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Adventurous yet orthodox
I GREW UP at a time and in a place defined by all sorts of rules. This was in the 50s and the early 60s in Vigan -- a town in the northern part of the Philippines that was small enough for people to know everyone else. You had to behave because everyone knew you and they could tell your parents when you were up to no good. To say that my father was a disciplinarian is an understatement. He ran a tight ship. We did not answer back when he scolded us. We did not cry when he spanked us. We said grace before meals and kept our eyes cast down while we ate. We were home long before the Angelus bells rang in the evening. And we were not permitted to go to parties at night -- which is why I cannot understand why I turned out to be such a social animal. (Uh-oh... so that is how all the partying got started...) In school, it was pretty much the same story. The nuns' mission in life was to make us miserable. We were discouraged from jumping around, raising our voices, or even just laughing out loud (this was long before LOL became a punctation mark). Being late meant being marked absent -- if you could not be in school for the first subject, you were not allowed to attend the succeeding ones. There was a "Speak English rule" (no kidding!) which required us to drop five centavos into a can for every violation. Three violations and you had no money to buy a Bireley drink for merienda. In church, we followed a strict dress code. We wore veils and "Mary-like" dresses. It was unthinkable to receive Holy Communion in a low-neckline or a sleeveless dress. Yes, in my time, showing cleavage was a mortal sin. If we got to church after the homily, that was way too late. We had to stay for the next Mass. Growing in this kind of controlled environment, you can imagine how exhilarated I felt at age 15, to go to the Big City (Manila) for college and finally be on my own. No parents, teachers, nuns, priests or nosy neighbors watching over my shoulder. In my first two years in college, I did crazy things like cut classes, movie-theater hop and watch four movies in one day (pre-DVD/VCD period), drink beer with friends in the evening, wait until the last minute to do my term papers. I was well on my way to perdition, intoxicated not only by the beer, but by the idea of being free at last. Until one day, I read an essay which turned my attitude around and -- to use a cliche -- changed my life. I read "The Romance of Orthodoxy" by G. K. Chesterton. I cannot quote now from that essay, recall how long it was or in what book I found it. All I remember is the message which I got from it: Within set limits, you are free to roam. Within set rules, you can do as you please. I discovered that my life did not have to be lived in prison nor in totally open space. That was a moment of epiphany, I think. My father was no longer physically present to tell me what to do or what not to do, but I had learned enough from him to decide on my own non-negotiables. I was grown up enough to make and live by my own rules. And respect the rules set by others. Being independent, according to my dictionary, means being able to act separate from other people, groups, or things. It is often equated with being free -- meaning not restricted by rules, customs or other people. It is also equated with being autonomous -- making your own decisions about what to do rather than being told or being influenced by someone else. I would like to think that I am independent-minded and that I have a life. I make my own decisions. I am able to act separately from other people, groups or things -- deviate from the herd mentality. But I certainly do not mind being limited by rules or traditions -- so long as they are reasonable and relevant. I am not beyond being influenced by someone else, And I can always find use for wise counsel -- whether it is solicited or not. |
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May, 2012
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