Drawing-Lalalala-Notes
[Day 1, or "Jesus and a Housefly"]
We arrived on a Friday afternoon, unsure what to expect from the Maryan Youth Camp, what would happen, and what we would do. I never went to this type of event, and now, amidst the welcoming smiles, I wondered about tonight and the next two days. Perhaps we were going to do something more than talk about Mary. We might talk about Jesus, too.
And so we did. For the first activity, we were given coloring materials. We were supposed to draw an object that symbolizes Jesus. I just love icebreakers like this, where creativity is tapped to its fullest potential. And so I drew the first thing that popped in my mind, or the thing that can be drawn with a black crayon. The explanation would just come later, I thought. Thus, I compared Jesus to housefly. I finished quickly because it was easy to draw trash. I looked at the others' drawings and sighed seeing the usual. Vines, breads, lambs, some people do lack originality. Some people also have too much of it, with symbols too abstract to be symbols. But the person I admired was the wisest among us all, hers was blank.
Everything went on smoothly, we sang "Shine, Jesus, Shine" like it was the best song ever written. Well, everything except for the sharing part. One facilitator told us "their story", and it was nothing unheard in a soap opera. I simply do not not enjoy watching people break down in public. Yet, I cannot wait for my turn to spill my own family's garbage.
[Day 2, or "Devil's Tongue"]
The next day was not very busy. I woke up early to avoid the line for the use of the bathroom, and was able to breathe some morning fresh air inside the concrete jungle. I generally hate mornings, but this one was fine.
We were separated into groups and did mostly sharings. Hearing "their stories" made my life seem perfect. I wanted to tell a sob story also so not to feel left out. I practiced by telling two people "our story" first and I was surprised it made one teary-eyed. Later, the other aped my bullet-to-the-head tick. I was able to share "our story" successfully, although it would have been better if I had cried a little.
That night, the facilitators prepared something special for us. Each one of us was to enter a room where we choose among the gifts of the Holy Spirit to ask for. One was the gift to speak in tongues. As I remember their explanation, the devil can speak in any language except in tongues. Letting people in one by one took a while so when my turn came, I was already very sleepy. As I sat on a chair, my facilitator asked me to repeat after him. "Lalalala..." I hesitated at first, but then, with a lot of encouragement I did it. "Lalalala..." My facilitator started to pray over me. "...lalalala..." He mentioned bits from "our story" "...lalalala..." For a brief moment I paused to breathe. "Lalalala..." I heard that some people got possessed while doing this and spoke in a foreign language. "...lalalala..." Some spoke in Chinese even though they do not know a single word of it. "...lalalala..." And so I wished to get possessed also and speak in Latin, Hebrew, Greek, or any dead language. "...lalalala..." I was tempted to speak in Capampangan.
[Day 3, or "Angel Costume"]
"Suppose when you go home, you find your parents' bodies in caskets. What did you fail to tell them before they died?" And so the crying began. Except for me. I also found another laughing. "Well, you can tell them now. Surprise! Your parents are here!" Except for mine. And all of those from Pampanga. Instead, our teacher gave us letters from our parents. Except for me. The letter she gave me was not written by my parents, but by her. My mother has a difficulty writing letters, (which ironically, was the subject of "our story"). I read the letter, and felt the sadness I longed to feel.
After a Mass, and the distribution of certificates, tokens and kits, we said goodbye to new acquaintances. With that, I remembered old friends. Before going straight home, we stopped by the mall where we bought the three bears. Mine was wearing a Halloween outfit while yours was in toga.
I arrived home wondering if I would remember what happened and what we did during these three days. I wondered how many people there would we meet again in the future. I read the notes I received from them, (we had something like pigeonholes where we could stuff in messages). Perhaps I would forget. Perhaps we would never meet again. I have lost all of the physical evidence now, the certificates, the tokens, the kits, the letter, the notes. Fortunately, I still have the bear in an angel costume.
We arrived on a Friday afternoon, unsure what to expect from the Maryan Youth Camp, what would happen, and what we would do. I never went to this type of event, and now, amidst the welcoming smiles, I wondered about tonight and the next two days. Perhaps we were going to do something more than talk about Mary. We might talk about Jesus, too.
And so we did. For the first activity, we were given coloring materials. We were supposed to draw an object that symbolizes Jesus. I just love icebreakers like this, where creativity is tapped to its fullest potential. And so I drew the first thing that popped in my mind, or the thing that can be drawn with a black crayon. The explanation would just come later, I thought. Thus, I compared Jesus to housefly. I finished quickly because it was easy to draw trash. I looked at the others' drawings and sighed seeing the usual. Vines, breads, lambs, some people do lack originality. Some people also have too much of it, with symbols too abstract to be symbols. But the person I admired was the wisest among us all, hers was blank.
Everything went on smoothly, we sang "Shine, Jesus, Shine" like it was the best song ever written. Well, everything except for the sharing part. One facilitator told us "their story", and it was nothing unheard in a soap opera. I simply do not not enjoy watching people break down in public. Yet, I cannot wait for my turn to spill my own family's garbage.
[Day 2, or "Devil's Tongue"]
The next day was not very busy. I woke up early to avoid the line for the use of the bathroom, and was able to breathe some morning fresh air inside the concrete jungle. I generally hate mornings, but this one was fine.
We were separated into groups and did mostly sharings. Hearing "their stories" made my life seem perfect. I wanted to tell a sob story also so not to feel left out. I practiced by telling two people "our story" first and I was surprised it made one teary-eyed. Later, the other aped my bullet-to-the-head tick. I was able to share "our story" successfully, although it would have been better if I had cried a little.
That night, the facilitators prepared something special for us. Each one of us was to enter a room where we choose among the gifts of the Holy Spirit to ask for. One was the gift to speak in tongues. As I remember their explanation, the devil can speak in any language except in tongues. Letting people in one by one took a while so when my turn came, I was already very sleepy. As I sat on a chair, my facilitator asked me to repeat after him. "Lalalala..." I hesitated at first, but then, with a lot of encouragement I did it. "Lalalala..." My facilitator started to pray over me. "...lalalala..." He mentioned bits from "our story" "...lalalala..." For a brief moment I paused to breathe. "Lalalala..." I heard that some people got possessed while doing this and spoke in a foreign language. "...lalalala..." Some spoke in Chinese even though they do not know a single word of it. "...lalalala..." And so I wished to get possessed also and speak in Latin, Hebrew, Greek, or any dead language. "...lalalala..." I was tempted to speak in Capampangan.
[Day 3, or "Angel Costume"]
"Suppose when you go home, you find your parents' bodies in caskets. What did you fail to tell them before they died?" And so the crying began. Except for me. I also found another laughing. "Well, you can tell them now. Surprise! Your parents are here!" Except for mine. And all of those from Pampanga. Instead, our teacher gave us letters from our parents. Except for me. The letter she gave me was not written by my parents, but by her. My mother has a difficulty writing letters, (which ironically, was the subject of "our story"). I read the letter, and felt the sadness I longed to feel.
After a Mass, and the distribution of certificates, tokens and kits, we said goodbye to new acquaintances. With that, I remembered old friends. Before going straight home, we stopped by the mall where we bought the three bears. Mine was wearing a Halloween outfit while yours was in toga.
I arrived home wondering if I would remember what happened and what we did during these three days. I wondered how many people there would we meet again in the future. I read the notes I received from them, (we had something like pigeonholes where we could stuff in messages). Perhaps I would forget. Perhaps we would never meet again. I have lost all of the physical evidence now, the certificates, the tokens, the kits, the letter, the notes. Fortunately, I still have the bear in an angel costume.
dan_boa made you sneeze at 4:59 AM
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