Tuesday, April 12, 2005

MARIA MAKILING


I usually wake up at 5 am and one of the first things I always do is to open the door to the balcony. I breathe deeply and look my fill of the slumbering Mt. Maria Makiling, never getting tired of its serene beauty.

Mt. Makiling is an inactive volcano, located in Southern Luzon. Its highest peak is 1,130 meters above sea level, not your usual towering mountain that looks majestic in proportion. But it’s so beautiful, like a long-haired woman reclining serenely between the provinces of Laguna and Batangas, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of traffic on the undulating highway below it.

I grew up hearing much folklore from my elders and teachers. The Philippine culture is steeped with myths and legends, and if you have an over-active imagination, it isn’t hard to get carried away by the many colorful stories handed down from generation to generation. One of my favorite stories is the story of Mt. Makiling .

It is said that during the Spanish regime, there was a beautiful Diwata, a magical being who lives on the mountain top. She was so beautiful and kind that she was beloved in the province of Laguna. She helped the poor people by giving them ginger that turns to gold in the morning. Because of her famed beauty, many suitors wooed her, but three of them were the most determined. Captain Lara, a Spanish soldier who always gifted her with luxurious gifts from Europe, Joselito a Spanish Mestizo who is a student in Manila who had many stories to tell about places and things he has read in his books, and Juan, a common but very industrious farmer. Because Juan works so hard, he always had a good harvest, and his animals thrived. It was him whom Maria secretly admired.

As time passed, the suitors clamored for Maria to choose the one she favors. Maria was forced to promise them that she will give her decision on the next full moon.

When the night of the full moon came, all of Maria’s suitors climbed up the mountain to hear her decision. They were surprised and affronted when she named Juan as the man she loves. Captain Lara and Joselito didn’t take this too well, and together, they plotted against the unsuspecting Juan.


It wasn’t long before fire gutted the Spanish cuartel. Many Filipinos were captured and tortured, and some did not survive the torture that the Spanish inflicted on them. At the prodding of Joselito and Captain Lara, and fear for they lives if they didn’t comply with their plans, the other prisoners pointed to Juan as the arsonist. Juan was taken to the plaza by the soldiers to face the firing squad. Juan was innocent but he was sacrificed by his own people because of cowardice. He died for something he didn’t do, but managed to shout Maria’s name before he did.

Maria heard him and came down from the mountain, but Juan was already dead. With tears running down her lovely face, Maria cradled the lifeless body of her beloved in her arms. She looked at the people with accusing eyes, and they left one by one, guilt heavy in their hearts.

In their fear of the Diwata’s wrath, Joselito and Captain Lara fled to Manila. When Maria heard this, she uttered a curse against the two. It wasn’t long before Joselito was afflicted with a lingering illness that has no cure. Captain Lara was recalled to Laguna when the revolution against the Spanish tyranny broke out. He was later killed by the Filipino revolutionists.

Maria disappeared into her mountains. She never helped the people again because of their betrayal of her beloved Juan.

Now, when you look at Mt. Makiling from a certain angle, you see a reclining woman with long hair. People say that the woman is Maria, the Diwata, alone in the mountain peak , still lamenting the lost of Juan.

A beautiful but tragic story isn’t it? And when I look out in the morning, I think about Maria, how beautiful she is, but how sad in her solitude.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

A BLESSING OR A CURSE?

I'm the kind of person who will go out of her way to help an old lady across the street, or to help a child being chased by a dog. I always thank the driver when I get off a public transport, thank the crew getting my order at the fast-food restaurant, or the cashier at the bookstore. It's quite easy for me to get someone to confide in me, or to feel comfortable talking to me, as if I were an old friend. But it's also easy for me to empathize and get involve with these people – feeling their pain, making their worries my own, and generally immersing myself into whatever is currently happening in their lives. People are special to me, whether they are my family and friends, or just strangers.

When people tell me that they appreciate my concern, or my kindness, I think the Lord has truly blessed me. When I have made a person smile, or made him feel good, or consoled someone in the midst of his grief, held someone’s hand in silent support… when I feel that I have touched someone’s life and made a difference, no matter how small, then I know my sojourn in this world is worthwhile. When I manage to teach a child to say sorry and thank you, encouraged an elderly friend that this life is still worth living despite his many aches and waning sight, I thank God most humbly that He has made me aware of the needs of others, and has used me to manifest his goodness and faithfulness. And then I truly feel blessed.

But as I search for words to comfort someone whose loved one is dying, when I feel as if every word I utter does not mean anything at all, or if there is someone who needs help and I couldn’t meet that need and he has to go away empty-handed, or I see the suffering of a friend but there is no way for me to alleviate that, then I feel as if I am cursed. For what use is my life if it can’t ease the pain of someone?

Sometimes, I wish I didn’t care so much. But will life be any easier if I didn’t?