moment…coming.”) “My God! What’s coming out? Should I wait for it?” Kari’s head was swirling with thoughts. “O sige, ikaw na.” (“It’s your turn.”) Sensing Kari’s impatience, Mulong hurriedly left the bathroom before he could dry up his hair. “Thanks. Kailangan kasing nasa airport ako ng 7.” (“I need to be at the airport by 7.”) “’Di ka na kakain?” (“Won’t you eat something?”)

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“Hindi na, may breakfast naman sa plane.” (“No. There’s breakfast in the plane.”) Kari hurried up with his shower. But it was really the 3-minute body-wash routine that he always did. “Wow,’bilis a.” (“Wow, that was fast.”) “He, he, basta mawala ang amoy, tama na yon.” (“Just to wash away body odor.”) As Kari boarded the taxi, he reminded Mulong to bring his letter to Jackie. He told Mulong that Jackie also promised to bring his dirty clothes to the laundry while he was away for their family reunion in Surigao. Jackie is Kari’s girlfriend. They became steady friends four months after Kari left the Candlelights. After leaving the Candlelights, Kari made more important decisions.

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He went back to Surigao with an unintended mission to discover a most intriguing affair.

B

efore Kari went to Surigao, he already enrolled in a School of Music. He chose Liturgical Music as his specialization. He felt that it’s time to really pursue his old dream and at the same time maintain connection with the local church. His sister even bought him a flute, a real concert flute; after he told her about his plan. As a further preparation, he had started his flute lessons in the University of Sto. Tomas Music Conservatory. A famous Filipino flutist took charge of his flute lessons. He was on his way to Surigao to see his parents before the start of the regular classes. He also wanted to see Claire. “Sir, are you done with the papers?” The stewardess roused Kari up from his thoughts. He took a deep breath. This act somewhat cleared some debris floating in his head. “Oo, pwede na,” (“Yes, you may take them away.”) handing her back the newspaper of the day. Her routine had signaled that they were already approaching their destination. After about ten minutes, the plane’s tires hit Surigao’s runway; but not before the pilot had reminded passengers about humanity’s fragile existence. In its descent, the plane was curiously balancing itself left to right, right to left— something not familiar to Kari. As the plane was about to touch down, the pilot suddenly pushed it towards the earth. Because of the impact, the shock absorber of the plane’s tires

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bounced back to compensate for the movement. Going upwards, it catapulted them momentarily to eternity. It must have been the assistant pilot doing a routine training exercise. “What a way to land!” thought Kari, “And these pilots get paid for lousy life-threatening exercises!” Their youngest, adopted, brother fetched Kari. While they negotiated the highway leading to their place, he talked about their reunion. But it was not just the family reunion that had interested him. He was endlessly disturbed by a disquieting discovery. Kari and Methodius met the other day. Methodius was with Lorna, a social worker assigned in the parish. Methodius broke the news of their forthcoming marriage. “Si Lorna talaga…akala ko pa naman ako yong labs mo!” (“Lorna, I really thought I was your choice.”) “Ha, ha, ha…kunwari pa itong si Kari. Bistado na kita uy. Balitang-balita na na kayong dalawa na ni Jackie. Naku, lagot ka sa tatay nya. Muslim pa naman yon.” (“Ha, ha, ha…you don’t say that. You and Jackie are the talk of the town. Be careful, her father is a Muslim.”) “Muslim lang ang sabi nila, pero Kristyano yon. At saka kahit na Muslim pa sya, mabait yon.” (“No, he’s no Muslim. He’s a baptized Christian. But even if he’s a Muslim, he’s so upright and honorable.”) “Pero di pa niya alam na kayo na ni Jackie. Paano kung malaman na nya?” (“’Wait until he discovers…”) “Bakit mo alam yan Lorna? Tsimosa ka ha.” (“Why do you know these things Lorna? You’re such a gossip.”) “Ha, ha, ha…” They had fun talking about the latest in their love-life. Afterwards, Methodius turned solemn. “’Tol, sigurado ako di mo pa alam ito.” (“Bro. I’m sure you don’t know this yet.”) Methodius became even more solemn this time. “Ano yon ’tol?” (“What is it Bro.?”)

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“Tungkol kay Fr. Greg. Yong pagkadisgrasya nya, duda na ako noon eh. Hindi aksidente yon ’tol.” (“About Fr. Greg’s ‘accident.’ I don’t think that was an accident.”) “Ano?” (“What?”) “Noong na-assign si Fr. Greg sa Surigao, nakatrabaho niya sa SUSSA yong isa nilang organizer. Maganda daw sya ’tol at maputi. Naging karelasyon ito ni Fr. Greg.” (“When he was assigned in Surigao, and worked in SUSSA, he had a relationship with a pretty community organizer.”) “Hah? Baka kung anong tsismis lang ‘yan. Patay na yong tao tapos sinisiraan pa nila.” (“Really? That’s not true. The guy’s dead and there’s still this nasty talk.”) Kari’s ears couldn’t accept Methodius’s revelations which Lorna had to corroborate. “Totoo yon Kari. Si Sr. Lucia, yong superior ng aming school ang nagsabi sa akin. Kasamahan niya sa congregation ang isa sa mga madre na kaibigan nong karelasyon ni Fr. Greg.” (“That’s true Kari. Sr. Lucia, the superior of our school told me. Her fellow sisters were co-workers of Fr. Greg’s girlfriend. They told her.”) “Ang masama ’tol ay may asawa itong babae pero hiwalay sila. Kaya lang yong dati niyang asawa ay Neps ’tol. (“The thing is the girl is married, but separated. But the former husband is an NPA.”) “Paano naman pumasok itong si lalake?” (“Why was the husband involved?”) “Ang sabi ni Sr. Lucia sa akin ay noong umalis si Fr. Greg sa Surigao ay hindi na pumapasok sa opisina yong babae. Isang linggo na eh hindi pa rin nagpapakita. Pinuntahan daw noong kaibigan nyang madre sa bahay at doon nakita niya na iyak ng iyak si babae. Nalaman din daw nong dating asawang Neps at uminit ang ulo. ‘Di ko nga alam kung bakit galit na galit. Yon, dinale si Greg.” (“The woman was distraught when Fr. Greg left her. The former husband was enraged. I don’t know why he behaved like that. Then he terminated Greg.”)

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“Putsa, sigurado ka nyan Lorna?,” (“Are you sure about this?”) Kari’s head started to get numb. “Oo, noong nakaraang regional conference ng SUSSA, mga isang linggo pa lang ang nakaraan, nandoon silang mag-asawa. Narinig ko pa silang nag-away. Pinagsasampal ng babae si lalake. Walang magawa si lalake, ang daming tao eh. Di ko pa alam kung bakit inaway ng babae si lalake noon. Pero noong binalita na ni Sr. Lucia sa akin ang tungkol kay Fr. Greg, naintindihan ko na.” (“In last week’s SUSSA regional conference which I attended, I saw them fight. The girl slapped her husband’s face. The guy could not do anything. There were too many people in that conference. I was clueless about the whole affair until Sr. Lucia told me about Fr. Greg and the girl.”) “Santisima! Sino ba yong babae?” (“Oh my God, who’s the woman?”) “’Di mo yata kilala. Tintin ang pangalan.” (“I don’t think you know her; Tintin’s her name.”) “Tintin! Sa Surigao niya yon nakilala?” Kari’s surprise did not go unnoticed. (“Tintin! Did they meet in Surigao?”) “Bakit ’tol, kilala mo?,” Methodius wanted an answer. (“Why, Bro. do you know her?”) “’Di ako sigurado, pero parang meron akong kilala.” (“I’m not sure, but I think I know her.”) Kari didn’t like Methodius to know that he is very close to Claire, Tintin’s sister. “Teka, di ba uuwi ka ng Surigao sa Linggo? Baka pwede mong ipagtanong ang balitang yan doon sa mga kakilala natin.” (“Aren’t you going home on Sunday? Please, investigate.”) “Tingnan ko ’tol. Baka wala akong panahon dahil reunion nga ng pamilya yon.” (“I’ll see Bro. I might not have enough time.”) “Subukan mo rin.” (“Just try, Bro.”) “Sige, susubukan ko talaga.” (“Okay, I will really try.”) Kari came to Surigao with an unintended mission to discover a most intriguing affair.

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the end Kari exerted much effort to move forward and walk away; his feet grew heavy with guilt as he struggled past that dark path where he asked Claire to be his girlfriend.

Kari phoned Claire and he told her about his departure

from the Candlelights. She was reluctant to see Kari until he mentioned Tintin. They met in one restaurant near the university. She didn’t like him to fetch her from her office. Claire already looked older than her age. She was only 28 years old; but the years seemed to summon her faster towards middle-age. She has gained much weight. “O, anong tinitingnan mo?” (“What are you staring at?”) She pouted as she adjusted her weight on her chair. She still looked pretty. Kari still felt admiration for her face. “Kumusta na?” Kari said, careful with his facial expression. “Ano ba talaga ang nangyari?” Claire didn’t like his presence. She just wanted to hear about Tintin. “Wait, teka lang…Oorder muna tayo ng tanghalian.” (“Wait, let’s order lunch first.”) “Kahit ano pwede sa akin. Waiter, yong menu.” (“Anything is okay with me. Waiter, the menu.”) Claire was more business-like this time. She considered their meeting and the food as unnecessary. She didn’t wait for him to order the food. “Bahala ka na sa order,” (“I’ll have the same order.”) Kari said. “Bigyan mo kami nitong salad na ito. Seafood spaghetti yong

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sa akin, sa ‘yo rin?” (“”Bring us this salad. I will order two seafood spaghetti, is it okay?”) “Oo. Bigyan mo rin ako ng mango shake.” (“Yes, and a mango shake.”) “O, yan… ako yong green mango shake. Bilis-bilisan lang ha…O ano na yong balita mo tungkol kay Tintin?” (“Give me green mango shake. Please hurry up…what’s the news about Tintin?”) Claire’s eyes looked very alert. “Ma’am…” Kari used to call her Ma’am. She used to call him Sir. “Malabo din sa akin ang kuwento. Ang alam ko ay baka alam mo na rin. Gusto ko…” (“Things are unclear. I thought you knew…”) “Wala akong alam,” Claire interrupted. Her voice sounded more impatient. (“I don’t know anything.”) “Gusto ko sana maliwanagan din sa mga nangyayari.” (“I need to be enlightened myself.”) Claire’s eyes were more focused. She had been waiting intently for his story. But she kept on shifting her weight from left to right. Some signs of discomfort showed on her face as she did this. Sometimes her left arms would lean on the table; the next time her right. “Alam mo na yong hiwalay na si Tintin kay Rod,’di ba?” (“You already know that Tintin and Rod broke up?”) Claire nodded and then shifted her weight forward. She took a sip from her glass of water. “Nagkaroon siya ng affair sa isa naming pari.” (“She had an affair with one of our priests.”) Claire darted an intense glance towards Kari and waited for the next words. He paused until the waiter had placed their orders on the table. “Dito sa Surigao nangyari yon. Akala ko alam mo.” (“It happened in Surigao. I thought you heard of it.”) She was silent. She wanted to hear the rest of the story. Kari started eating but Claire was not touching her food. “Medyo naduwag yata ang pari kaya inisplitan niya si Tintin.

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Tapos nagpa-assign siya sa Manila. Hindi ko alam kung anong nangyari kay Tintin dahil iyak daw siya ng iyak noon. Nalaman ito ni Rod. Nagalit, kaya pinatimbog si Fr. Greg. Si Fr. Greg yong karelasyon ni Tintin. May dati akong kasama na nagkuwento nito.” Kari paused for a while to make Claire more attentive. “Meron akong gustong malaman sa ’yo. Gusto kong makita si Tintin. Ang duda ko ay buntis siya kaya galit na galit si Rod kay Fr. Greg. Baka malapit na syang manganak.” (“The priest got scared. He left Tintin and asked to be assigned in Manila. I don’t know what happened next but I heard Tintin could not stop crying. Rod heard about it. So, he got mad and liquidated Fr. Greg. Fr. Greg is Tintin’s lover. I need to know something. I have to see Tintin. I suspect she is pregnant. She might be nearing term already.”) “What? Buntis sa paring yon?” (“Pregnant by that priest?”) Claire made distorting faces just like those times when she was pressured or anxious or angry. “Kung talagang buntis sya, oo, kay Fr. Greg yon. Gusto kong siguraduhin kung talagang buntis sya. Baka alam mo kung saan sya ngayon.” (“If she’s pregnant, yes, Greg’s. You might know where she is.”) Claire’s face turned glum and rigid. Her chin quivered. Tears slowly formed in her downcast eyes. “Namatay si Dad dahil kay Tintin.” (“Dad died because of Tintin.”) She struggled to speak those words as she finally sobbed. “Di kinaya ni Dad na mawala and bunso niya matapos magpakasal sa isang NPA. Ako yong sumalo sa pamil-ya. Inatake rin si Mommy afterwards kaya hanggang ngayon baldado siya. Nahirapan ako dahil alam mo naman na ako ang panganay. Nong nag-asawa na sila Eric at Joel kami na lang ni Ela ang naiwan sa bahay. Wala pa ring asawa si Ela. Kami yong nag-aalaga kay Mommy. Kaya dalaga pa rin kami. Takot kaming iwanan si Mommy.” (“Dad couldn’t accept he lost his youngest to an NPA. I took care of the family. Mom suffered a stroke and half of her body’s paralyzed. It’s difficult for me because I am the eldest. Eric and

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Joel got married. Ela and myself were left to take care of Mom. We’re still single, you see; afraid to leave Mommy alone.”) She bit her lower lip to control herself, took her handkerchief and blew her nose into it. Heaviness descended on Kari’s head and arms. “I’m sorry.” “Di ko talaga alam kung nasan ngayon si Tintin. Wala rin akong balita sa kanya. Di nga siya nagpakita noong birthday ni Mommy.” (“I don’t know where Tintin is right now. She didn’t show up on Mom’s birthday.”) “Kelan yon?” (“When was that?”) “Two months ago.” “Ma’am, may tinatago siya. Hanapin natin sya. Baka kailangan niya ngayon ng tulong. Alam mo, kilala ko yong mga madreng kasama niya sa SUSSA. Puntahan natin sa kumbento.” (“She’s hiding something. Let’s find her. She needs help. I know some of her SUSSA nun associates. Let’s go to their convent.”) One of the nuns was Kari’s former classmate in a religious formation course they attended during their postulancy days. She led them to another nun who was close to Tintin. The second nun confirmed Tintin’s pregnancy. What she knew was that Tintin was back in Rod’s arms. He helped her through her difficult condition. Tintin even agreed to deliver her baby up in the forests of Agusan. Claire was tormented. She couldn’t stop from crying until they took a ride for her place. Kari brought her home where he greeted her Mom who was in a wheel chair. She looked so thin and dry. Ela, still in her prime, trailed behind her. Her mom still recognized Kari. He even teased her about how she avoided him the first time he visited Claire. “Ma’am, do you still recall? Eric was then trying to pull you out from your dishwashing chores but you didn’t like to see me. I walked towards the kitchen and suddenly presented myself and caught you vigorously making faces of disap-

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proval. You were caught in the act; you instantly masked your face with a wide cheesy smile.” “Yes, I remember that Kari. And with so much effort I extended my hand and timidly said to you, ‘Hello, how are you?’” Everyone laughed. “’Kumusta po?’ was all I could say that time. And you wondered about my name…why it sounded like a woman’s name.” He explained to her that Kari was derived from his father’s name, Karl, and his mother’s, Riza. That conversation was the start of a more relaxed exchange between Claire’s mom and Kari. Kari, however, was still perplexed why Claire’s mom had to hide herself when all that he wanted was to make himself known to the family. Sometimes, Kari would like to think that Claire’s mom didn’t like her to have relations with men. She carried the mark of being the eldest. In Filipino culture, it meant that she must bear the burden of keeping herself as a model who can’t get married early since she must also inherit that responsibility of supporting her younger siblings. Ela, however, was in nostalgic mood when she broadcasted how Kari bought some ice cream when he stopped by to take a shower. Claire was avoiding her Mom’s searching eyes. “Si Ela talaga, ang tagal na no’n ah.” (“Ela…that was long time ago.”) “O pakainin nyo si Kari.” (“Invite Kari for supper.”) “Sige Kari, dyan muna kayo.” (“See you later Kari.”) Ela, waving at him, wheeled her Mom to her room. Suddenly, the lights went out. “Aay, brownout na naman!” (“Oh no…, it’s brownout again!”) “Ate Claire, nasa tapat mong drawer ang kandila at posporo.” (“Ate Claire, the candles are in the drawer near you.”) Kari assisted Claire in lighting the candles. They put two on the table and another one near the front door.

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“Wow, candlelight dinner tayo.” (“Wow, we’ll have a candlelight dinner.”) Claire decided not to tell her Mom about Tintin. She thanked Kari for his concern. Kari said goodbye to Ela as Claire walked with him toward the gate. She placed the candlelight on the porch table. “Uy Claire, ang dami na nitong siling labuyo ninyo. ‘Di yata kayo mahilig nito.” (“Claire, you have plenty of chilli here. You’re not using them.”) “Ay naku, si Daddy lang at si Eric and mahilig niyan. Nabubulok na nga lang yan eh. Gusto mo?” (“Only Dad and Eric liked them. Take some.”) “Sige, kunin ko na lahat ng hinog. Bigyan mo na lang ako ng maliit na plastic.” (“Yes, I’ll harvest everything. Could you get me a small plastic bag?”) Claire went back inside the house while Kari picked all the red chillis. “O, etong plastic na pang-ice candy, pwede na?” (“Here’s an ice-candy plastic container.”) “Perfect. Salamat, ang ganda pa naman nitong sili ninyo. Yong binibili sa grocery hindi na ganon ka-anghang. Eto talagang uusok ang bunganga ko.” (“Perfect. Thanks, look at the quality of these chillis. Those sold in the groceries are not that hot. These will make my mouth smoke.”) “Hay naku, hanggang ngayon, mahilig ka pa rin.” (“Oh well, you haven’t changed; you’re as hot as before.”) Kari broke into laughter. After a while, he brought up something: “May napapansin nga pala ako sa ‘yo; noong nakaupo ka habang kumakain tayo, lagi mong inililipat kaliwa-kanan ang iyong pag-upo. Bakit?” (“I noticed something while we were having our meal. Why do you shift your body from side to side?”) “Ikaw naman, ang dami mo talagang napapansin. Wala yon.” (“Come on, you see a lot of things. It’s nothing.”) “Kung wala yon eh bakit parang hirap kang umupo ng matagal

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kapag di ka nagbabago ng posisyon?” (“If that’s nothing, then why do you feel uncomfortable when sitting down?”) “Heh, ano ka ba? Umalis ka na nga.” (“Heh, go away.”) “Di ako aalis hanggat di mo sinasabi.” (“I won’t leave until you tell me.”) “Bakit ko sasabihin? Ano pa bang pakialam mo kung ano man ang meron sa akin?” (“Why should I? What’s between me and you?”) Claire spoke these words with spontaneity but she regretted having said it. She instantly realized that her words somehow exposed some of her hurt now beginning to be picked up clearly by Kari’s ears. “Ma’am, I’m sorry.” Kari seemed unable to get the right words, but he continued, “Kahit ano pang sabihin mo, hindinghindi ko malilimutan ang lahat ng mga ginawa mo para sa akin. Ma’am hindi mo lang alam…” (“No matter what you say, I won’t forget what you did for me. Ma’am you just don’t know…”) Kari’s voice became unsteady. “Anong hindi ko alam…?” (“What is it that I don’t know…?”) Claire took the opportunity to divert Kari’s attention from her slip. She didn’t intend to ask this question but used it to shift the burden of explaining on Kari. She was sure she could not hide the pain caused by their separation if she started to talk about it. “Hindi ko kinayanan… Gulong-gulo ako. Walang pumapasok sa isip ko…hanggang sa isinubsob ko ang lahat ng panahon ko sa pagdadasal at pagbabasa ng mga religious at inspirational books para lamang…para lamang lunurin ko ang sarili ko na noo’y hindi makatagal….” (“Ma’am, you just don’t know how I suffered. It was then that I realized how weak I was. My mind was empty…until I forced myself to focus on prayer and study of religious and inspirational books just to…just to be able to forget.”) “Hindi ko alam yon. Wala ka namang sinasabi sa akin.” (“I didn’t know that. You were so silent about it.”) There was a genuine surprise in the voice of Claire.

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“Paano ko naman sabihin sa ‘yo yon? Tama bang sabihin ko na, ‘Ma’am huwag ka nang mag-exams, magpakasal na tayo?’ O kaya, ‘Ma’am umuwi ka na, di na ako makatagal.’ Para namang hindi ako nag-iisip tungkol sa pangarap ng mga magulang mo para sa ‘yo no.” (“How should I be able to express it? Would it be alright to say: ‘Ma’am, don’t take the exams, let’s get married.’ Or maybe: ‘Ma’am, please come home, I can’t live without you.’ As if I couldn’t use my head and just forget about your parents’ plans for you.”) “Bakit ‘di mo sinubukan? Sana napag-usapan natin ang bagay na yon?” (“Why didn’t you try? We should have been able to discuss it.”) Claire felt some involuntary pumping in her chest. The delivery of her words bared more uneasiness. “Ma’am, kilala mo ako. Napaka-selfish ko sa lahat ng bagay. Mas madali sa akin ang pumili ng ‘oo o hindi’ kaysa magcompromise. Mas madali noon sa akin na mawala ka kaysa tanggaping isa lang ako sa mga minahal mo.” (“Ma’am, you know me. I’m too selfish in all aspects. It’s easier for me to choose between a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’ than to accept a compromise. It was easier for me to lose you than accept the fact that I was just one of your loved ones.”) Kari paused for a while. He was a bit surprised for what came out of his mouth. He just realized that his reasoning was somewhat irrational. He didn’t mean to say it but he did say it. And although he did express it, the idea was not intentionally expressed; and the import of those ideas became more clear to Kari. It suddenly became disturbing for it meant like this: “It was better to lose you than just be treated as only one of your loved ones.” It just confirmed that he was indeed that selfish. He waited for Claire’s reaction; but Claire kept her silence. Kari continued, “Hindi ko naisip noon na kailangan ko ring magbigay at pigilin ang aking pagiging makasarili. Ang piliin mong magsilbi sa mga magulang mo ay hindi naging bahagi ng aking pananaw. Inisip ko na ako lang dapat ang bigyan mo ng pansin at pagmamahal. Pero hindi ko kayang aminin yon sa aking

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sarili…ngayon ko nga lang ito na-realize; kaya pinagtuunan ko ng pansin ang isang bagay na itinuro mo sa akin…ang matutunang ibigay ang aking sarili sa ibang bagay…kagaya ng tumugon sa narinig kong tawag ni Hesus.” (“It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to be less selfish. Service to parents was not part of my orientation. I just felt I should have been the center of your world. But I didn’t have the strength to admit that I really felt it. It’s only now that I realize how selfish I was. That’s why I devoted myself to that which I learned from you…to be able to give myself…like responding to the call of Jesus.”) “Kaya lang, lumabas ka rin. Sana itinuloy mo na yong naumpisahan mo sa Candlelights.” (“But you left. You should have persevered and finished what you have started in Candlelights.”) “Marami kang hindi alam, Ma’am. Pagdating ng araw, malalaman mo rin. Maintindihan mo rin ako.” (“There are many things you still have to know. Later on, you will discover things and understand why I quit.”) “Sana nga…at sana’y maintindihan mo rin ako kung bakit ganon na lang ako ka-dedicated sa aking pamilya. Magkaiba tayo ng karanasan sa ating mga pamilya, lalo na at ako ang panganay.” (“I hope so…and I hope you will be able to understand why I’m so dedicated to my family. Our family backgrounds are different; and I’m the eldest in the family.”) “Naintindihan naman kita…ang hindi ko maintindihan ay ang aking sarili…ang hirap kong pigilan ang sobrang tindi ng aking mga nararamdaman. Sana matutunan ko talagang intindihin ang sarili ko.” (“I do understand you…it’s myself that’s difficult to handle… my feelings are just too intense to manage. I hope I could learn to understand and accept myself.”) “Kailangan mo na rin sigurong may katuwang sa pag-intindi sa ’yo. Meron ka na sigurong…” (“You might need someone to understand you. You may have someone already…”) She abruptly interrupted herself. “Anong meron? Asawa? Wala pa.” (“What? A wife? No.”)

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Kari avoided Claire’s eyes when he said this. Claire just could not leave her curiosity unanswered. “Girlfriend…baka girlfriend ang kailangan mo.” (“Girlfriend…you might need a girlfriend.”) Claire smiled a bit but her eyes looked more anxious than usual. This moment was her opportunity to verify whether Kari still had plans to renew their relationship. It was what she was waiting for— whether she could still invest hope in their relationship. “May girlfriend na rin ako Ma’am. Matagal-tagal na rin kami. Pero wala pa kaming balak magpakasal. Ikaw, wala ka bang boyfriend?” (“I have a girlfriend, Ma’am. We’ve been dating for quite a while. But there are no wedding plans yet. What about you? Don’t you have a boyfriend?”) “Eh…wala…gano’n talaga, sabi ko sa ’yo mahirap ang maging panganay.” (“Hmm…I don’t have one. I told you, it’s difficult to be the eldest.”) As she said those words, Claire turned and faced the road, took a step forward and held on to the gate’s grills. She felt her heart pump without control, something seemed to have drowned inside her and was crying for help; then, strength escaped from her frame through her legs. Her limbs were shaking; her nape felt icy. She tried her best to keep steady. She breathed deeply…once…twice… “Boyfriend lang naman, hindi naman asawa. Sabi nga ni Ela marami nga daw nanliligaw sa ’yo eh.” (“Just a boyfriend; not a husband. Ela told me you have several suitors.”) Kari didn’t seem to observe Claire’s shifting appearance. He still kept pushing the issue. “Sir, wala na yata sa isip ko yan.” (“Sir, that’s no longer part of my plans.”) Her voice miraculously freed from trembling. This gave her more confidence, and added: “Ano ba yang pinag-uusapan natin? Sige na at gagabihin ka na. Baka hinahanap ka na sa inyo.” (“What are we talking about!? It’s getting dark. You go home. Your folks might be looking for you.”) It was already dark. Kari bid goodbye, but he could not

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resist embracing Claire. She didn’t resist and embraced him too but with a lot of slack. Kari felt her size doubled over the years; he could no longer feel her backbone with her thicker insulation. Claire must have also felt Kari’s tummy pushing her as she began to sob in his chest and let loose the hurting inside her. Kari caressed her hair and kissed her forehead. He pulled her closer, closed his eyes and sensed more acutely the faltering sniffs of her nose. They stayed like that for a minute. Kari didn’t know what was in Claire’s mind. Was she crying because of Tintin, or was it because she wanted to pour out her grief over their years of separation? Gradually, Kari relaxed his arms around Claire. “I will write,” Kari whispered. Claire disentangled from him, wiped her tears, and said, “That’s not a good idea. Your girlfriend might look for me and contact Rod.” They laughed. Then Kari took a deep breath and said: “Aalis na ako.” (“I have to go.”) Claire, who looked more relaxed after the tears, simply nodded. With the aid of the candlelight’s rays, Kari saw the sadness in Claire’s eyes became more intense with the reddish tint wrapping her eyeballs. He looked away and slowly turned towards the road with his mind still held and pulled by Claire’s gaze. Kari exerted much effort to move forward and walk away. His feet grew heavy with guilt as he struggled past that dark path where he asked her to be his girlfriend. He took another look and saw Claire, already just a silhouette. He no longer saw her face as Claire slightly waved goodbye and then wiped her tears away. When Kari got home, he immediately searched for the tape recording of his musical compositions. He searched for hours, but he failed to find it. No one at home knew anything about any tape he left in his room. Finally, he resigned to the fact that the recording was just one of those lost in the pursuit of his vocation.

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Kari noticed his flute on his bed. He picked it up and did some warm up exercises. Sa Ugoy ng Duyan crossed his mind and he started playing it. The notes lingered; the melody floated in his room and brought melancholy into the house and the neighborhood. The familiar tune somehow lulled people into childhood dreams. Kari’s eyes gradually floated on tears as he hit the song’s refrain. His consistent blowing of every note registered determination to finish the song; even as tears crawled down Kari’s cheeks and trickled into his lap. After finishing the piece, he dropped his instrument, wiped his tears and looked for his mother. He hugged her as he asked about supper. Mrs. Rivera served kare-kare, with real home-roasted peanuts and rice—Kari’s favorite. “O, human na mi ug kaon. Kamo na lang ni Papa nimo ang wala pa nanihapon.” (“You and Papa haven’t had supper yet.”) “Asa man si Papa?” (“Where is Papa?”) “Pasagdi lang siya, nagabantay siya sa tindahan.” (“Leave him where he is. He’s in the store.”) As soon as he recited his prayer, Kari devoured his meal. Mrs. Rivera was so amused at the way Kari grab morsel after morsel of food with his hand and shoved these into his eager mouth. “Lamia gyud sa imong kare-kare ’Ma.” (“Your kare-kare is so goooood.”) Mrs. Rivera smiled as Kari finished his second plate. “Wala bay naga-kare-kare sa seminaryo?” (“Don’t they serve kare-kare in the seminary?”) “Naa pero dili man ingun-ini kalami. Kung mangaon pud mi labi na sa monasteryo, wala may sultianay. Basta kaon, way istoryahay. Way lami.” (“Yes, they do but your kare-kare is different. Besides, in the monastery, we usually don’t talk while we eat. Our appetite isn’t there.”) “Mao ba? Sige, kaon pa. Naa pa may nabilin kang Papa nimo.” (“Is that so? Have some more. I already reserved your

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Papa’s share.”) Thereupon, Mr. Rivera’s voice was heard from the store, “Uy, Riza, binli ko ug kare-kare ha.” (“Hey, Riza, reserve karekare for me!”) “Adu pay. Dali ra gud diri. Kaon na. Dungan mo ni Kari.” (“There’s plenty. Come on, you join Kari.”) Sige, muanha na ko.” (“Okay, I’ll be there.”) “Dali na Pa. Daghan raba ning siling gidala nako. Pwerting lamia sa kare-kareng naay sili uy.” (“Hurry up Pa. I got plenty of chilli. Kare-kare tastes better with chilli.”) “Asa man na gikan, kadaghan man?” (“Where did you get them? That’s plenty.”) “Kang Claire.” (“From Claire.”) Mr. and Mrs. Rivera furtively glanced at each other, while Kari savored Mrs. Rivera’s kare-kare that was laced with the siling labuyo from Claire’s garden. “Kanus-a mi nimo ipaila-ila kang Jackie?” (“When do you intend to introduce us to Jackie?”) Mrs. Rivera’s voice carried the trace of smile on her lips. Kari lifted his eyes. His mouth was full. He stared at his mother while he thoughtfully chewed on his food. When his mouth was clear, he said: “Pwede ba mo muadto sa Manila? Plano namong magpakasal ni Jackie aron mauban nako siya sa Europe. Naay mga pari nga nag-offer sa akoa ug scholarship didto. Pwede daw ubanon ang asawa. Dili na ko magpadayon sa Institute of Liturgical Music aron lagi sa scholarship. Maayo unta ning music kay kini man gyud ang akong gusto. Kana lang, dako man pud nga challenge ning magtuon ko para sa Ph.D. Naa koy nadawat nga sulat gahapon. Gi-convince gyud ko sa mga professors nako nga importante pud ang career sa Theology.” (“Will you go to Manila? We are planning to get married before we go to Europe. Some priests helped me get a scholarship grant. They said I could bring my wife. I’m dropping my enrollment in Liturgical Music to focus on the scholarship. I really like to pursue my original dream in music, but I feel there’s a great challenge

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in pursuing a Ph.D. I received a letter yesterday. My former professors were able to convince me about this very important career in Theology.”) “Diay? Maayo no. O kanus-a man mi muadto?” (“Is that so? When are we going?”) Kari’s father was excited about the scholarship as well as the wedding. “Sige, pwede na mi muuban pagbalik nimo sa Manila.” (“We will go with you to Manila.”) A beaming Mrs. Rivera added. “Sige. Pero mangaon sa ta. Unya na nato na istoryahan. Lami gyud kaayo ning kare-kare oy.” (“Right. But let’s finish this meal. We’ll talk about that later. The kare-kare is soooo goooood.”) Mr. and Mrs. Rivera were amused at Kari’s matter-offact handling of the news about the scholarship grant and the wedding. These heaven-sent blessings overwhelmed them. They could not understand why Kari seemed to regard Mrs. Rivera’s kare-kare as more important than the scholarship grant and marriage. But then, they were once again oblivious of the fact that Kari must force music to take a back seat.

epilogue “Why, Oh Lord, do we have to put up with a masculine world, of amazing beings filled with testosterone up to their hearts?”

K

ari and Jackie got married. They went to Europe where their children were born. He finished his Ph.D. with a double-degree in Psychoanalysis and Theology. He taught in several universities in Manila and published a number of articles and several books. He held clinic in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Medicine at a government hospital-school of medicine. Along the way, he met many people, mainly males (too many males), who engaged him in various academic discussions; over matters like: conformity as indispensable to friendship; obedience to superiors as a requisite of team work; official title as equivalent to wisdom; official contract as an assurance of loyalty; high position as possession of good judgment; intelligence as assurance of integrity; medical title (M.D.) as a license to diagnose and cure diseases; capitalism as the only way to life; socialism as the only alternative; a smiling face as a sign of friendliness; dashboard abs as sign of manliness; fine dining as proof of fine taste and manners; masturbation as an indication of immaturity; non-masturbation as an indication of maturity; old age as a license to behave like a moron; the face as luminous as one’s intention; intention as the basis of morality; morality as the basis of intention; one’s good intention as the basis of one’s desire; satisfaction of desires as a sign of freedom; dependence as a sure sign of immaturity; etc., etc., etc.

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He met some men who had lost their energy and light and were in the process of being sucked into dark oblivion. With convulsive efforts, they try to extract light and energy; they were only able to try to extract these from outside sources, but only by exposing their darkness and at the expense of other people’s lights and energies. Kari wondered how much more brainwork he must perform and endure before he breaks his head thinking about a masculine world—a world of amazing beings filled with testosterone up to their hearts. That’s Kari, today. If we like to understand him better, we should examine his Candlelights experience. His very memorable Candlelights years have made him who he is, today—even if through those years he had lost his innocence about the religious life for males. And, if we like to understand Candlelights better, we should look into the memories of Methodius, Aldrin, Tony, Junie, Fr. Anthony, Fr. Papa, Bro. Ed, Fr. Ralph, Fr. Rev, Fr. O’Brien, Fr. Andrew, Fr. Mark, etc. It might also help if we ask the opinions of Mr. & Mrs. Rivera and the woman named Claire…

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