I forgot to leave my internal editor at home when I went to church. It was unintentional or perhaps the little four-eyed monster just crept back up to his office in my cranium while I wasn't looking, but whatever, the point is, I went to church in my red-pen-in-hand-workshop-warrior mode.

Not a good idea.

The story (yes, the bible is a book and inside it are stories, thank you very much) that the priest was supposed to base his sermon from went like this:

A pharisee and a tax collector went to the temple to pray.

The tax collector, in his prayer, said all the good things about him and said all the bad things about humanity in general and the tax collector in particular.

The tax collector simply asked God to forgive him for being a sinner.

The story was simple enough and perhaps the priest that time was not so much for simple plots and direct to the point stories that he kept on repeating himself, kept repeating "pharisee" and "tax collector" as if these two were the most common job descriptions in 2010.

He kept telling us to simply praise and stop at that. He asked us to look at the person beside us and think of something good about the person. Then he said that perhaps we were thinking that "oh she has a nice dress but mine is better" or "she has fairer skin but at least mine is flawless." He hoped for us to simply dole out positives and shut our mouths at the negatives.

I had to make several deep breaths and a prayer for God to turn off the critique in me, but to no avail. My mind was encircling his words in red pen, I started to see red scribbles beside the priest, commentaries, criticisms. I made the worst sin a writer can make inside the church, I was workshopping the priest's sermon.

I have priests whose sermons I appreciate and envy. And this is how they attack Biblical prose:

1. Bring the material up to date.

So, pharisee and tax collector? Uh, hunter gatherer?

2. Analyze your audience and make the material relevant to them.

It was a church in Antipolo, it was filled rows upon rows of families.

3. Hit the nerves and the funny bones.

It's a sermon. Like medicine, it's gotta be bitter to convince us it's effective. Like medicine, it goes better with a spoonful of sugar. The trick is knowing the right mix.

So how would one of my admired priests deliver his sermon based on the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector?

I don't know. I already made the mistake of critiquing a priest's sermon, I'm not going to put words into another priest's mouth.

Anyway, at the end of his sermon, the priest asked us all to sit while he promoted his book.

I need happy to happen today.

A red balloon

A cup of tea and coffee with a friend

A mouthful of reaffirming words

World swirling, twirling, whirring

And me, detached

A reassessment, was I really

But if they say so

Words fly by, fly through, sinking holes

Little kitten shurikens, sinking claws

Stop

Think

All night, behind my eyes, I think

Rethink

who am I, was I really, still, now?

A regression, a question of who was that person staring back

A mirror, an ape, wrong door, wrong house

Exit, go out, into the streets, into the alleys

Small, rat, invisible, scoot

...

I need something happy to happen today.

For fear of being the first one to get hurt in relationships, I have noticed, indeed I have experienced, that people would rather be the first to strike, would rather gather ammo behind their lover's back, would rather hurt the other person first.

Being in love is being vulnerable. Being in love is laying your soul bare for the other person. It is the only way for two people to become one. We have to strip out of our bubbles, our protective covers, our kevlar from the pains of this world, out of love, trust and hope, we lay ourselves bare, down to our most basic and vulnerable selves, so we can take in the other, so we can fold into each other, so we can bridge our differences, so we can be better together than we were alone.

But this world has turned sour, cynical and sarcastic. For fear of being hurt, we cover ourselves as Adam and Eve have covered themselves, but this time not only with leaves and animal hide, no longer do our primal coverings suffice, but now we have devised more ways to "protect" ourselves. For fear of having our beloved become unfaithful to us, thus leaving us alone, we gather lovers, we gather so-called friends in our inboxes, in our break times. For fear of us loving the other more than they love us, we hold back, we give a drop of love a day, and because in reality we have an oceanful of love to give, we gather more lovers to whome we give a drop of love each day.

Love is its own insurance. Unfortunately in this world, we are too scared of being hurt that we almost never experience the best thing there is in this life. I am more afraid of not having loved truly and fully, of not having loved as the Lord has loved, than I am afraid of becoming vulnerable and weak and of the potential hurt loving may cost me.

Love is stronger than any fear, if only we can lay down our defenses, our security, our insurance, all for the love of someone other than ourselves.

Back when I was in elementary, Mt. Pinatubo erupted. I was in Grade 1. Everyday there would be collections from the students so the school can donate relief goods and send it to Zambales. We would line the corridors with 1 peso coins, giving became a contest, the class with the most donations would win a merit award. There were also newspaper drives and donation boxes for old clothing, canned food, noodles and books.

In high school I transferred to Cotabato City and when I was in fourth year I got to be the Religious Youth in Action President, probably because there was nowhere else they could put me, the science and math clubs were taken up by the students in the top ranks. During my term there was a war going on. The public elementary schools were converted into evacuation centers. Too many people from the mountains and plains, those who have no knowledge why a war was ongoing, are crammed into on rectangular spot of land, giving birth and dying unattended. There was also a fire and there were more evacuees. There was also the orphanage and one child with a congenital defect but still wrote and performed a rap for us when we came over to share food and other basic necessities. During those times I was on top of heaps of donated clothes, sorting this from that, repacking sacks of rice, tins of sardines, into little packages of hope.

College and I was back in Manila. This time, coincidence perhaps, I was part of Christ's Youth in Action. There was the little house that takes in street children.

When I got out of college and started working, I became a Manikako volunteer and helped children sew back their lives together. A little rag doll, a lot of imagination and dedicated time can work wonders to the soul.

In my life so far I have met with people who needed people and people who needed God when people of good heart were scarce. But how can you tell them that there is a God when their backyard is full of shrapnels, when their father has been summarily executed, when they are orphans, when life is bland, when they are born in the dregs of society, when they live in the refuse of this world. God is not in the dumps, God is not in the putrid river, God is not in their father's lascivious stare, God is not in their hungry bellies, God is not in the mountain that opened up and swallowed their clan.

Our world cannot reflect God anymore. Blue skies have gone gray and hung heavy over our shoulders with the detritus of a consumer life. Crystal waters have choked with silt and the dead and the dying. The land is beginning to open up its mouth and claim entire villages. Even the ocean reached far into the shores for revenge.

To glorify God, we must fix this earth, so that when we testify to people there will not be questions like, "Where is God in thi world?"

First we must in our hearts accept God, praise God, live in the ways of God. Then we must care for all of God's creations. This earth is the only one He made for us, the moon or any other place in the universe may be livable but only artificially, whereas in this earth we can live naturally. Included in God's creations are our fellowmen. We must testify, we must take a stand for our God, we must save one more soul for as long as we can.

If only half the people in this world prioritized their life this way, then the other half would tomorrow be as happy and as content as the other.

I'm 24 and single.

When I was 12, I thought by 17 I should have a steady boyfriend.

When I was 17, I was a college geek and fatty wearing the least desirable pair of last-decade's pants. But towards the end of that year I met Aldrin and after, Dario. Aldrin was 22 and Dario was 29.

After Dario, there came LJ. I was 18, LJ 19. I thought it was a perfect match.

When I was turning 20, LJ had already turned his back on me.

I was 22 when Mark came, or I came to Mark, to escape an unwelcome supra-extended family came barging into the house.

At 23 I left the quest for love and ascended the high rise buildings of Makati, to start a career.

Now I am 24, back on the ground and single.

Except I have Efren under my wings, supporting him, helping him move forward in life. I am learning to hate him now. Because he simply couldn't put his cellphone down. And I'm a jealous person, as jealous as my God.

Years ago I told God that I'll forgive my father, provided he's the last womanizer I ever have to deal with in my whole life. So far all men I've met fail the test.

The one thing different with Efren was that he inadvertently brought me back to God. When I was 17 I was a good Christian, until I met Aldrin. Now at 24 I met Efren and he brought me to the Life Renewal Church and true to it's name, my life was indeed being renewed and healed each time I attend the services.

So early today, stopping by the church on the way to work, I thought, maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe I was not supposed to be looking for human love, maybe the love that this vacuum in my heart is searching for is the love of God.

My God is a jealous God but He is also a very faithful God. He has never let me down. He never failed to encourage me. He makes me feel loved at times when everyone else has closed their doors on me. 

My God and I are still in the beginning stages of our love. After all, I have not been faithful to Him, I left Him and insisted to live without Him for many years.

I am still not happy, perhaps because I have not yet fully opened my heart to receive my God, but I have found love. I have found Love. 

I am 24 and single but I have found my God and with Him I have found pure Love.