Scandals & Realizations

I assumed that in telling this story I am inviting prejudice. I may ignite people to raise their brows and I may in turn find myself in recluse thereafter.

Yet one big part of me is nagging to let all hell break loose. Some thoughts in my being wanted to scream for eventual freedom. So the story goes.

History has a way of creeping vulgar and malicious habits to people. Religion for one is like a disease worming inside our system. Making men think they’re all omnipotent. Teaching young boys to desire arcane thoughts and mundane feelings. Placing men on the pedestal of power. Always to be regaled and respected.

I grew up thinking these men are holier than they actually are and none among my elders ever made sacrilegious attempts to introduce these bunch of intelligent men, to who they really are in real life. Or perhaps even my elders - who instilled in us the value of going to Sunday masses and the evening traditions of saying the rosary- knew nothing of the naked faces behind those flashy cassocks.

In the years to come, one aunt decided to give up a promising career in an insurance company all because she said she woke up one day feeling she would serve better if she were in the church. She eventually did. End up doing all the paper works in the rectory office of the Parish Priest, and as days go by and when pile and pile of documents need to be settled, she summoned me to work with her.

I, on the other hand where on my way to discovering all things uncharted. Heeding my foolish head and stupid heart. I went on and enjoyed the thrills of college and defied all pains and discouragements thereafter, but because somehow somewhere there’s a deep shot of regret to knowing I never pleased my family in everything I did, I finally decided to end one part of this wanderlust life and sit still to become an audience to the real adventures of the men in chasuble.

I found myself brushing elbows with the religious and the diocesans and very soon thereafter I discovered the deepest secret lurking on one side of the hierarchy. Their young priests are healthy and so full of life. Sometimes desperate to cope with the fast-changing world, now tied to the vows they sealed during ordinations.

Chastity.
Where people are lead to believe they all are, chastity is just a word. One personal experience cemented that thought. I became wary to the dizzying chain of revelations. My bosses are mere humans after all. With human needs and human wants.


Not that really I cared.
But the very personal and intimate encounter I shared with the assistant parish priest made me a cynic. I have no idea what he thinks of me or that he's just an egotistical maniac who can’t kick off that sudden rush of desire running through his **s.

It is through the church that I’ve lost my innocence. I often felt like a devil’s advocate mustering like an idiot angel in a quest for purity yet what is seeing is the inherent characteristic capable of destroying human emotions.

That one-sided affair shattered my belief and my respect in general. Everything had been tattered and torn. He further went on brandishing his connections and every day he becomes more of a politician and a celebrity rather than the shepherd of the flock... the keeper of the vineyard.

I became an accomplice, helping him manage his money earned through earthly connections and for two years and a half, I caught myself in frenzy between understanding and hatred.

It took more than just courage to get out. First, was because I had to defy my aunt and in turn, my family again, and second, was because I learned so painfully to fully embrace the institution that opened my eyes to a lot of shattering truths. I found it irresistible. Leaving becomes an agony. But I am a gypsy by nature and hard-headed by heart, never gullible to every facade and anything fancy.

Leaving the rectory office and the enormous cathedral which became my home for some time was never easy, and life after that tumultuous chapter had been another set of struggles. It was not a graceful exit and so many things had been left unsettled.

My relationship with the church people changed overnight. There was an unstated awkwardness and the saddest detail was the downfall of my relationship with my own aunt. Years run through without us talking.

The priest however is different. Whereas he managed to maintain his reference to me unlike the others, our meetings were greatly reduced each passing day 'til I never saw him again. It has been three long years since then and until now I still find it hard to let go.

My mind still goes back to my Sunday morning rituals, to the baptismal and funeral documents I scrutinized. To the bank transactions I handled on behalf of the priest and quite ironically to the warm embrace I shared with him in the privacy of his room.

I often see myself tortured by an endless series of nightmares. Haunted by memories deep and excruciating. I became crazy.

In the years past, I tried to uncover any learnings from that experience but was only disappointed because there is just one nagging thought. Everyone is human. My stupidity told me to dismiss that for a reason and until now I haven’t found the wisdom to counteract.

We are now oceans apart. My choice. And I tried so hard to accept that probably, he’s just a plain egotistical maniac. But my heart silently whims the other way around. Another irony despite the cynicism.

Knowing it all, I’ve kept everything to myself. I couldn’t pull the courage to tell my family least they would explode for fear of ridicule and the effect it would cause on the patriarchal and stoic hierarchy.

Well, every day is a struggle and somehow I've managed to move on... hoping that the next thing would be letting go.