My Tat. 3 inks rather. I was in my super consciousness when I put these inks in me. I really wanted these. I WANT THESE! But why? What if I permanently inked my body and not tell everyone? Would it still matter to have a little tat on a visible part? No.
All my life, I searched for reasons for my existence. Many whys covered my mind that prompted me to lived a life of pretences, I struggled with it though but not strong enough to overcome it. I lived with the world – under the roof of a Christian family… saved mother… saved father… and more with a saved roommate sister. I know that it’s wrong yet I still entertain the enemy that caused it (the pretences).
Sin. I struggled to overcome it. Really.
I tattooed my body because I wanted to know what really was in me. In my heart. I’ve never been so serious about everything. When my mother shared the gospel to me some 13 years ago (Dec 11, 2001, during our Christmas and Thanksgiving Celebration) I followed because that’s what I think is an obligation to be done and that when you had already “baton Jesus”, He will really be happy and my mother be so joyful for having her eldest accepted Jesus. I don’t really understand what I’m going through as a third grader. All I remembered was that I’m laughing when I recited the prayer after my mother. Little did I know that that epic joke of me would haunt me when I grow up. But somehow, I know the seed of the gospel were implanted in my heart but not truly watered and fertilized and craves to save my weird self.
I’ve had a rebellious spirit in me growing up, which sometimes a question would pass by my mind, that why do I still lie, still disobedient, still disrespectful, though my parents had their equal parts in disciplining me. May it start through simple pinches at my butt to intense kneeling to salt with rice grains peppered with spanks of guava stems. We seem to experience these disciplinary acts like ordinary kids and have to understand that it’s for our own good – but deep inside me, I rebel. I object. But I don’t have the guts to fight my Tatay who happens to be my pastor too. I’m just scared, I bet. I followed all his advices, his words, but when I have a chance, I sin. Something in me tells that I have to disobey him.
At a turning point of our lives – between middle grade – my desire to be bad was seasoned with extreme problem in church where in our full support was needed for our Pastor. He struggled to maintain his composure when half of the church’s population where going to another church without proper permission, plus a tempting call to pastor a church some island away of Panay. As one of his daughters, I have to be strong for him, for Nanay – for him to discern and make decision for our own good and in God’s will. Because I think, that’s what family would be. My Tatay is a human, thus an acceptable reason for him being hurt when persons close to his heart would leave him without goodbyes.
Rebellious I still creep in, through me losing desire to church activities – teaching children, daily devotions and everything! I attended the Sunday services – sleeping with eyes open, mind not working. I just don’t mind it… or maybe, I just lack follow up (because my Tatay was too preoccupied with some serious problems in church. He even had hypertension and U.T.I. because of stress.) Our church’s ministry was tampered because of my affected Tatay. That lasted for about four years. He had to start to scratches the same way he started it ten years ago. But I know Jesus still had His best plan for us. He could turn a scratch to a masterpiece. But we’re somewhat late to realize it.
My make or miss years were in my highschool days. Every time I did something against my parents, I have in me a happy feeling. I just wanted to be free, from all their advices (which I then thought like I’m always wrong) and all their bible-speakings. I found it so nakakasakal. Secretly, I didn’t know that I’m already rebelling from them – much more from our Lord Jesus Christ.
I struggled to be perfect. I enjoyed the show outwardly. I thought I was born to be an actress in front of the church members and the community. I walk graciously, dress accordingly, speak decently and act queenly and lady like.
It was in late high school that I gradually realized reality. I badly wanted to cut my hair short. I badly wanted to dress liberally. I wanted to have a girlfriend. I wanted to smoke. I wanted to be drunk – coz I wanted to taste the bitter beer. I somewhat hated my parents, every time they would not allow me to do those things – but at the end of the day, I resort to my only choice – accept their decision and understand that it is for my own good. In my heart – I OBJECT!
I may have understood them the biblical way but I struggled to keep my self near God. It was though my relationship with Him was not that stronger. In my mind that time were questions that I can’t seem to answer and that I’m afraid to ask my parents too.
I would have questioned why they abstained from drinking beers, that’s why they missed the fun. I would have questioned why I should keep my hair longer and that I’m tired to comb it. I would have questioned why I’m not allowed to have real close boy friends – cause they were just so gentle and no problem. I would have questioned why we have to attend fellowships and camps, when in fact we were doing it all through our lives. (I couldn’t feel the results of the camps because I was blinded by insecurities, discontentment and bitterness.)
High school came and belonging to the highest section in first year was such a privilege due to the fact that I belong to a mediocre group in my elementary days. It was a year filled of busy days, proud little self, good exam scores, insecurities and less mature disposition.
Busy days started from a morning war with my parents every time I refuse to wake up before 6am thus giving me enough reason to blame my parents that they’re the reason for me not praying in the morning. I would then rush to taking a bath and would grab my breakfast then go on to school. At school, I became so competitive without making much effort to be. I wanted to have high scores but not studying. I wanted to be friends with everybody that’s why I became a laughing stock effortlessly. I wanted to be famous, that’s why I play safe to maintain a good image. One time I farted in public, I felt that I was drowning to forever in shame. That’s how badly I wanted to be me.
All that I had remembered about me and Jesus in high school was when I had a debate in Araling Panlipunan about religion. Attention: RELIGION only. But that could also include Jesus there. I argued with my classmates about the doctrine of idolatry – controversies of graven images, rosaries, novenas, etc. My Tatay even became our guest speaker to talk about Jesus to the entire class. After the debate I was shivering, happy and proud that I had the best Tatay in earth to promote our religion (and maybe they would be sired to worship with us in our church). Because at that time, I noticed that only me and my sister populated our YPs Org in church. I may question why so few of us yet I did nothing.
Whenever there’s something that requires prayer, I just stay at a corner, do nothing and wait for results. I depended on other’s prayer. When they can pray, let them.
Prayer meant nothing to me more than getting my wants.