A PSL’s Life

The chapel was a little bit of something like a barn. Without the cross, it would really have looked that way. The altar was two steps up on a platform and its center was a wooden table with two candles on its sides flickering. Statues of two Virgin Mary’s rested left and right adorned with flowers. They had carved nooks to sit the statues comfortably.

I would have gone to church every Sunday in Calinan but my wife insisted that I should go to the chapel or I could be dubbed as snobbish and classy. I think lots of barrio folks were glad that we’re there for I could see their faces with bewilderment.

I was a church goer since I was kid. Pa would be mad if I’d miss the church on Sundays. Since then, I feel a tinge of fulfillment and happiness every time I walked home from church. I don’t know but I felt God was all eyes on me when I missed a mass.

I think it was Christmas time when one of the PSL announced that they are recruiting. I never thought that my wife would raise her hand and pointed at me saying I could be one. Well, I don’t like people to be embarrassed at me so I agreed- never knowing what lies ahead.

We had to undergo a three-day-seminar. I noticed that lots of guys were in their 40’s and 50’s. Sounds weird but I guessed that they were there as a way of repatriating themselves back to God and repentance. Then PSL life started rolling then at the wake or in the funeral.

When a casket was pushed into their final resting place people started acting as if it they were straight out of hamlet. They’d bawled and cried until their lungs ran out of breath. Why can’t they just behave that way during the wake and be sober during the burial? And lots of people still practiced customs of the old. In the wake, there would be no sleeping, no sweeping of floors and a number of them. It was a taboo to carry the coffin out using the front door, so they would smash the window and shoved the coffin out. Some people don’t learn.

It was a Sunday and I was very excited. I was to lead my first Sunday’s KSD ceremony. I tried to hide my timidity as I blabber the introduction. The chapel was very quiet and people were listening this time. I was stuttering and stammering the words no matter how I tried to control myself. When I raised the chalice and the body of Christ -somebody giggled from outside. I was shaking all over. Then the little hankie I placed at the altar a while ago? I scooped it up with my right hand like an ordinary rag…more giggles, but not vivid enough to disturb the sanctity.

In every first Saturday of the month, the meetings were held. The Parish Priest would then have some inputs and when it came to the open forum- things would start opening up. We poor old men would start asking questions that would be answerable by a yes or a no. Or maybe a high school graduate could answer them questions flatly. That’s right- we were sly, learned scholars and nearly as bad as they had painted.

We were old, alright but not cold. Once when I asked a colleague of ours why he entered PSLhood? He then answered blankly, “Well I wanted to be a priest but I’ve got no money to send myself to the seminary.” Man, he was too young to enter our circle. But man, he was also too good to be a priest. He was a wimpy kid with nothing on but truthfulness inside him. Seminarians ought to be boisterous and mischievous in some mysterious ways. Please excuse my language.
As luck had turned out on his side, he was enrolled in the seminary that June of the year. I hope he’s going to survive.

We had agreed to hold our zonal meetings every last Sunday of the month. There we prayed, we sang praised songs and shared some experiences concerning the church, the GKK and a lil’ bit of mischief. I couldn’t bring myself to stand and blurt things out since I was a shy person whenever they wanted a volunteer to say something during the Seven Steps.

The walls of the GKK were made of bamboo reeds, a pathetic way to discourage away thieves. Well, I’m going to plaster that thing with adobe bricks and gates would be wrought ironed- if’n I’m going to win the lotto first prize. “Brod, did you savvy?” Suddenly aware of the reality surrounding me, I replied, “What?” “You were one of the apostles in the Lenten festivities!” He said dully.

We were supposed to meet sister in the church at 9:00 but it was past nine so I ran inside sister’s office without being told to do so. The garbs that we are going to wear during the procession are stashed inside sister’s office. Them clothes were of different colors and fabric. What was left for me was a pink one. I smiled to myself-wearing that thing would be pure humiliation on my part. My co-teachers would jeer at me until the last school days. A red one would be acceptable but a… pink? C’mon guys this is a season of lent and God would send bolts of lightning to strike any idiots who would say pinks are for gays.

Talandang was a good seven kilometers away from Calinan so I woke up at three of dawn and started trekking towards the GKK of Birhen dela Asuncion of Joaquin. Father had just started walking when I came. He was accompanied by four seminary boys and we, the apostles lined at their backs. Throngs of people were waiting at the side of the roads, candles in their hands. My, it was a lovely sight. I never saw anything like this religious and when we approached Calinan, my legs started acting up. I supposed rheumatic legs got the better of me. I was constantly praying that I’m not going to collapse on the way which is to parade around Calinan.

I was surprised that my biceps were aching also. We were ordered to clasp our hands in prayer like fashion, resting them by our tummies when we walked the poblacion. Hours passed but I was still on my feet miraculously. Now I know how it felt to march from Corregidor to Bataan. I was smiling from ear to ear because my co-PSL agreed to exchange my garb with a yellow one.

Months drag on, and we still attend meetings but nothing new. We didn’t want to quit and only wanted God for His forgiveness. The PSLhood was the assurance for a ticket to heaven, or so we thought. And we are still eager to attend to anniversaries held at UIC gym every year. (Now held in Holy Cross gym.) We would be laughing our hearts out and slap the backs of our comrades whenever a joke caught us unawares. We are still young then, little boys who longed for a drinking spree to last during the wee hours of the morning. But then we are hesitant to continue doing so for we are to face the wrath of our wives and most especially God. (Noel B. Unabia)