Memoirs of The Hill Series #4: Shouting Match (The Liquidity of Oral Communication)

Author: ADIgcalinos

That distaste for karatula led me to consider pursuing other options than becoming a titled one. But I never gave serious thought on becoming a priest, either. I was in my senior year when a brother came to our school to talk about priestly vocation and seminary life. The rest of his blah-blahs did not register, nor it left an impression about something very promising.

It did not help that we had this weirdo and socially withdrawn asshole for a parish priest who drove his faithful to Iglesia sa Dios and some society of nocturnal devotees who would rouse the whole town from sleep with their pasyon-cum-orasyon amplified on loud speakers at dawn, starting at 2:00 AM to be exact. This weirdo minister never cut his hair for the entire duration of his short-lived ministry in our town; he was recalled after he figured in shouting match with a resident who was furious over the asshole priest's refusal to allow the resident's husband's remains to be brought inside the church for that reason: the shouting match.

That asshole priest also invited vandals to his convent and there were nights when stones would rain on his roof as disgusted and disgruntled parishioners vented their ire over his asshole ways. He mostly refused to say mass in the barrios, and he locked the church doors most of the time. His Sunday sermons were downright dry and boring it made me wonder why such an asshole could become a priest, supposedly a good communicator, an excellent marketer of salvation. He was one of the worst preachers I have ever encountered in my life, though I must confess I stopped listening to sermons many years ago for fear of damnation caused unnecessarily by a bad preacher!

That asshole priest made me rethink my decision to enter the seminary. But I had a way of convincing and reassuring myself that I would not become like him. When I asked for a recommendation, the asshole priest readily gave me, although I never got to see what was written inside the sealed envelope. (The one I handed later on to the (e)rector of the seminary.)

Fast forward to December of the same year. Six of my schoolmates trooped to city to take the exam and joined with the rest of prospective seminarians in a two-day get-together. But I went there as an excuse to see my favorite city, no more, no less. Then two months later, I received a congratulatory letter, saying I qualified for the seminary. I was the only one who made it. Two of my classmates were dying to enter but were unlucky. In two weeks, a fraile came to see me and family, probably checking if they were in the position to send me to the seminary.

News of my qualifying spread quickly, and friends and neighbors came congratulating and wishing me success daw in the seminary! Mukhang napasubo na yata ako, a. There's no turning back. What about the girls? Well, I kept them of course! I even added one shortly before graduation. The more girlfriends the better to keep you inspired (no argument, please).