I went to Belgium as a journalist seeking to discover the brilliance of diamonds proudly produced by the Belgians. But on my way to visit the diamond centers, I discovered other gems. At every street corner, facets of my life kept coming back, as if in rewind mode.
I saw the Belgian women – so tall, their eyes so beautifully blue or gray, their cheeks so pink, their lips so thin. Immediately the image of Sister Theonille, one of my grade school teachers at St. Theresa’s College, came to mind. The very thought of her made me shiver. I remembered her with a mixture of fear and respect. The affection came only at the end, when I realized I missed her.
During my grade school years, I strived to be at the top of my class. I reaped honor cards, gold and silver medals, yes; I was even class president. Good enough reasons to feel proud. But it was Sister Theonille who made me eat humble pie.
Sister Theonille brought the wrath of God down upon me when, during a Spelling Bee test, I got only 99 out of 100 words correct. Pointing her long, pink finger at my forehead, she declared: "Carmelita, you have not been studying again. You are becoming lazy. You should have scored 100 percent. Because of your one mistake, your class will have no representative in the spelling finals. I am so disappointed in you. We were counting on you."
Feeling that I was doomed to eternal damnation and the fires of hell, tears fell down my cheeks and my frail body trembled. From then on, I strove to make each test perfect. Always gave every bit of schoolwork my 100-percent attention. And every time I succeeded, she would flash a big smile, her narrow teeth framed by her thin, cruel lips.
I didn’t see them as cruel anymore when, by the next schoolyear, Sister Theonille was no longer my teacher. Then, my grades began to slide, and I was down to second place. That was when I realized I missed her, and that I loved her despite her thin, cruel lips. It was she who taught me to strive for perfection, an ideal I would aim at for the rest of my life.
At another street in Belgium, I found myself looking at Belgian lace – on hankies, on tablecloths, even on keychains! Such amazing, exquisitely stitched works of art made me agree – yes, God is in the details! Immediately, I remembered all those years when the Belgian nuns at St. Theresa’s College would make us embroider on tulle fabric, which we had to buy from our own school allowance. We could make our own design – flowers, leaves, paisley – and we painstakingly did it with love. The nuns taught us all the strokes – satin stitch, running stitch, blanket stitch, outline stitch, chain stitch. I remember laboring over my work for many sleepless nights. Those embroidered tulle fabrics made by our little hands would serve as our gifts to the women in the Mountain Province (where Belgian missionary sisters maintained other schools) who would use them as veils. Those were the days when women wore richly embroidered veils to church, some of them even coming from Spain. The women in the Mountain Province couldn’t afford to buy those veils, but they had our embroidered gifts of love. Every Christmas, we were also taught to share food, clothes and toys with less fortunate children. Projects like these initiated by the Belgian sisters deeply stitched on my mind the value of giving and sharing. It is a wonderful feeling to be able to give a part of yourself to others, and to be less attached to material things. This is a lesson I still try my best to follow and pass on to my children.
At almost every nook and cranny in Belgium, I saw reminders of God. Churches, crosses, and little altars of Catholic devotion stirred my consciousness. Then again, I remembered how the Belgian sisters taught us that there is indeed a God and, yes, He is everywhere… How during my grade school years, I had to wake up so early for High Mass at 6 a.m. in the school chapel – was that every first Friday of the month? That meant the prayers were sung, not just recited, in Latin for one hour! Those days, it seemed like a chore and a bore for young girls. But hearing them now in the quiet halls of my mind, I find peace and serenity at the thought that there once was a time when people were more sacrificing. And found time to pray.
Strange that it took a trip to Belgium to make me relive my grade school years. Those were happy years. Sometime soon, I would like to retrace them. This time at St. Theresa’s College in Quezon City. For seven years, it was the center of my universe. It helped define who I am and what I want to be.
The 2007 reunion is hosted by the STCQC silver jubilarians headed by Korina Sanchez.