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Life can be stuck, but we must move forward.

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The Life of Cats

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Encountering Religious Life

According to my birth certificate, my birth religion is Pentecostal. A type of Christian religion that worship God with all they might and cry their hearts out to the Lord. As a mere child, I don’t know anything about it. How can an infant have a knowledge about serving God and offer his life? When I am a toddler, about 3-4 years old, I can still remember my mother taking us out into a Muslim church. This church is located at my younger sister preparatory school. As far as I can still remember, our mother instructed us to bow down our heads with knees on the ground, in such a young age I know that movement is a sign of showing respect. Rows of long mahogany chairs with bibles in front. I can still feel the peaceful ambiance where they will silently pray while I look at the surroundings, filled with windows with weird sequences on it. As a child, I don’t really have a care about the church and all I wanted is the candy that I’ll get after the mass. Months had passed since then when my mother suddenly left us. I was told that we were asleep that time after exhausting ourselves playing at the old playground. I can’t even reconcile if ether we had receive a lullaby or a kiss on the forehand before she left us. Just like a bubble that pops out, she was gone. Ever since that day, I always see my father’s lonely face yet instead of drinking liquor and being depressed, we started to attend a Roman Catholic church. That time, I was very confused. A big church with a huge bell and a crowded place full of people gathering suddenly appeared in my naked eyes. Then my grandmother talk to me, and explain that we should not attend Muslims church for it can lead us to the same path that my mother chose to. Roaming my eyes in every corner of the church then stopping for a while to look at the man on the center whose talking words that aren’t even familiar with me. People suddenly standing and talking same phrase of words, holding out each other hands and lining up to a line to eat a tasteless white bread. With my immature mind, I started thinking about that bread. All that rounds up in my small head is why- why would they line up for a piece of bread? Then I figured it out, that bread had a name- ostya. For 1 to 2 years, I started to have a liking to this bread. I am excited to fall in line but that’s all. When I was about 5-6 years old, my father left us to work abroad. I cried thinking why would he left us? How about my younger sister? How should we live? And that’s how my grandmother starts to live with us. At the opposite street, there is a little church in there. My relatives spent their weekends there, wearing colourful formal clothes. When I started to take my first step in there, it was a blissful moment. You can hear the drums, piano and guitar music with different vocal voices. Such a wonderful church I thought. Very different from the past churches I went to. Years had passed and I turned 13. My father announced that we will go to Rizal and live in there with our new house.at first, I am contented with how things flow with us. But then I started to be curious, to seek out a church that can filled up my Sunday’s night. The one day, my auntie with her family invite us to attend a certain church- JIL. It was a small church, but a cheerful one. I make friends and started to learn how to worship God through dancing. Singing worship songs and started to read bible. As I progress, the church also progress. It started to renovate and have a big number of attendees. I am happy, so thrilled, so dedicated. This church develops my relationship to God and it makes my heart flutter. And this is how I end my journey in encountering religion.

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I won’t tell you so why do I tell you

I won't tell you where the place is, 

but there's a place between two stand of trees

where the grass grow uphill

and the old revolutionary road 

 breaks off into shadows. 

 I'm the farmer waiting for the 

vegetables to grow, so i can eat. 

I'm the hunter aiming at the bear. 

I don't want to shoot it, 

but my family needs meat. 

 I won't tell you where the place is, 

where the dark mesh of the woods 

meeting the unmarked strip of light. 

 I'm the black man. 

I close my eyes, 

 and it gets dark inside. 

This morning a quiet tounge, 

in my ear, begging for alms, 

cold hands reaching up my pants. 

 And I won't tell you where it is, 

 so why do I tell you anything?

 because you need to listen. 

To listen about life in times like this.