Realizations, Reconciliations.

THE CHILD REALIZED is me, who had nothing new to wear (unlike most of my playmates) for the most awaited event of the year, and would sulk and throw a tantrum. I was impatient, and ignorant in understanding, that my poor parents were still juggling my father’s meager government pay, to afford giving their three sons fair treatment. I was also an overgrown crybaby then, whenever I perceived being neglected, seeing only myself worthy of attention.

Fast forward to my first overseas employment. I made sure I had a year’s supply of Asmasolon in my suitcase, in case my ancient foe beleaguered. I never had the occasion to take even one of that medication. The desert climate conduced to my ailment. I was hardly prayerful then. But God gave me my first miracle. I hardly thought that it was my mother’s emancipation from her early morning rush to the doctor/pharmacy for my wonder shot/pill. I did not know how – and when – to pray.

Nothing came out of that first foray into big bucks, by way of savings or investment. My taste of honey harmed not only me but also my family. Except for the regulation percentage of my earnings which the government mandated for my wife/beneficiary, the rest of my pay I splurged on nonessentials wastrels of my kind indulge in. This went on for eight long years.

I learned, soon enough, however, that friends are of two kinds: the fair-weather one, and the through-thick-and-thin other. So even if my Middle East stint did not provide material comfort for my just-married spouse, I thought I gained enough grit to muster the next encounters. About time, I said to myself, since we already had two boys sprung from my yearly vacations.

After Saudi Arabia, I was blessed with a friend from the Department of Labor, who gave me my second job abroad, in Taiwan. But this was not phenomenal. What was is the suitcase I borrowed from a co-employee, which coasted strangely while I lugged it to the office (to return to its owner) – a screw wanted to break loose, and did. I retraced my steps in the busy, large metropolis that was Taipei, and did not stop until I found the aptly named bolt that failed to shatter my equanimity. My officemate hardly knew what almost screwed his luggage. Because God gave me a second miracle. But the miracle was not enough to get me back to my senses. I met new friends, whom I allowed to make me forget the lessons I learned in Saudi Arabia. The vices I shared with my Middle East pals leveled up in the modernity of Taipei. I picked up an abomination and, before it ate me up, I quit my job. From a rather long coma, I was starting to come awake.

Back to earth, from Laguna to Quezon City, among my newfound acquaintances, a fellow choir member invited me to join PREX, a Duh moment. The next thing that happened was, I was the earliest at the registration counter. This began the chapter in my life where my encounter with God was the third, unstoppable miracle.

From PREX, I branched out to the Legion of Mary. And other spiritual pursuits. All of which I found I could ill afford. So I gave it pause for a while. But God never ceased conversing with me and proved the truth of what they say about being a Legionary once.

The miracles that followed my return to the Legion were the doing of Mary already I had to stop – only in counting. Being obedient, she kept doing whatever He tells her. Minding me, unceasingly, among them.

The day before I turned diamond, I was ”kidnapped” by four of my preferred people: Ate Taki, Sisters Gelly and Ana Marie, and Brother Milo. They had this conspiratorial excuse of a meeting to discuss the translation of Montfort’s book (which they had asked me to take part in) and chose a venue neutral to all of us, a smart restaurant in Timog, whereafter we climbed upstairs, to a chic boulangerie, for our dessert. They sang to me and my cake the regulation birthday song until I could no longer hold my joy.

The STG Band of Performers of GenDong’s God-centered Spiritual Wellness Ministry would not be found wanting. They gave me an asalto at Tikme Dine (which, I discovered later, became a regular watering hole), a night of good, Batangas cuisine, mild (for my neuropathic feet) libation, and musical jubilation. With the house three-man band contributing their homespun repertoire.

Then, ensued the Recollection Talks of Frs. Phil and Danny at the OMI Marian Center. The former gave the take-home “Transformation happens when we remember who are.” Fr. Danny’s take was “The Eucharist is, like the sun, God kissing us.” I remembered who I was and am happy I am no longer there, nor would I want to go back. For I liked being kissed by the sun daily and God doing the same whenever I visit Him.

On the second Friday of my joining the TTJ-LBS, there were six of us who pondered and shared the Sunday Readings and Gospel. I resolved to be alert and watchful. In order to contribute more to the spiritual exercise. This augured greatly for the next discussion for I took part in it enjoyably and wholeheartedly.

The Legionaries were gathered with me on the first Sunday of Advent in a Christmas party with 32 Kasambahays, for their fifth month of being faithful to God, the Legion, and their fellow homeworkers. I run out of words to describe this tear-jerking milestone. And remember singing a Marian song which I tweaked for the fourth time to render it in a more understandable version.

From there, before singing with them, I accepted Ate Janice’s invite to be a permanent member of the 4:30 pm Pneuma Choir. The Mass presider was Fr. Jigs, the Holy Spirit Parish Administrator. His homily delved on the Reset button of life. Which spoke volumes of trials and tribulations people could no longer cope with, therefore, it is time to press it. For memories to mill joyfully again. The saucer I’m drinking from spilled over.

At our Vicariate BEC Christmas Party, I rendered the song again. And said I was not there to compete but enjoy. Enjoy I did the singing (we were asked to judge) and dancing contests, and the fun games. There were more warm, wonderful bodies in the gathering. Will the miracle ever stop, I wondered.

Five years ago, my left retina had a hemorrhage. Two ophthalmologists said it was a stroke in the eye, that could have caused blindness. The cost to operate it was prohibitive; my right eye was not affected. I lived with it until recently, when my left eye crossed. Belle, my friend from the Labor Department, contacted her former staff, Raymond (now in Congress), and he granted me a Guarantee Letter that would cover the cost of treatment or surgery. The miracle on full speed. Which manifested clearly in the morning of December 27. I slept at dawn after posting my daily Scriptural and woke up again at a little after 6. My left eye was seeing straight. I blinked several times and looked at my eye in the mirror in disbelief. After several tests if I was no longer seeing double, I gave up the incredulity and started thanking God over and over and over again. I knew it wasn’t enough. So I started messaging all my friends who knew my condition and promised to pray for me. I felt like going up on the roof to shout my praise and thanksgiving nearer to Him. Their reassuring responses gave me pause. To ponder God’s goodness again. And offer Him praise and thanksgiving. Which stretched out onto the LecCom Year-end Party later. I skipped the planning meeting of the Legion in favor of it because I was assigned to do the Opening Prayer. I did it after the permission to be absent at the planning. Before all of these, I’ve already returned the GL to Raymond with profuse gratitude; he said for me not to hesitate should I need help again. Is that an Amen?

While I was in a miracle mood, I started to count my blessings. The present mobility enabled the homeowners of BF Homes to get out of their comfort houses and mingle with the community. The Board’s “General Assembly” did not have a quorum (although I appreciated the crowd that responded); did not even qualify to be a town hall assembly. I attended it for the first time and welcomed the company of Ate Thelma, my paragon of God-centeredness, enough to respect the proceedings until I could no longer contain the sanitized, overdue, unaudited presentation of the incomplete Financial Statement I stood up and started to walk out. Karen called my attention and gave me her Christmas gift. The saving grace of a futile exercise.

I recalled the joyful Christmas Fellowship of the night of December 16 to shift my homeward mindset. The beaming faces of the admin staff, maintenance personnel, and security detail were forever etched in the photographs it was easy to recapture their jubilation. Ate Charing was away to lead the Aero Zumba ladies but those who were there represented her gracefully joyfully. Ate May and Atty. Francis were the perfect pair of emcees that kept the fun festive and frolicsome. Aided by Atty. Ming, Jess, and Karen and Dawn, the riotous next pair of emcees that took over the games and the rest of the fun evening.

My attention was called by a neighbor who caught me on the way up to the choir loft last Christmas Day. I was supposed to sing with the 10 am choir but I had time to spare so I listened to my neighbor’s tirade. My neighbor said I lied in the article I wrote; I said I stand by it. I may not be proud of the repercussions it created but I’m not ashamed that I did it to acquit my wife of the unpleasant consequence it caused her. I did not apologize because it was my neighbor’s suggestion. My neighbor added that I could be bought. I had no price, I said, but my neighbor retorted that it wasn’t money but alcohol that bought me. My neighbor’s parting shot was that my neighbor was sorry for me. On my way up, I prayed for my neighbor. And the perception of my neighbor’s sympathetic lot that my article was born out of the camaraderie that enticed me to see the heart of the STG; I could’ve told my neighbor interminable rhyming reasons why there was no need for me to be enticed by well-meaning, communitarian, God-centered, purpose-driven homeowners. Who are now my friends. In contrast to what my neighbor said were lies that I wrote about. And veritably created the wall my neighbor built right between us. There was no time, nor need, to appease my neighbor’s anger, for my neighbor was convinced that I was something to be sorry for. Prayer was the only resort I took.

I was still in a prayerful state when I saw a Toyota van trying to park in front of our house. The driver was waving at me (I saw that it was a woman upon closer look), it was Jackie, Myrna’s niece. Her van was new is why I didn’t recognize it. I waited for her to alight and ushered her in, greeting her “Merry Christmas” in the process. She was the usual smiling guest who has apparently forgotten to bless. But my heart was on overdrive with peace I dismissed the many past instances she did not even care to greet me, let alone bless my person, whenever she visited.

Off I went out to give Kuya Gemer’s family the season’s greeting. I was on overdrive when I bought fruits for his family. His wife was there with him and their four kids. Manay Marlyn regaled me with stories that took shape while I was away. Kuya Gemer left to buy pineapple juice before taking out his half-filled wine bottle from the fridge. I chased my portion with the juice to keep my neuropathy from acting up. I smiled inwardly at the thought of alcohol buying me. How can this breadwinner buy my friendship (a decade long and counting) when the least he could afford was leftover wine and cans of pineapple juice (the remainder of which he insisted I take home). It used to be I would treat him to mojito and the juice when I was healthier. I quit cold turkey after my second mild stroke and they were glad I emerged after a spell of absence. I could no longer think of my neighbor in the joy that ensued I just basked in it.

Ate Myla’s heart, mind, and soul are replete with kindness and generosity I have nothing to approximate her magnanimity. She is not alone in the category. I have many friends in the Legion of Mary. UtoLiza tops the list for being a sibling sans the umbilical cord. She is a constant prayer warrior who tided me over in the many challenges and sufferings I could not have survived were she not there. Ate Amy, Ate Becky, Sis Tess, Ate Isa, Sis Pinky, Kuya Nonie and Sis Rhea, my surrogate parents Mom Mila and Dad Domeng, the Guanellian Sisters/Daughters of St. Mary of Providence, who were all summoned by my second mild stroke and provided prayers and presence to strengthen my health and well-being. And big brother, gentle giant Kuya Noel, whose saintly person is always on the lookout for my conduct, only equalling the demeanor of another saint, Ate Thelma, whose countenance reminds my behavior to be circumspect and impeccable at all times. My other friends are from the Lectorate Ministry of San Jose, ang Tagapagtanggol Parish. The rest are from stock experiences who visit virtually if not actualized by chance. With God’s gracing all these goodnesses to be around and surrounding me, it will take an effort to find a place in my heart for anger, irritation, or negativity. Bad news being a fast traveler, my neighbor only hears about alcohol buying my loyalty; she could not possibly get wind of the blessings that will never constrain me to conjure error or malice in my narratives that filcatholic.org publishes regularly.

I do not mouth off neighborliness like I was born to profess it. Not, especially, in front of a public that can easily be persuaded into believing my status in the village, if I had it.

I do not mouth off neighborliness like I was born to profess it. Not, especially, in front of a public that can easily be persuaded into believing my status in the village, if I had it. I write about values and virtues, or the lack of them, from people who possess them (or do not) so that they may instill in my readers the same lessons I derived from them. In the rare instances that I perceive the contrary ideals, I reduce them into paper, too, for even the wrong turn can be righted by the reader who has the discernment to detour to the desirable goal. At the risk of being misunderstood, there are no caveat emptors in my epistles. I respect my readers so much to go ahead of them; I leave them out in the open.

Amen.

The author and columnist, Abraham de la Torre, is an active Legionary consecrated to Jesus Christ, through the hands of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in a 33-day Totus Tuus Journey conducted by the Society of Montfort Missionaries held in the Montfort Center of Spirituality in Madriñan, Timog, Quezon City. He later consecrated himself to the BVM’s spouse, Blessed St. Joseph.