I remember the weight of emotions crashing over me like a relentless tide, each wave pulling me deeper into a sea of uncertainty. As I sat in that vehicle, every bump jolted me, amplifying the anxiety of the unknown ahead. Silence wrapped around me, thick and suffocating, interrupted only by the cacophony of my racing thoughts. It felt like a battle—one that raged not just outside but within my very soul. I was trying to summon strength, reminding myself that this struggle was far from over.
I knew I had crossed a line, stealing that cell phone in a moment of desperation, and now I was paying the price. The consequence felt like a descent into a living nightmare, a hell that I thought would stretch on for an eternity. In my mind, I was trapped in a prison of my own making, now facing a sentence that could last six months—or perhaps even longer. The thought of it all made my heart race, and I wouldn’t wish that torment upon my worst enemy.
Peering out the window, the world outside was engulfed in darkness, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling within me. The road was bumpy, each jolt sending ripples of fear through my being. What did this mean for me? Was my life truly over? I grappled with an overwhelming sense of loss and impending doom, feeling like I was teetering on the edge of a panic attack. It was as if my emotions were a storm, threatening to consume me, and I was desperately trying to regain control.
Yet, amid the chaos, I clung to hope. I held onto the promise that God had made to me, a beacon of light in the dark. In my mind, I called upon every Saint I had ever learned about, invoking their intercession, seeking refuge in their wisdom and strength. The Blessed Mother was my solace, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest times, grace could be found.
As I navigated through my fears, I realized that this journey was not just mine; I thought of my sisters, who were enduring this right alongside me. To continue to fight at all cost and all measures for the collective. Each one of our souls are familiar with the weight of this struggle, the silent battles we have been fighting, and the moments we feel lost in the shadows. Together, we shared a collective experience of fear, hope, and the relentless pursuit of light.
The moment the engine fell silent, an unsettling stillness enveloped me. I stepped out of the vehicle, my heart racing, scanning the surroundings for familiar signs. Yes, I was still in San Jose Nueva Ecija, but this place felt like a different realm altogether—a COTH (Contemplative of the Two Hearts) Compound, shrouded in an eerie silence.
The air was thick with anticipation, yet I was utterly alone. The door clicked shut behind me, a finality that reverberated in my chest. A solitary one-bedroom, one-bathroom house loomed before me, its walls echoing my isolation. Locked in, locked out.
"What in the Hell have I gotten myself into?" The thought raced through my mind, a mix of disbelief and unease. The quiet was oppressive, pressing down on me like the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. A cot sat in the corner, its thin mattress like material offering little comfort—each wooden peice protested painfully against my weight, a stark reminder of my predicament.
I could already feel the creeping dread of my surroundings. The cockroaches of the Philippines flashed in my mind, monstrous and winged. Those creatures haunted my nightmares, and now, in this desolate space, they felt like the embodiment of my fears.
The bare walls stared back at me, stark and unforgiving. It was as if I had been cast into a prison of my own making, the dungeon I thought I had escaped now transformed into a solitary cell. Here, there were no distractions, no voices to drown out the chaos inside my head. I was left alone, grappling with my thoughts, wrestling with the shadows that danced in the corners of my mind. The silence became deafening, and I realized then that this was not just a physical confinement; it was a confrontation with my own soul.
For three long months, I found myself trapped in what felt like a living nightmare—a hell hole devoid of light, laughter, or any semblance of companionship. The isolation was suffocating; the silence weighed heavily on my heart. Day after day, I was left alone, my only contact with the outside world marked by the ominous sound of a bell. It was a cruel reminder of my confinement, a call that echoed through the stillness, signaling the rare moments when someone would remember to feed me. A tray would slide through the porch, holding little more than scraps, a meager offering that felt like a mockery of my existence.
In the depths of this despair, I clutched my journal—a small, weathered companion that became my lifeline. It was my refuge, my sanctuary from the relentless monotony of isolation. With every stroke of the pen, I poured my thoughts and emotions onto the pages, finding solace in the written word. I was grateful for the absence of prying eyes; no sister or superior hovered over my shoulder, scrutinizing my every thought. Here, I could be free, if only for a moment.
Yet, I knew this was a deliberate attempt to break me. They sought to chip away at my sanity, to strip me of my will. But I refused to yield. My mind was my fortress, and I would guard it fiercely. The struggle was relentless—each day tested the very limits of my endurance. I could feel the darkness creeping in, whispering doubts that threatened to consume me. But deep within, I found a flicker of strength, a stubborn resolve that ignited my spirit.
This battle was mine to fight, and surrender was not an option. I clung to that inner fire, drawing courage from the depths of my soul. Even if it meant facing martyrdom, I would stand my ground. By the grace of God, I would emerge from this ordeal not just as a survivor, but as a warrior. Each word I wrote was a testament to my resilience, a declaration that I would not be broken. In that small space, with only my thoughts as company, I discovered a profound truth: I was stronger than my circumstances, and I would rise above this struggle, refusing to let my spirit be extinguished.
Add comment
Comments