A fear enveloped me last night. All of a sudden I do not want my lids to close though they are beginning to feel heavy already. Thoughts fly here and there like ghosts searching for a soulsearcher. I have been like this for months. I will wake up around 1 a.m. with anxiety blanketing me.
Many times I have tried to comfort myself by saying that nothing bad is going to happen. Trust in the Lord, He will never leave me alone. And yet some unknown force has been pushing me in the realm of anxiety and fear. I have prayed countless prayers, prayers I have learned from kindergarten up to the prayers I compose in the present. It has been a torture, a taste of hell.
What is the fear about? I fear that I’ll never open my eyes ever again once I close them. I fear death. I do not know if it was merely an illusion, a delusion, or reality. I have been smelling death for the past weeks. I have tasted it at the tip of my tongue. It is both sweet and bitter. It is both fragrant and foul.
every morning, as I open my eyes and allow the sunshine to caress my lids, I tell myself, my God and I have conquered my enemy. I am alive, safe, no harm done. There is nothing to fear after all.
Then, there were moments when ideas clash inside me. I have ingested too many theories in this existence that they begin to fight each other. My predominant influences come from the feminist school as well as the idealist school. Both have been teaching me to empower myself; to be constantly aware or the things around me - to be critical, to be vigilant. And I have asked God why has He given me this wide horizon? What are His plans? He will never let me learn these theories for nothing. I believe in teleology. What is my telos? Those are a few questions I have yet to answer.
But this criticalness has both been a curse and a gift. Nothing is what it is. And now I have learned to read the underlying meanings found in seemingly ordinary things naturalized in this society cultured by silence (as Fraire have said). I am blessed that I recognize oppression though cloaked with golden clothing. Knowing this makes me find ways to awaken my people and myself from slumber.
And yet this criticalness has gone a notch out of place. Yesterday I have visited the church and noticed for the first time the patriarchy enveloping the whole institution. The architecture alone shouts the patriarchal order. The altar is elevated from everyone else signifying an unquestionable superiority and authority. And from this mood I have asked, should Christ been female, would we still consider his (her) teachings as valid? Would we believe him (her)? Regard him (her) as the son (daughter) of God, looking both in the context of their time and ours? If not, does that mean that patriarchy exists even in Heaven?
I hate being in this mood. I hope it will soon pass over me. But as long as it is still blanketing me, all I could do is to ponder and try to find answers. August 6, 2004
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