Nun to None

By Emmanuelle

ONE is such a lonely word. One beat each for a smudge of black here, a dash of white there, a hint of a smile on your face or a blink of a tear on mine. Hook one beat to one, you will have les deux, the two of them, beating as one. Stand back, round O your mouth, listen and watch:

When Chara was born, maybe she wore a crown of fine blossoms on her brow. She also must have held a soft tendril of a stem for a wand.

She was gurgling alphabets and was waddling around on bare plump legs before she was one, a finger pressed on lips ssshhhing noises and human clashes all around. She seemed to listen to music all her own. It took insight to grasp, that somehow, Chara was clicking beads of math and sorting questions for science in her head. Through the flicks of her charcoal-tipped wand, she was re-creating the world in her drawings, her scrolls of numbers and whorls and whorls of letters.            

No one knew where the wish had sprung, but as early as she could talk clearly, this wondrous child had lisped out: I wish to be no other but a nun. Then she jutted out her chin, and crossed-over her arms.

She grew fast and she grew taller, prettier, and wiser than her peers. She changed her wish not a single bit: I wish to be no other but a nun

Her parents were fearful of the day when Chara would be old enough to walk out their door, to walk in that other door to a half-empty cloister of girls and women in worship of One Father and His Son.

One year, her fairy-like story took a sudden twist. As editor of the school organ in this private school ran by priests and nuns of one of the oldest orders, she, the staff and adviser joined the region’s press confab. It was the year when she suffered from a serious ailment that her doctors seemed not to come to agree on as to diagnosis and mode of treatment. In spite of her pains, she was headstrong on going through the event. It was the name and honor of the school at stake, she said. While in the contest, she was informed that the sem-grade results were already posted on the schoolboard, and that she was ranked first.

Inspired, she spurred herself to win not one but two of the highest honors in two of the top events. These awards, and also her other awards in previous other confabs, would later rank her school as the best private school in the division.

The team came back to school in pride and joy, hoisting trophies and medals in the air. Except Chara, who was rushed to the hospital she called her second home.                  

It was only later, long after the speeches and the congrats, that the paper adviser noticed, it was not Chara’s name on top of the ranking list. The adviser was confused. It was knowing she made it to the top inspite of her illness that urged Chara to write her best winning pieces. The adviser went on a quest for the day. One by one, the subject teachers told their stories. The stories were the same: the principal who was a nun, ordered the math teacher to order all the teachers to deduct from Chara’s grades to demote her to second in rank, and the second in rank to first.

Why? For fear the school might be sued. Again. The previous year, the elder sibling of   Chara’s second in rank had sued the school claiming she was maliciously deprived of the top honors.

The paper adviser requested these teachers to hand-write their stories. Shamed and haunted by their conscience, all of them did. Except the math teacher who typed his, claiming in his letter, he was ordered from above. 

Armed with these letters, the adviser faced the principal. It took a long while for the nun to come out with her defense. It went something like this: I did this for the school. I knew Chara would   see the need for our action. She loved the school, the nuns and Mama Mary. She would have gladly given way.  

When the paper adviser handed over the teachers’ letter and the whole story, Chara was shocked into silence. Then she howled. She grasped a pillow to her chest to still the howls.

In-between gasps of breath, Chara said: Yes, I would have gladly given way for the school, for the nuns, for Mama Mary. They knew me too well.  But I am not Jesus and they are not the Lord Father. How dare they dictate the nature of MY sacrifice? And how dare they put the sacrifice, MY sacrifice,   into effect without even asking for my permit to do so, or even just to inform me of this sacrifice I am supposed to offer? 

Next year, UP-PGH graduates Chara as full-pledged doctor-of-the-barrios. Ssshhh, when with her, don’t you dare talk about nuns. And bad habits.

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/
Readers may reach columnist at jingmil@yahoo.com . For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)

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