Plans

A couple of weeks ago, I had planned to attend the International Coastal Cleanup event in Anilao.  I am not a certified diver, and I could just imagine the divers among us urbanites flocking south of the city, doing a good deed to the environment, and then get drunk later in the evening.  It was something that I SHOULD attend although I would most likely end up doing most of the actual coastal cleaning as divers are usually, well, underwater.

However, a few days before the event, I was told that the family was quite planning to go to Tagaytay on Sunday (today); as we are to celebrate my grandmother's seventh death anniversary and my grandfather's "forty days" in a week or so, my aunts wanted to revive the tradition we sort of had when we lost my grandmother: attend mass at the Caleruega chapel and then spend some time at the Pink Sisters convent.

So see, I was faced with a dilemma: coastal cleanup weekend on the beach with urbanites (and as I am technically still "on the market" you throw something at the universe and have it conspire with you, if you know what I mean) or a Sunday driving with the family to Tagaytay for practically a whole day of praying?  Very, very tough choice.

Although I did consider the option of spending the Saturday in Anilao, I thought it would be bogus; of course I would love to stay and party.  And get drunk.  Whatever.  But that option got blurry in my head as I spent the entire Friday recovering from a hangover (as Thursday was a night of sangria, some lemony drink and a bottle of red), so yeah, when I woke up Saturday, it was too late to go to Anilao.  I had no other choice but to drag myself to the airport, pick up my sister and her friend, and the drive up north to my parents'. 

And so I did spend most of my Sunday in a pretty religious, Catholic realm.  With tons of driving.

See, my family's not really religious; on the outside we probably look like heathens.  Although my siblings and cousins were sent to Catholic schools, my family never really went to church.  It was standard-issued, cafeteria Catholicism.  But I knew my grandmother prayed, and an aunt liked going to church, and my mother prayed to the Virgin a lot.  But I don't remember being forced to pray or go to mass.  The men in our the family are not religious at all.  I consider myself as more on a spiritual path than religious --- I mean, hell, I was interested in wicca, fascinated with Eastern religion, I subscribe to a regular Kabbalah mailer, and I like to believe that I have some supernatural ancestry (mwahahahaha).  At the same time, I've always loved science; I like evidence and logic.  But anyway, I am not going to launch into another religion vs science debates --- the POINT is, I am so lucky to have a family that has given me the liberty to choose how to express my faith.

But anyway, this interesting turn in my family's, say, tradition started with the death of my grandmother about seven years ago.  For a few months we visited Caleruega and the Pink Sisters.  And then afterwards it kinda waned; we went back to the "religion is personal" mode.  We didn't do anything exotic, we just went to mass and embraced some praying tradition after the death of a family member.  When my grandfather died recently, somehow the need to go back to Tagaytay was felt; other than praying for his soul, what else was there?

Like in my previous post I think it has something to do with feeling orphaned; my grandparents are no longer the head of our young clan.  This is about family ties, it is about keeping everyone together in the midst of loss and the inevitable feeling of uncertainty. Sunday was not just about going to church and praying; it's time spent with each other in an environment that magnifies the being.  As everyone's praying around me anyways, I placed my prayers as well: I found it surprising that half the time I was praying for my my family.  Of course I had the usual litany of prayers (haha), but I really prayed for the people who mean a lot to me, my family and my friends.  I realize that the need to pray for them is due to the fact that at the end of the day, their lives are not really in my hands.  I do not have any control what will happen to them, and what their decisions are going to be.  I just prayed for their happiness and well-being, and I did pray that I did not want to lose them although they're not really "mine".

The homily in this morning's mass in Caleruega emphasized the meaning of plans, and how a person may live each and every day.  The priest highlighted the three ways: living your life according to the will of other; according to your own will; and according to your addictions.  Evidently, none of them are the perfect means, but the priest pointed out that it is important to find the meaning in the things that happen to you, to the people around you, to the world.  It is therefore important to manifest what you want to happen, but you need to see beyond what is manifested.  It is inevitable for us to avoid living Number 1 as we have to live with people, Number 2 is too selfish, and  Number 3 may be a disease.

In the days leading to this Sunday, let's say my Number 2 was to go to the coastal clean-up; but a Number 1 came up, and I thought of working around to still achieve Number 2.  However, Number 3 happened (drunken Thursday and Hangover Friday --- my choice anyways), which led to, well --- conceding to Number 1.  And so I found myself praying for most of Sunday.

It was something I didn't really plan, but I think it wasn't so bad.  I surprisingly found my focus.  I guess I found a sense of quiet today that I can't normally find in my apartment, even though I live in it alone.