Sexy, Innocent Child-Woman

Loving greetings from Angola

No, this is not the title of a novel I want to write or a film or telenovela I want to make. This was the subject line of an e-mail I received today from Sr. V, a Filipina nun who is now serving in Angola. Her e-mail was a nice surprise. She wasn't a close friend or anything of that sort, but a mere acquaintance. I met her more than eight years ago in a resettlement area for Aetas in the mountains of Kalangitan, Capas, Tarlac, which her congregation had adopted as a mission area. I was a senior in high school at that time, and I went on an immersion in Kalangitan (the name of the resettlement area, which means literally means "heaven" in Tagalog) that weekend. She was then a junior sister assigned to the community. We got along instantly, since she was really friendly to me and my friends/immersion buddies, and I tend to talk to anyone anyway.

The funny thing is, I didn't even know she was a nun until several members of the community started calling her "Sister." Sr. V and Sr. J, the sister in charge of the area, weren't wearing their habits the day we arrived in Kalangitan because as I learned, the nuns in their congregation dress like ordinary people whenever they're at their mission areas, so as to blend in with the community--unless there's a mass or prayer service or some other "official" function. But between Sr. V and Sr. J, I knew Sr. J was a nun for sure. I simply thought Sr. V was a community worker or a volunteer at the resettlement area. She played along with me and my friends whenever we'd crack dirty jokes or utter statements tinged with "double meaning." So I was really embarrassed when I found out she was a nun. I was careful to watch my mouth from that point onward.

Because my foster family lived rather far away from the "convent" in Kalangitan (read: one had to cross a river and climb a mountain to get to our house), I didn't really get to talk to Sr. V that weekend, except when we were about to leave. However, I got to observe her in action on a number of occasions, and I still treasure in my heart all her expressions of love--for the Aetas and for us giggly, spirited schoolgirls--that I witnessed that weekend. I remember the sincerity and fervor of her prayers for the Aetas during the communion service. I remember how she listened attentively and guided us gently when we talked about our immersion experience during the processing session. I remember how she told me, after I naively pointed out how the Aetas I lived with tended to use laughter as a way of coping with everything, even their abject poverty ("Dinadaan lang nila ang lahat sa tawa" ["They just laugh everything off"]), to "dig deeper" so I could see the underlying social conditions confronting our Aeta brothers and sisters, instead of romanticizing the immersion experience. I remember her gentle response to an Indo (the Aeta term for a female community elder) who knocked on the door of the convent in the middle of our processing session: "Halika, pasok, kapatid (Come in, sister)," and the profound love in the simplicity of those words. I remember how she reached out to me and my friends and met us at our level, how she teased me and my close friend Angel because the processing session had reduced both of us to tears.

I remember walking away thinking, I were to become a nun someday, I would want to be like Sr. V. Shocking as this may seem to people who know me (especially those who witnessed my "wild girl" years), I had thought of becoming a nun/missionary when I was about 14 to 16 years old, but then the images I had of the convent life, plus the crabby old nuns at my high school, scared me at times. I also had doubts as to whether I could withstand the rigors of missionary life, since I grew up relatively sheltered and I was such a picky eater back then. However, my immersion made me realize that the missionary life wasn't too bad, after all, and that not all nuns were strict, mean, or stiff-necked. In retrospect, Sr. V's example was one of the early instances when I realized that nuns were ordinary people, too...and yes, some of them could even understand and play along with the twisted jokes of people like me and my friends.

I didn't keep in touch with Sr. V, and I never saw her after my immersion. I asked about her when my younger sister went on an immersion in the same community a year later, only to find out that Sr. V was away that weekend. I asked about her again when I went back to Kalangitan a month or so after my sister's immersion (the weekend before my final exams when I was a freshman in college), and I was told that Sr. V was attending a retreat at that time. Two months after I graduated college, I ended up contacting the nuns who ran my high school and going back to Kalangitan to facilitate an immersion for college students as part of my first job. Sr. J was still in charge of the Aeta mission then, although she was about to move on to another assignment in Laoag. I asked her about Sr. V, and learned that Sr. V had left for Mozambique (I would find out today that Sr. V went there in 2000 to study the Portuguese language for a year before leaving for Angola, where she is currently assigned).

As fate would probably have it, I've been in touch with the nuns from Sr. J's and Sr. V's congregation since then, particularly those who work in the Aeta mission (Surprise, surprise--their order also has several communities in Chicago, and their novitiate/students' community is in my neighborhood, about 10 minutes away from my apartment). Whenever I go home to the Philippines for a visit, I make it a point to visit Tarlac and stay there between five days to one week--no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Whenever I'm in Kalangitan, I wish time would stand still so I could be with my beloved Aeta brothers and sisters forever. That's how much the place means to me. But that's another story.

Anyhow, it just so happened that Sr. E, one of the nuns who works there now, worked in Angola for about 12 years. Last week, Sr. E sent out a general e-mail containing pictures of another resettlement area in the mountains of Tarlac that recently became part of the Aeta mission, and I immediately noticed Sr. V's e-mail address. I suddenly thought of e-mailing Sr. V to say hello. I didn't expect her to remember me, but I just told her when/where/how I met her and wished her well. I also told her that I still visit Kalangitan, at least whenever I'm in the Philippines, and that I'm in touch with the nuns here and in the Philippines. And surprise of all surprises, she wrote me back today.

Honestly, I'm surprised--and humbled--that she took time out to write me and that she was open to sharing her experiences in Angola. I feel like I just reconnected with a part of my life--and myself--that I never thought existed after all these years. Words can't describe how I feel. Corny as this may sound, I'm happy. And thankful.

found herself @ 7:21 PM