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Raised as a Roman Catholic, with a father who
spoke to "Dwendes" and told stories of a young man's journeys in search for his
lady with a star in her heart and a moon on her forehead, does seem to be a bit strange
upbringing to most people, but is there any better way to live than by being a part of all
living things? I thought it was normal for my brother to talk to birds and animals,
which always caused him trouble with my father for being late on his errands. And
what about my Godfather Ulpiano, a "Tambalan" who had to do Fire Dance Rituals
to save Cousin Enza, betrothed to an "Encanto", from going back to the world of
the Unseen. These were not childhood fantasies, they were all real experiences, they
were my real family and this is the real me, Marcelina."
The preceding is only the beginning of "The World of
Iday". After all these years of trying to fit into the world of Rock & Roll
and Burger Kings, I have decided to begin to tell the stories of my childhood.
Thanks to a my dear friends for encouraging me to start
writing, and most especially, to my husband John, who believes in me and tells me that
there's no reason to disappoint those who have always thought of me as strange anyway.
Marcelina
February, 1992

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Having a "buko", young coconut refreshment. |
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Although my Mom never set a foot near a school’s doorstep, she had a
practical understanding of the application of percentages in her
self-learned business. She would loan a small amount of money to other
families in the village during planting season, and expect the money back by
harvest time, along with a small percentage of the crops.
By the time I turned ten years old, she had
become our village’s “banker” and was even known to the neighboring
villages. Life was getting better. Even her old belief that girls need not
go to school had shifted a little, and she had actually tolerated the idea
of me finishing grade school. Of course, it was with the agreement that I
would do all of the chores required of me. Daily, I must sweep the yard,
polish the floor with a coconut husk, fetch water, gather wood, and feed the
animals. I must not stay behind to play after school, nor read books while
cooking. Those were the rules!
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After graduation from grade school, I anticipated being able to
continue school. After all, I had been obedient, and had finished as head of the class
even. I may have been caught a few times reading a book under the table with a
kerosene lamp, but that should not be any problem. And chewy rice that had been cooked too
long wouldnt really give us parasites, I insisted, trying to convince my mom, but
she ignored me. I begged, cried and tried to starve myself, but she would not give in to
such foolishness!
Then, one day she sent me to see Apoy Sopia
(grandmother Sopia). She was at least 80 years old, had grown her second set of baby teeth,
and had gotten rid of her seeing glasses. She could say prayers to every Saint
she could remember (lots of them) and she owned three books!, all of which were written in
a language I could not understand, Latin. Each book was about a half inch thick with
brown, slightly torn pages at the corners, and had been sewn together. They were wrapped
in a piece of burlap with a twine tied around it. She kept them in an old, carved box full
of dried herbs and a crucifix.
Apoy Sopia was wise. She was revered! I knelt in front of her,
kissed her hand and asked for blessings. She placed her hand on the top of my head while
murmuring something. At that moment, I realized what my mom wanted me to study.
My Sunday mornings became occupied with prayers and offerings to
learn. I must also recite the rosary, do the novenas, practice the proper hand gestures
and memorize the names of the Saints and the dates they were celebrated. After a year of
the weekly meeting with Apoy Sopia, I became a devotee of Saint Lourdes of
Marjoree. I
felt wonderful wearing a white dress with a blue satin sash around my waist. It was to be
my attire when going to church.
One Sunday, a High Mass was being held in the towns
cathedral in honor of my patron Saint, Saint Lourdes of Marjoree. I had to attend it. As the moment of
contemplation was about to finish, a slow, melodious sound filled the room. I looked up to
the balcony and saw the Nuns choir, standing with eyes closed, a black rosary
hanging down from hands folded at their chest, and they were chanting. I gasped! It felt
as if my feet were no longer touching the ground. Oh, how much I wanted to become one of
them, I told my mother. If only she would let me continue school... nothing!! She did not
say a word, then I remembered, a school nurse who visited the village once a year... she
also wore white, and she even had a white cap on. That would be OK too, I informed my mom.
I dont want to hear anything about school anymore! she said. The next
thing I knew, she was sending me to Manila to become a dressmaker, so I could make all
kinds of white clothes.
That was my Mom!
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