Biyernes Santo Reflections

That day the barrio was a ghost town. From afar about two tricycles in slow motion crawled along the road. Everything was closed even the one-stop, by the road vulcanizing shops. People might die of asphyxiation, or rather, loadphyxiation (severe deficiency of prepaid load) because the nearest open sari-sari store was a stone's throw away, that is if you're an olympic gold medalist. It was like midnight only that the sun was up and was sitting right above your scalp like it's only a couple of feet away. The heat that day could have acclimatized anyone who's planning of being the first ever Filipino to reach the peak of hell and survive to tell the story.

He decided he should go to nashruddin's place so hit the road with his bike. He doesn't want to call it a scooter because 'scooter' is too girly and he doesn't want to call it a motorcycle either because V, the bike, is too girly.

Harley davidsons, Badjas, F1's and those ten seater Habal-Habals are motorcycles. But not V. When was the last time I went to church? The tires screeched with dust as he made his way through the narrow road. His head was frail and spinning and his eyes felt like a rotten tomato from watching, or more appropriately, staring at too much TV. Everyone's going to mass, why not me? but why me? i'm not the only one who's not going. why should I? Out of nowhere, a tricycle was a couple of feet in front of V. Instantly, he slammed on the hand and foot breaks that made V budge so hard it almost outbalanced her. He's better off drinking and driving than dreaming while driving for sure.

Then just as Z Iscariot was about to hit the second to the last turn, a barangay patrol car stood in the middle of the intersection with two men in long sleeves who looked more like hoodlums than tanods, which they probably were, with long fire arms which were proabably dysfuntional garrands. One of them made a hand gesture signalling that he can't pass and that Z had to better move along if he didn't want faucets dripping in his belly, at least that's how their manner of directing traffic spoke of them.

That must have been trouble, Z Iscariot thought, perhaps an accident or maybe an ambush or a street massacre. He imagined corpses, blood all over the road, suspect being arrested, old ladies crying, bullet shells, and that yellow police line do not cross tape. He turned his head for a last look at the people standing on the sides, looking anxious as if they were anticipating something. Then he decided to take the longer short cut. He had no choice.

As he moved about the longer route, the thought of how he bought two cigarettes from the takatak boy in a red light in front of a dirty old lady with a baby on her arms that was begging of him for any spare change bothered him. The poor blind beggar who held on to a boy for guidance looking like they hadn't eaten for months. The mother on tv, who has lost her child and husband.

He didn't stay long at nashruddin's place, he hit the road again after returning some of the VCD's he borrowed the other day. He decided to take the shortest shortcut back home, the crime scene team was probably over with the incident. He was to about hit the curve when he saw that the road was blocked with about a hundred people whose backs were turned on him, walking ever so slowly. That wasn't trouble back there. There weren't any accident or massacre or corpses or blood all over. There's a passing procession, a Prusisyon. He had no idea what to call it and he doesn't even know who their patron saint is.

Why should he join in when their backs are turned on him? so he turned his back too, forgot about them and made a U-turn and figured the longer short cut wasn't that long after all.

Iscariot was in full throttle as he passed by the Cathedral. He saw the huge cross on top of the modern white Church through the side of his eyes. And just as fast as the thought of attending mass this weekend crossed his mind, it was gone. He used to attend Sunday mass regularly and his prayers would usually last for at least 2 to 5 minutes at night. But that was probably a four years ago.

Now he'd shrink in anxiety and he'd rather engage in corporal mortificatoin rather than to lead prayer in class, or in any place or occation. The last time he stuttered and stammered on the words, the Lord's prayer has never been that difficult and he still is quite unsure if he memorizes it at all up until today.

Toma on Sunday. Toma next Sunday. to purchase that scandal tol was selling. ADIDAS. too much for the body is the temple of the soul for i probably don't have much chance of getting through the pearly white gates much more with the temples inside. i ate pork yesterday.i ate pork today and i'm going to eat pork tomorrow. i'll drink and i'll smoke. and i'll drink and i'll smoke.tsk! Folk Catholicism.

The truth is Z is more of a chain smoker rather than a chain sinner and if he'd be asked to choose if whether he'd do good or bad, more often than not, he'd choose the former. He has always loathed the idea of people going to church for the sake of it. People do pray but right just as fast as the last word of the priest was uttered, and just as the people stepped out of the church, their horns and tails would jump out, springing back to life once more. he thought it much better that he rather keep his pitchfork away from the church rather than to stand and sit and stare on the ceiling.

It's hard sometimes when you think you believe in something and find out later that you really don't.

He arrived home in the afternoon exhausted but not as much as V. and that night, his father watched tv. his mother cooked their third meal for the day. his Lola and his brothers were there. All is well and good. He watched tv and saw the colors in it with his 20/20 vision. He's so full after a sumptuous dinner that he had to give in to the itch for more nicotine. He walked out and smoked his lungs out. beautiful. perfect.

In bed going to sleep, he clasped both his hands and he acknowledges the fact that both are functioning, and complete too with all ten fingers. Then he said a couple of sentences right before he dozed off.

That something he thought he believe himself to be is a non-believer. But that night he found out he was mistaken. Out of the 5 short sentences he spoke in his mind, the last sentence was 'AMEN'