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A Heartwarming Mother and Son Story
by Seminarian Verge “Brother Utoy” Dalangin SSS
OTWOMD Guest Blogger
for “The Voice” series

The first time I put my vocation story into writing, I had a friend to comment on it for me. He then told me that after going through my 5-page essay, it wasn’t too bad at all, though somehow, the scenes from my life sketch seemed too bright and sunny, the people are saccharine sweet and happy and my life conflicts got resolved like an ending of a Pixar movie. Simply put, he said that my vocation story seemed too positive to be true. I guess, part of the reason for that is, I was writing then to convince the vocation director to accept me into the Congregation. Now, eight years later, I knew better than to write something of the same sort again. My over-rated best foot isn’t the only part of me that I wish to put forward now, but the rest of my rather far-from-perfect self. Allow me then to tell you a new story, the one which occurred years after my cartoonish past, the one I claim to be my second vocation story.

December, 2002 at the Novitiate. The pressure of making it through the first profession weighed heavily on my shoulders. I wasn’t likely to win the Novice of the Year award and panic of measuring up to the Congregation’s standard seems to build up as the evaluation period approached. Nonetheless, I was excited with anticipation, an excitement soon doused cold with a news from my sisters. Each of my three sisters called up to tell me the same thing: Inay is terribly ill. I wasn’t fazed by that news, really. Inay had diabetes since the 80’s and complications on her heart and kidneys were worsening. Something broke my heart more: Tatay won’t care for her anymore and refused to pay for her medical expenses. Something has to be done, my sisters said, and that deed is to be done by me. In short, my sisters wanted me to leave the seminary and go home to Inay.

Truth be told, not much responsibility was asked of me by my family before that. As the only son and brother, I enjoyed the favor of everyone in my family and was constantly spared from doing anything difficult. Suddenly, I was being asked to make a sacrifice. It felt too sudden and unfair. “Why me? I can’t leave now! They can’t do this to me!” I was in anguish and was confused. Drama talaga. I don’t know what got into me but the next thing I knew, I called up my sisters to tell them that I’ll go home. I then went straight to my room and cried. No, I actually howled in pain, as though something within me snapped, died and had to be mourned. The following morning, I talked to my formator and arranged for my trip home, which I scheduled two days after my birthday. I thought that would be my last birthday in the seminary and won’t be back anymore. And so the wait begins. That was, for me, the dreariest Christmas and New Year, especially made more tedious by the fact that I, being the beadle then, had to plan the Christmas for the community. When it’s time for me to go home, I have already spent all my tears and couldn’t cry anymore. Ever a jologs actor, I even sang to my community a Broadway song, “What I Did for Love.” There is one who was secretly happy for my departure: You see, I wasn’t Mr. Friendship either. But most of the community cried as if in portent that I’ll never ever return.

The situation at home was bleak, but I was not to waste my time languishing. I tried my best to immediately be a caregiver for Inay and the resident contrabida for my Tatay. I blamed him for everything, especially for what happened to Inay and me. Tatay wasn’t the one to be defeated and so responded how worthless a son I was and how bad a wife my Inay was. Many of our word-wars were just too embarrassingly personal to be told. Inay, however, quietly endured the bickerings and really made efforts to get well. Amidst all these, I sought work and was hired by an eccentric Chinese lady in Greenhills who makes, among other things, raw tawas. It was timely because my mother’s kidneys had just altogether failed and we needed the money for her dialysis. I brought her to NKTI every other morning and work during afternoons. Truth to tell, it was thoroughly exhausting. My sister told me to quit my job and bring Inay with me to live with her family in Pampanga.

That I did, when I got hired by a factory in San Fernando making bottle caps. It was very humbling to stay at someone else’s house, even if it was my sister’s. I can’t be messy, I can’t use the appliances any time I wanted to, I can’t raid the fridge nor interfere with Ate’s home-life, though these are not necessarily asked of me to refrain from. It’s just that I can’t just let Inay and I to be a burden to my Ate and her husband simply because they had already gone to so many troubles just to accommodate us. Anyway, all I had to do then is to care for Inay and work hard to earn money which was just enough to pay for the twice-weekly dialysis and buy her a month’s worth of medication. The pressure at work wasn’t helping either, as I had work myself to death to become a regular employee. Companies are often wary of hiring ex-seminarians (they don’t last that long on a job, they say) and I had to lie my way in so I can have a job.

Inay’s sickness, on the other hand, was getting worse. Her infections became more frequent, she completely lost her appetite and the creatinine on her blood built up, impairing much of her vital organs, including her brain. At night, I quietly cried as I beg my mother to eat even just a spoonful or when I regularly changed her bandage and check for pus formation. She lost much weight and was staring blankly at anyone except me, whom she would smile at and hug without saying a word. Inay, who was once a legitimate professor of psychology in college, was by now, a withered lady, quietly waiting for her death. There were times at work that I would hide behind the pallets and cry myself out of tiredness, self-pity and desperation. But on the hindsight, I never remembered blaming God for everything that was happening then. Rather, I imagined God Himself was sad for me, huddling me near Him at the dark corner of that warehouse.

Later, Tatay followed us in Pampanga and quietly told us that he’ll help in caring for Inay and in paying some of the expenses. I knew it was difficult for my father to do such humbling act so we allowed him. But it was too late. Inay died that December and was buried in Pampanga, a stranger in a foreign land. Truth to tell, I didn’t cry much on my mother’s wake. I only remembered talking to my father for the longest time. We just talked. He told me how much he loved Inay and how much he blamed himself for what had happened. While I couldn’t agree more, I knew in my heart that I couldn’t tell him that. I still love my Tatay, no matter what. Four months after Inay’s burial, I returned to the seminary to repeat my novitiate formation. Only then have I learned the answers to the many questions I asked before I left the seminary.

It may elude reason but this is truly my vocation story, when God called me out the second time to leave my comfort zone and really learn from life. Many asked if I regretted leaving the seminary and I would answer, no, there was nothing to regret especially when I understood much about myself from that experience. I had the chance to return the love of my mother for me and to be reconciled with my father. I became tougher, more pragmatic, more cynical perhaps, but I also became more understanding of others, more trusting, more awed by miracles, more prayerful, more human. I began to see that reality, though devoid of Pixar perfection and happy endings, is actually very beautiful. God’s providence, indeed, cannot be truly understood on the very day we receive them. For most of the time, we may loathe what was given to us, but in the end, when we finally recognize how truly blest we are indeed, -how God is always present all through those times- we’ll simply forget all the sufferings and learn only to give thanks.

Seminarian – Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament

(*Ed’s Note: Sometimes, road taken by those who are called by the Lord ends up in an array of hindrances and obstacles. Oftentimes, people under formation see this as a block rather than an aid. But always in hindsight of every journey, what we always lack in understanding is compensated by God with his Wisdom. Verge’s story is just a testament of other real life instances wherein those who are called are given the choice to stay, forego or comeback the second time around.)

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Verge is one of the members of our seminarians’ group in friendster. Like Jhoen and Felmar who I befriended, Verge also became one of my closest friends simply because he is an addict like me (INFJ). His vocation story has so many similarities with mine, that reading his story is like reading my own. I was the one who gave verge a nudge in blogging outside the friendster blog. For over a month, he already reap what he sowed for lo and behold he has many readers now and his potential as a great blogger did not remain as a potential but an active proof of his writing talent. He is the author of the “soon-to-be” famous blog he called How Brother Utoy Failed Salvation History. His blog is all about the Catholic Church with a twist of humor and wit, and of course the countdowns. Verge originally hails from Batangas and grew up in Manila. He studied in the formidable Manila Science High School, then went into college in my most loved university, University of Sto. Tomas and had his additional formation at San Carlos Seminary. He worked in San Miguel Corporation as a beer chemist (astig!-araw-araw tipsy haha) and his hobbies includes movies, foods and books emphasizing that his favorite book is any illustrated cookbooks that are colored. His favorite music lists some of the finest in the industry such as cover songs of the 50s and 60s, Michael Buble, Nora Jones, Harry Connick Jr. and (dito ako nakakarelate) songs in the videoke, especially if there is a sound effect “Dyan-dyararan” when the score flashes on the screen (haha). When he is not busy in his seminary chores, he can be seen watching his favorite TV series such as Numb3rs, CSI and Heroes. Verge is not only a seminarian, a blogger and a videoke slave, he is also a playwright and a composer. He write plays and adds music to them (Rogers and Hammerstein rolled into one). He is currently a seminarian under the auspices of the Blessed Sacrament Fathers (SSS - Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament) and he is doing his best in saving the world even though (as he claims) he failed salvation history.

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Related Vocation Story:

• My Regency in Retrospect by Felmar Fiel SVD
• Transition, Evolution, Vocation! by Sem. Jhoen Buenaventura