Open Doors, Open Windows, Another House

Here I am. Back home. Back to my roots. Seeing the old church were I was baptized. Looking at the paintings on the ceiling, gazing on the stations of the cross on its white walls, and marveling at the old chandeliers. Taking pictures of the choir area where I used to play for a whole congregation of townspeople. Many of them, my relatives. I took a close up of one of the angels that once guarded the blessed sacrament, now relegated to the sides of the walls, almost unnoticed. They still clung to the long bars that once had lamps. I took a closer look on old statues on the altar, remembering my childhood, reminding me where I came from, what little I had.

There were a few here whom I knew. Many of them left town to find their futures outside its streets. But there were those who remained. I saw some members of my old choir; one of them told me they just decided to return to singing at mass. I saw some people who were eager to see me: how the tide turned. They were once the snobbish, one I liked before but too far to reach. I walked the old street with my aunt whom I grew up with; and the old Spanish ancestral house still with the warm memory of my grandmother.

My mom, my brother and I visited those who passed away; not just praying for Dad but individually praying for specific relatives. We usually complete the prayer for eternal rest exclusively for Dad, and another for the rest. But now, we went into the town cemetery where many of my ancestors were buried. And then, I visited a cousin in her last days, who died a few hours ago.

I went down memory lane when I took pictures of my high school and the river that washed away many of the buildings. The university had changed. And Science Oriented High School was gone. It was transfered to another location after the typhoon, and when I visited, I hardly knew the teachers. They told me that my former teachers decided to stay at the university. They decided to grow old there.

And then, my grade school classmates gathered together. I was surprised to see some of them I last saw in grade six. We enjoyed each other’s company over beer and filipino fare. Some of them reminded me of my friends, whom I do not want to remember because it was not a pleasant memory. I guess, one couldn’t escape the past. I told one friend, whom I was too eager to share my travails in Manila, only to receive a lukewarm response. I wondered why many of those whom I wanted to talk to, whom I considered friends, were either too busy or would rather schedule, than having me rant right away.

The signs are clear. Being here and realizing that I began with nothing tells me that it is fine to say goodbye to UP, part with the car, and hope that I was meant for greater things. Here I have to decide on really greater involvement which would bring me straight to the limelight literally. The door that leads me to the sports world and its giants. The window that opened to the music industry and its stars. And perhaps, having friends with those who walk on the red carpet. Many of these thrust me into the spotlight.

There is that part in me that tells me to fight back and grab the opportunities. But there is that sign of old age when you say enough. And oh, I am not yet old.