Psalms
The full moon shone palely, thin clouds covering its diffused glow, but the faces of the people looked peaceful and solemn in the kind, subdued light of many-colored lanterns lining the sides of Lourdes Church in Quezon City. The priest’s voice echoed from hidden speakers and was thunderous, like a foreboding voice of God, but I did not see the priest’s face because I was standing outside at the adjacent car park, where children wearing grey shirts begged for alms and where teenage girls strutted about in outfits so skimpy as to pose the most unchaste temptations to those holy and hypocritical. Inside, there were several empty pews, but more parishioners than what I thought was usual had gathered to listen, to pray.
The evening was chilly; one could almost imagine that the church, the streets, the rows of shabby souvenir shops and donut chains outside, and all the rest of Manila were air-conditioned. The leaves of the fruitless trees beside the adoration chapel created a gentle rustling sound, and the seven o’clock sky was pink. Indeed, the weather is best come December. It doesn’t rain, it is never too hot, and the choirs are in shape after months of practice and preparation for the birth of Jesus Christ. When the priest called on everyone to open their hands to heaven for the singing of Our Father, they did not hesitate, and immediately a great chorus was heard, unrestrained, drifting through the open air like a strong memory – of seasons past, of songs sung, masses attended and prayers whispered.
It used to be that on the several nights leading up to Christmas Day, I’d join my parents and siblings at the Banahaw Cultural Center, located on the outskirts of affluent New Manila, to hear a quietly lengthy Latin mass with associates and numeraries and supernumeraries and their families. There was always a closed-circuit video camera set up inside the golden chapel, at the back of the pews, such that those who had arrived after the meditation and were thus forced to sit outside can still see the priest’s face as he delivered his homily and went about the rituals, the lapel microphone hidden underneath his garments.
Since I seldom received the Eucharist, I was usually relegated to watching the monitor from a wooden chair, shiny from polishing; it was amusing to observe the self-conscious movements of those who were abashed at being focused on by the camera; they were usually young people. After the mass an assigned person blew the tall wax candles and there’d be cocktails and sweet pastries waiting outside, by a humble sort of garden decorated with constellations of yellow lights. It was where one engaged in chats either polite or apostolic, sometimes both, always ephemeral, since families always left early for more intimate celebrations at home.
The next few years I did not see any priest’s face; I did not go to church or the center in New Manila to mark the holiday season, even though a Filipino Christmas is as much a religious idea as it is commercial. How much was missed? One cannot tell. Only now, as then, rebellion in any form is inappropriate.
I stayed at the car park for a few more minutes after the final hymn, content to hold my view without analysis. The previously pink sky had slowly become deep clear lavender. And there was no way one can disagree with the scene. I did not, however, see the celebrant walk towards the parish office; there were simply too many people. Family by family, they filed out, while the song faded into the darkness.
Paz Marquez Benitez?
That is a good one migs i like it ..sounds like the church I was at by the airport in manila ….Phil R.
Hi Roy: Oh, that’s embarrassing; I can’t be compared to anyone with even half as much talent as she’d had!
Hi Phil: Hmm – I wonder what church you’re referring to? Do you remember the name?
Hi Migs; nice, serene; almost subliminal. With due respect, this came as if part of a novel. I wonder if you wrote it for LIP audience specificly? If so I can only compliment the piece as informative of a genuine experiecial work in a Filipino perspective written in unstilted flowing English.
I would like to see your passionate side in your writing? Or is the lack of passion or partipation in the work deliberate? There is a fine line to walk as a writer.
If you find out what people want to know; you will have an audience. If you entertain people, especially a lot of people, you will have an audience. If you can inform and entertain you will be called ‘brilliant’ at least in your epitaph!
One question Migs: is there such a thing as a Philippine writers guilde? I believe they are worldwide; the way they work is for a small joining fee, they provide security of copywrite and peer review. The peer review starts with at least four people reading your work and appraising then shortlisting for a further panel. This process continues until the writer has a work which has been thoroughly edited and reviewed for publication. Very helpful in career development and artistic skill.
Without blowing my own trumpet, I am willing to help with ideas, should you wish to contact me just email.
sorry, I don’t remember the name but I did find it on Google earth .It is about 6 blocks south from Roxas boulevard and P Lovina….I lived with-in walking distance of this church ,10 minutes .:) it is a very old church I was told ….. Phil R.
Hi Migs, Chris and the others are very right. One can feel your passionate side of writing. Yes, Chris, there is a Philippine writers guilde. I try to find out details… – Migs, congrats again – great post! Cheers!
http://www.geocities.com/filwriters/
here’ the link, sorry I should have looked!
Hi chris, thanks, you are faster. I just got the link from one of my chief editors…
Hi Chris: Thanks for your very kind words. I am glad that some of the pieces that I originally wrote on a diary, with real pen and on real paper, are found to be relevant by an audience (other than myself). Yes, I didn’t originally intend the piece above to be read by LiP readers, but I am glad to have posted it anyway.
As for writing guilds and growing my passion for the craft, I’d like to thank you for volunteering ideas. I have “informally” joined a couple of organizations – namely, the LitCritters in Manila and the Young Writers Guild in Davao – without having to pay a fee. But I’ve got to be more industrious before I can take full advantage of the help and the opportunities that these organizations offer.
Hi Klaus: Thanks very much for your comment. It’s actually the first time I’ve heard of the Philippine Writers Guild. Is it still active? I have joined a couple of groups but they both have a locality: one is in Manila, the other in Davao. (Now – maybe you can introduce me to one of your chief editors? LOL…)
Cheers!
Cool, it sounds like you are on the right path.
Just one simple point. Great art, from comedic to tragic; from music to oil on canvas, is intimately attached to suffering in some way. There is an old saying ‘every good joke has it’s barb’ in other words it’s catch: that tug of something causing pain.
This is probably why few famous artists live very long. They have painfull lives.
The exception to this is the rarity of an artist able to really empathize with the plight of others suffering. Other well known sayings apply this thought:’He who fails to learn the mistakes of history is condemned to repeat them.’
As a writer I believe the wide open opportunity here is for very well planned social documentaries, one must be very cautious to show the positives of tragic stories and not scapegoat people who may get very upset. This is the key to great journalism; the greatest journalist can embed themselves in the midst of a battlefield ensured his relations with both sides should meep him safe. It’s a risky ticket to success; but very popular abroad.
I loved it… you described that evening with such poetic detail that I actually saw what you saw!!!!
Great post!
Hi Migs, sure, next time you are in Davao, we will find time for such an introduction…
merry Christmas and happy new year Migs …Phil an Jess
Hi Chris: I agree with you. One usually writes out of lack, and not out of plenty. And you’re right, too, in saying that it’s terribly difficult to empathize with the plight of others who are suffering – if empathy is one’s key to writing well.
Happy holidays!
Hi Obei: Thanks for your comment! I am glad you liked the piece!
Hi Klaus: Yes, we should get together sometime soon. Hopefully, I’ll see you before the year ends, or early next year. And do send my warmest regards to Rose and Mutti.
Hi Phil: Merry Christmas to you and Jess! May you have a merry, merry one!
Cheers, everyone!
Hi, Migs. Greetings from rather cold Spain! This is my first time for me to visityour site but your article sounds very serene and so I thought I’d say hello to a kapwa-kababayan. Hope this finds you well. Have a very Happy Christmas and may 2009 be better, if not equally good to everyone. Regards. Hill