Catherine of Alexandria

 

I arrived in Mambusao, Capiz province towards sunset and immediately caught a glimpse of the belfry of St. Catherine of Alexandria. "That's it. Yes, that's it," I told the bus conductor, my heart skipping a beat. 
It was unmistakable. The church, though newly-painted, was exactly what I saw from the photo of a blogger who posted it on his blog years ago. That was about a month after Pa passed away and I regretted it that I could no longer ask him about how it was to be in that church when he was still a little boy. The blogger had described the church as eccentric; and I read up on St. Catherine, who was actually such a tough, eccentric and extraordinarily strong woman. She resisted the advances of an emperor who later imprisoned and incarcerated her. After reading all about her, I actually wondered how bad, loathsome and ugly that emperor must have been because St. Catherine would rather stay in the dungeon than to be with him. I failed to look him up, though, because as usual, I was too busy and did not have much extra time. I should even have remembered his name. But I forgot because all I was thinking then was my Pa. I told him that one day I would go visit his place and tell him all about it--even if he's no longer around. I want to go to his place to remember him.   
So as soon as I got off the bus, I hurried off, dragging my luggage from the terminal, my heart singing.  St. Catherine, St. Catherine!

Mambusao

They had this beautiful church in my Pa's hometown.  When I first saw the image, months after he passed away, I regretted that I could no longer show it to him to ask how it was to run or walk around its grounds as a boy? And if he ever was allowed to climb up to its belfry and when he was there, what did he see? Did he see the entire Mambusao, did he see his mother looking everywhere for him? Did he see a girl? Did he see an angel? 
Then, I regretted, too, that I abandoned my desire to visit his hometown. I was always broke during those times, I worked too hard--even on Sundays and holidays--and earned too little that the only way for us to push through with the trip was for Pa to shoulder the expenses.  I was not aware that he could afford it but I took pity of him (for having a penniless daughter like me) when I thought about the idea. Besides, his temper was the worst during those times; he insulted me for the flimsiest things he caught me doing, such as, talking to my cats!  Smarting from all the insults I got from him, I retreated to the deepest corner of myself, licking my wounds. Inside my room, reading a book,  I heard him badgering Ma, "What was she saying? She wanted us to go to Mambusao? Why? Shall we go?"
But I never pursued the topic anymore.  With pursed lips, I stopped talking.
Months after he was gone, while editing stories from the regions, I came upon the old church named after Catherine of Alexandria, and was wondering what could Pa's memories be of that church. Did he ever run around those grounds and how did it feel to be there as a boy?