Empty Candles

I used to call it Ledemtolis Church...but of course, this was before I even got my braces and I still couldn’t reach up and put my hands together over my head. Later would I learn that it was actually Redemptorist and not Ledemtolis.

It has been two (or more) years since I have been to an actual Catholic church. As I have already mentioned, I grew up in a fairly predominantly protestant secondary school. My university, Ateneo, a Jesuit school, doesn’t impose (nor require) its students to take part in any mandatory catholic celebrations. My family as well sharing the same obligation. So as you can see, cathedrals and churches, those that were once a necessity to our once small family every Sunday, became unfamiliar and foreign to me, much in the same way two good friends stop seeing and talking to each other for two years and then suddenly they meet once again on the same street they first met. It is a strange feeling.

It is the 23rd of March the year 2007, and today my mother is 44. It is not uncommon, but neither is it UN-new. Before, my mother, myself and my brother, along with my father, would miss church only one Sunday per month, two at the most. But when my two sisters came, it became quite the opposite. All of a sudden, our Sundays were consumed doing anything but Church. So this little trip that we took as a half-family (since my father stayed in the car and my brother was yet to arrive that night) was something...something...w0w. I don’t think I even have a word for it... (at least not at this moment)

Another one of my earliest memories as a little pig-tailed girl in a cool Sunday dress is of me rolling down the little hill on the Church’s west wing. The carabao grass was itchy, dirt got on my dress and blades were left sticking out of my messed-up hair, but like any other five year old I would get up, haphazardly dust myself off, run enthusiastically back over the hill and roll back down with little shouts of glee that only a five year old could. It was nirvana. Yes, life sure was simple back in the days, where little hills and tadpoles in tiny mud holes were entertainment enough. I check the side of the church, where the hill used to be. It is now cordoned off with blue nylon rope that was rough to the touch, purposely put up to protect the elaborate landscaping years of tithing had afforded the church. Ropes that were meant to keep out the children that I once was a part of.

If scolding and yelling and humiliation in front of my anonymous Sunday playmates meant that the rolls down the hill were done for the day, I proceeded to follow my mum inside the church where, unbeknownst to them, the candles became the unfortunate locus of my attention. I remember the rows and rows of burning wax that used to make spots dance in front of my eyes long after I was done gawking into their flame. As a child, I swore, in the burning blue flame of those wicks, I saw the souls of the candles. And it was beautiful.

 

 

Today, it was a sad reality to find the candlestands almost bare, with only a few candles dotting it here and there. The image of scarcity and depravity couldn’t have been expressed in a more predominant and thought-provoking way. What was once a proud burning altar of offerings for the church and prayers for whathaveyous, was now a bitter testament to the country’s economic plight. Poor little Juan dela Cruz could no longer spare two pesos and fifty cents on a candle that could be spent for rice or a can of sardines. No. Not even Juan’s prayers were to be spared from the high price of living in a third world country.

 

When I finally board that plane out of here, I will look back with that image clearly imprinted in my mind’s eye. I will make it as a reminder that this is my opportunity to start anew... to look back... and hope... and pray... that one day—those candle stands will burn a fiery fire once again.

Comments

[Tim]

Another good piece.

['Twinx']

thanx tim :) and thanx too for giving me a hard time on my other blogs..loL! hey, the devil needs an advocate too.. >;p