Tradition...Tradition!

Easter weekend was a very pleasant visit to my past. I love the rituals and traditions of the Catholic Church. To me, my faith is a light that beckons whenever I am morally lost, usually due to my own stubbornness and oftentimes misguided free will. I do not claim to be the most failthful and perfect Catholic, but I do try.

For an inexplicable reason, I woke up at three a.m. on Easter Sunday. I wasn't sure why I couldn't will myself back to sleep, so I played a computer game on the family PC.

Then I heard it.

The Church bells began to peal, and heard firecrackers being lit, reminding townfolk of the annual Salubong, a procession that symbolically re-unites Jesus and his mother Mary after his resurrection. I decided to get dressed and join the longer procession coming from my part of town, where the statue of the Virgin Mary was waiting. I remember my maternal grandmother would wake me up to join the procession with her every year when she still lived in Manila, and I felt that I should continue with the ritual without her.

I arrived at the barrio chapel, where there were over a hundred people milling around, ready with their candles. I didn't bring a candle, so I bought one from a vendor. A drumroll from the procession's marching band signaled the start of a mile-long walk to the parish church. Upon reaching the town plaza, the statue of the risen Christ had arrived from the church in the next barrio, and sparklers and all sorts of fireworks were lit to celebrate the official start of Easter. Schoolgirls in fluffy white dresses were ushered in to dance the 'bati,' a traditional Filipino Easter dance. Local officials personally hand-pick the girls who would join the troupe, though now usually families who are willing to pay officials to allow their little girls the honor of dancing the Pagbati are the ones chosen. I remember my sister joined the troupe when she was eight, chosen for her natural grace. As I watched the girls, I felt that my niece should continue with the tradition.

Easter mass was celebrated in the town plaza, and I met up with my childhood buddies, the now-aging altar boys who were there to assist the procession. People clapped as a girl dressed as an angel lifted the black veil over Mary's statue. I had been chosen as the angel for two Easters in a row when I was 13 and 14. I wondered why the girl just lifted the veil. How unfair. Under my watch I was made to memorize an entire monologue in Tagalog! And all she had to do was lift the freaking veil. Oh well, she was on a pedestal overlooking the crowd. I remember having to deal with acrophobia then act as if I was used to hovering above people, so I guess I can forgive the perceived slight.

I returned home at around 6 a.m. and slept soundly for three hours when I was roused by my mother, who said I should start dressing up because the family has to go to the Santarin family reunion in Cavite.

Santarin is my paternal grandmother's family, and apparently our esteemed lineage includes Sen. Richard Gordon. I dread going to family reunions. Being an unmarried woman in her 20s supposedly gives people the license to ask why I am not on the family way, unlike my dutiful younger sister, whose fertile ovaries and wide 'child-bearing' hips spit out two children into the world before reaching the age of 25.

The party was to be held at the Santarin family compund, where over 200 people, all bearing the same chinky eyes and square jaws milled about in color-coordinated tables and outfits. Shoot, our branch was supposed to wear green, and I was in white. Nobody told me. No wonder my mother and sister were dressed in green.

And as family reunions go, everybody feasted on the mounds of beef, pork and chicken dishes, all swimming in grease. And as tradition dictates, I was asked for the 4th year running when was I going to bring a boyfriend to the reunion. I have learned to cooly reply that nobody has caught my eye yet. Damn my brother for bringing his girlfriend along.

As usual, talk revolved around family scandals; who was getting married, who was pregnant, who was in the hospital, who was sick, who was on drugs, and who was in rehab. I sought refuge from the heat and the talk with my baby nephew, who had to stay in the family car where there was air-conditioning. I didn't mind baby-sitting him. Apparently my father also had enough of the chatter as well, and joined us. He was probably avoiding his older brother, who had just gotten out of rehab. They haven't spoken to each other in three years, for reasons I have forgotten.

Mercifully, my mother decided that she had had enough a little before three p.m., and said that it was time for us to head home.

In the embrace of tradition and family dysfunction, I felt an odd comfort. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all.

Forgiveness

Events that took place in my life last week had been a lesson in humility. I realized that I can't win all the battles I pick, and sometimes I could gain more from losing than from victory. I don't realy feel defeated; I feel surrender would be better word to describe my sentiments.

To let go of things I cannot change. To accept inalienable truths about other people. That I don't have to fight for things I want all the time. That I was critical of other people because actually, I felt that I was not perfect.

I thought I had let go of my hard-heartedness, but I was wrong. I had counseled Jei to let go of his bitterness. That sometimes, we all have to take the bitter pill by swallowing our pride in order to be "the bigger man." It hurts but it has to be done. I don't want to be a person filled with hate and anger. I don't want to live with bitterness in my heart. I realized that I had to put my money where my mouth is.

I had sought refuge and counsel from friends and mentors. I had done a lot of thinking. Poured all my emotions both positive and negative in my journal. I had made peace with an old demon, resolved to stop feeding it. Hopefully, I will be able to keep it at bay.

I had e-mailed an old boyfriend who hurt me a lot and I'm pretty sure I hurt a lot as well. I made a lot of apologies to a lot of people. I tried to reach as many people whom I felt I needed to make peace with. I would contact them all if I could find them.

I feel joyful. It pays to be the bigger man.

Mi Famille

Seated: Me, the parents, my niece
Standing, Brother, Christopher senior with Chris junior, sister

Today I watched my niece's end-of school production number. She was dressed as a nurse while singing "Who are the People in your Neighborhood?" with her classmates.

I am amazed at how my family has gone full circle. In my mind's eye, my brother is 5, in his blue-and-white kindergarten uniform. My sister is in third grade, with bangs and buck teeth. Now she's a mother of two (with another on the way) and my brother is 21.

How did we all grow up so fast?

My brother has just quit call-center slavery to pursue his dream of becoming a computer programmer, and has proposed that us three put up a shawarma-taco-burrito shop called "Shawarmamania!" Its so cool! I'm very excited at the prospect of going into business with my siblings. Since we live near three schools and a church, I feel that this would be a profitable endeavor.

It's amazing how our relationship has evolved. Did we really pull stunts we learned from the World Wrestling Federation on each other? We used to weasel out of our afternoon nap by messing up our hair and use our fake just-woke-up voice. Oh geez we're all grown up!

What is Wrong with Me?

Love is something that cannot be forced. And I'm kicking myself right now because I can't give it to a guy who wants to love me.

Jei (from my Hey, Jealousy entry) had broken up with Jo two weeks ago. Being a good friend, I had been helping him mend, hanging out more frequently than we usually do. Last Monday I took him around Intramuros. It was his first time, and admittedly there was something electric in the air. We sat on top of the ramparts, looking at the golfers and had a great conversation about the night sky. He told me about his childhood in Saudi Arabia, and I introduced the city to him. Apparently to him, he felt that the electricity was between us.

I had told him about my heartache with the writer, how rejected I felt and how torn up I had been because he couldn't love me back, despite what I was willing to offer him. And I listened to him as he poured out his bitterness.

Today, we went to see this French movie about two ill-fated mad-cap lovers. Then I took him to Baywalk along Roxas Boulevard because he hasn't been there, either.

Tonight, at the steps leading to my front door in Makati. He confessed that he had feelings for me and gave me a silver jewelry set. He told me that I shouldn't feel guilty because I couldn't give him what he wanted from me. He said things that I wanted to hear from the writer. Here he was, willing to offer me his heart. But my heart was telling me that Jei wouldn't make me happy in the long run. Jei isn't the one.

I asked him if he was on the rebound. He said that he had a thing for me even before he and Jo broke up, but he only decided to go for it after last Monday, "with the moon, the stars, your gorgeous eyes and pretty hair."

I feel so bad because he is cute, he is smart. He's basically the perfect guy. But he's not perfect for me. He said that I was being stupid for holding out for someone who was hurting me, and said that I shouldn't be confiding in him anymore because it hurts him every time he hears me tell a new story about a new guy and how much this guy was taking me for granted.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???????

The Morning After

I had spent Saturday night with a guy I had been seeing for a few weeks now. Of course, my mother was completely clueless. I would usually spend the weekends at my parents, but I had told her that I was out partying with the anime-otaku crowd, and was too pooped to go home to their house, so I wanted to spend the night at my place in Makati.

I arrived at our Parañaque abode just in time for lunch. It was a warm, sunny Sunday. My sister, my brother, and his girlfriend were preparing beef steak and mashed potatoes, and my mom dancing to the "Ha-ha-ha-ha" song blaring from the computer speakers. All is right with the world, I happily thought.

So I went along in my merry way, made gravy for the steak, played with my baby nephew, lazed around, went to church. Oh what a great day it was.

I woke up at 5 am on Monday to get ready for work. I was surprised to see my mother up and about, bustling in the kitchen over two bowls of oatmeal. Oh cool, I thought, could get to eat breakfast before I left for work. Little did I know that this was a ploy, a trojan horse, a sneaky tactic from a sneaky woman.

As we sat down to have our porridge, my mother gently, with a smile, started to pry into my life. We had an argument a few months ago, so my conversations with her lately have been limited to sundry questions. "Have you paid for the gas? The water bill? We need rice," that sort of thing. I have never really been open to her about my life.

"Did you have a date last Saturday?"
"Wala. I told you I was with the anime kids."
"Who is this guy you've told your Tita Margie about?"
"Oh, no one, really. He's a writer."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
With wide eyes, I vehemently reply, "NO!" It was the truth. He wasn't my boyfriend. As best I could I tried to downplay the truth, lest she demands to meet him and make the relatioship I have with the guy go deeper sooner than I want it to.
"I mean, It's not even serious. We've only been on two dates. Marami pang pwedeng mangyari" (there's still a lot that can happen.)
"Oh really? Then what's a box of condoms doing in your bag?"

I nearly choked on my oatmeal. I had completely forgotten that I had it in my bag, and didn't think she would bother to check. In the year since I left home, I had completely forgotten that my mother was a snoop. And unbelievably curious about her children's sex lives. She would regularly check my sister's bag for cigarettes. Once, while she and my brother were watching TV, she suddenly asked my brother, "Dj, virgin ka pa ba?" (are you still a virgin?) My brother was saved from "the inquisition" by the sudden wail of my niece. It was my turn under the spotlight.

With a nervous laugh, I try to buy time to think up of the first cockamamie excuse I could think of.

"Ah, that? Wala lang. I was with the anime kids last Saturday and they were playing with the condoms, making balloons. They had some left over and they didn't want to bring it home so I offered to take it off their hands. I had used the same bag last Saturday and forgot to clean it out before coming here."

"Oh." And we continued eating our porrige in silence.

I think she bought the story. Or did she?

Santa, Blackman, and the Tooth Fairy

My five-year old niece believes that when she does something bad, Blackman will dot her heart with tinny black spots, then her evil, black heart will eventually rot with the evilness of her deeds and wither. She cries when I pretend to turn into Sadako from The Ring. Of course, being an astute little girl, she knows I'm not actually Sadako, but it's fun to scare the crap out of her, nevertheless. She believes in Santa Claus. That Baby Jesus and Papa Jesus are two separate entities, and that they love her. Once while we were playing, I pretended that I was being sucked by an evil force under the bed. As I was teetering over the edge of the mattress, she burst into tears. "Tita Cathy baka kunin ka ni Blackman!"

Just who this shadowy Blackman character is, she doesn't know, but it hasn't failed so far. "Eat your peas!" " No more Chickenjoy!" "Don't bite your playmates!"

Adults believe that children will believe anything we say. This is the lie we adults delude ourselves with. We talk down to children. We take advantage of their gullibility. Adults lie so consistently to children that it's amazing that the world isn't populated with people with a very skewed perception of the world. Having had parents that lied to me all my life, I'm amazed that I turned out all right. Then again, I could be wrong.

But I knew, I knew. I always knew something was not right.

I remember how frustrated I felt when I was a kid for being a kid. I felt that nobody ever listened to me, my opinions did not carry any weight, and my political opinions were always met with an indulgent pat on the head, "oh, isn't she being so precocious?" and what I felt was a half-derisive smile. Nobody ever believed me when I said that I hated being in an all-girls school, that the little bitches that infested it were satan's daughters as far as I was concerned, and I wanted to transfer to a co-ed school.

"No"
"But Mama!"
"No! and that's final!"

I just hated the powerlessness of being young. I hated the fact that nobody believed in anything I said, or pretended that I didn't matter. So I retaliated by being smug.

Not all the Bumbays and the Igorots and the other racially blighted people they tried to warn me about and scare me with could keep me off the streets even when the Angelus bells were ringing. I remember my grandmother, with a switch, a hanger, a belt in her hand, and the threatening look in her eyes, half-comical and scary, trying to get us kids to go home. I felt that the world owed me a favor because I ate the cauliflowers and actually liked the broccoli in my chopsuey, while my brother and sister detested vegetables. That because I liked books, I was better than everyone else. Even then, the only idiosyncracies that made sense were my own.

I understand rules. I understand the need for limits in children. But I feel that scaring discipline out of children will never work. I vowed never to lie to children. Then came the day that it backfired.

As I grew older, I realized that I needed to sugar-coat the world a little. I think that I scarred my niece psychologically when my grandfather died. As I explained to her that Lolo Daddy had gone to heaven because he was old, she asked "Si mama ba magiging old?" (Will mama become old too?) When I answered yes, she suddenly cried "AYOKO MAGING OLD SI MAMA!!!" For weeks she would beg my sister to never grow old. Of course, aging is inevitable, but how do I explain that to my niece? My sister did a better job at explaining death to her, and gave a surprisingly sophisticated metaphysical explanation that my niece actually understood.

It got me thinking. What if adults never lied to children? If I didn't lie to children, I would be denying them the magic of childhood, the magic of Santa and the Tooth Fairy. My truth would deny them imagination, music, love, faith, hope. I decided what the heck, maybe kids needed to be lied to sometime, then let them discern whether they were being fed bull.

Adults never give children enough credit. Kids understand more than we think. Two months ago I was having a very emotional argument with my mother in her room when the door opened. My niece peeped into the room. As if on cue, my mother and I suddenly force a smile on our faces. I was pretty sure that my smile looked more like a grimace. Two wide-eyed, teary women with scary, toothy grins frozen on our faces.

"Ano ginagawa ninyo?" (what are you doing?)
*SMILE*"Nag-uusap lang kami" (we were talking) my mother replies.

A pause.

Then my niece says, "Huwag mo awayin si Tita Cathy" (Stop fighting with Tita Cathy) and walks out of the room.

Our surprise was enough to end the argument. Children are so much wiser.