I wish I could describe my feelings as a part of me was leaving Tita Mi behind in the Philippines. The weight of her final goodbye lingered in the air, heavy and bittersweet. I packed my bags with a sense of hope, believing I would soon return to my family in the United States. Little did I know that my life was about to take a turn I could never have imagined.
Reality hit hard when I realized that in the midst of that I never had access to any of my legal documents—my driver’s license, my passport, everything locked away by those in authority. The anticipation of returning home quickly faded, replaced by a sinking feeling of being trapped. I found myself confined within the walls of a compound in San Jose, Nueva Ecija, far removed from the life I had once known.
And then there was Mo. Ethel—a presence that felt like a shadow, imposing and intimidating. Her authority cast a pall over my spirit, a constant reminder of the uncertainty surrounding me. In this moment, I was reminded of the fragility of freedom and how quickly it could be stripped away.
As I navigated this new reality, I was thrust into the world of the Alliance of the Two Hearts—a group whose beliefs now felt both radical and unsettling. Fr. Bing would speak passionately about conspiracies, weaving tales of survival and preparation for what they believed was an impending World War 3. They viewed themselves as the Remnant Church, called to stand against the tides of darkness.
It was a world where fear mingled with faith, where the line between sanity and paranoia blurred. They spoke of three distinct churches they believed they were:
1. **The Church Militant**: Those of us still fighting the daily battles against sin and despair, striving to live as soldiers of Christ.
2. **The Church Penitent**: The souls in Purgatory, caught in a limbo of suffering and hope, waiting for redemption.
3. **The Church Triumphant**: Those who have ascended to Heaven, basking in the light of eternal peace.
Each concept echoed in my mind, serving as a reminder of the struggle that lay ahead. I often found myself questioning where I fit within this framework. Was I a soldier fighting for my own sanity? A penitent soul yearning for clarity? Or simply a lost individual caught in a chaotic web of beliefs?
As I sat in that compound, surrounded by uncertainty and the looming presence of Mo. Ethel, I realized that emotions are complex—they can be a source of strength or a heavy burden. I felt fear, confusion, and a flicker of hope all at once. It was a journey through the depths of my own soul, grappling with the realities of the world around me and the expectations placed upon me.
In the end, it was a powerful reminder of the human experience—the way our emotions shape our perception of reality. While I may have been physically trapped, my mind was free to wander and question, to seek understanding amidst the chaos. And in that search, perhaps I could find a way to navigate through the darkness toward the light waiting on the other side for me.
I’m not sure if I can adequately convey the harrowing experience that awaited us in that compound—a nightmare I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. In the depths of the Cathedral, they had transformed the basement into what can only be described as a dungeon. A place where the stories of brave knights rescuing damsels in distress felt like a cruel joke, far removed from the grim reality we were about to face.
We were ordered, under the guise of “Obedience,” to be locked away in this dungeon, supposedly preparing us for survival in the face of apocalyptic times—the so-called Remnant Church. The irony was not lost on me; instead of a sanctuary, we were thrust into a hellish prison.
Panic surged through me as I desperately sought out Mo. Agnes. She had promised that I would return to the mission, but my anger and frustration bubbled over when I learned she had left the compound. My pleas for her were met with stern discipline, and the repercussions of questioning authority were swift and brutal. The physical punishment that followed was a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play, leaving me feeling small and powerless.
In that dungeon, we were forced to confront the reality of our existence. The atmosphere was suffocating—windows boarded up with black plastic bags, trapping the heat and making it nearly impossible to breathe. Silence was enforced with an iron fist, and the only sounds were the muffled whispers of despair and the relentless ticking of the clock, each second stretching into eternity.
The blessed sacrament was exposed 24/7, a constant reminder of our faith even in the depths of our suffering. We were compelled to pray together, to attend mass, to engage in adoration, and to recite thousands of penitential rosaries. The act of praying with our arms extended, mimicking Christ on the cross, became a test of endurance—a physical and spiritual trial that left us weary and aching.
Fasting was another layer of our torment. Time blurred in that dungeon, stretching on indefinitely as our bodies weakened and our spirits faltered. One of our only sources of relief came from a set of bicycles connected to batteries, which we took turns pedaling to generate a fleeting breeze from a few meager fans. The irony of having to work for air in a place meant to be a sanctuary was not lost on us.
As members of the SITH, we bore the brunt of the harshest punishments, mental torment, and public humiliation. It was as if we were the scapegoats for the group’s frustrations, enduring the brunt of their wrath. The question that lingered in the air was not only if we would survive, but how long we would remain trapped in this cycle of suffering.
Some say our ordeal lasted four months; others insist it was closer to six plus months. Regardless, it felt like an eternity. Each day bled into the next, a relentless cycle of pain, prayer, and endurance. In the midst of this darkness, we were forced to confront our own vulnerabilities and the strength buried deep within us.
As I reflect on that time, I realize it was more than just an experience of physical confinement; it was a crucible that tested our spirits, forging bonds of resilience and solidarity amidst the despair. And in that shared suffering, it was a reminder that even in the darkest of dungeons, the human spirit can endure and rise anew.
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Unimaginable!