HONESTLY, I don’t believe in
lucky charms, amulets or superstitions hinged on luck. But right now I got a
pair of “lucky charms” tucked in my wallet.
They were two miniature figures of animals made of paper. They were origamis of a fish and a bird in green art paper made personally by my son Nathaniel as simple present for my birthday last September. He gave them to me with a note bearing this message: According to Japanese tradition, an origami heron/bird means long life while the other (fish) means money/wealth. Put the fish in your wallet always.
Just like what he wanted me to do, I thrust them in my wallet, and stayed there ever since, not so much for good luck, but rather for their sentimental value, like any special gift from some special person.
But I don’t capitalize on his heart-tugging wish for my long life and wealth, but for what he felt or thought about me after his mother’s death. There’s no question that he has insight into my big lost, or perhaps sees me now as running out of luck. To him, I’m Superman just downed by a kryptonite, or Samson who lost his seven locks, or a Jedi who lost the Force within him now suffering series of setbacks. I need help so badly, I must hang on, no matter what, and to overcome everything from mighty odds to terrible misfortune and even mind-boggling tragedy, and become my son’s hero again.
That would take a lot of heroic guts, of course. And my son is more than willing to help with his good luck gift.
Before the tragedy, some people were emphatic about the luck our family had then, that is, for being happy and complete. I remember them saying that we are so blessed. They say I am lucky (or blessed, as some people use to mean the same as lucky) for having a regular job, a pretty wife and three bright kids. They say we are lucky with the house we are living in right now, a fact attested by a friend of my in-laws in Malate, who is believed to have a third eye or gifted with an unusual skill on magic spell, when she visited our house. The plump and mysterious woman told me that there were no bad spirits or elementals residing with us in the house, but what we only got was a harmless gang of white duwendes (elves) occupying some corner in the front yard.
A former yaya of my daughter would attribute these elves for the luck that brought about the quick recovery in our finances from the loss we suffered after we were swindled by our real estate agents, and why, after our pricey mistakes, we got our own house from a clean title. It might not be true, but who am I to disagree to another person's belief?
In fact, my late wife grew up in a family believing all those luck and, like most Filipino families including ours in Ilocos, theirs was practically prone to idiosyncratic superstitions. I don’t have any problem with superstitions, as long as they would do my family no harm. So when my family transferred to our new abode in Bulacan almost ten years ago, I allowed myself to be involved in those little rituals associated with such occasion. I brought in a jar of salt, a bottle of water first, and a cup of rice, before we entered some of our things. And going back farther to the past, during my wedding, my wife and I did almost everything or followed superstitions for good luck which our elders said that were connected to the conduct of the wedding, other than those required of the traditional rite in the Catholic church. Otherwise, they warned me, some bad things would befall the marriage.
But somehow, deep inside, I also joined other people who desperately need to believe in luck. I have this clandestine hope that something good may happen to our marriage and the whole family with every luck that I could get.
My wife even had these “charms” she kept during the last few years of her life: a medallion, a rose petal from a blessed shrine, a tissue with a blood of a saint, stampita, a prayer booklet with a piece of a cloth from an image of the Nazarene, and a cultic symbol of an eye inside a triangle. She might have kept them for their charms, or the miracles they promised evoke or for sentimental reasons. But she died just the same.
Part of the many questions of my grieving mind that I desperately looked for answers upon her death, is why these lucky charms, or such incantations of miracles, didn’t help her at all. Now that my wife’s gone after almost 15 years of marriage, and our family no longer complete, does it mean that our luck had expired or we are not lucky after all, in spite of the rituals, charms and those thingamajigs involved in evoking luck? Is it our bad luck that we have to suffer this way?
My mother, just days before my wife’s death told me that a man in our place in Ilocos with an otherwordly power against witchcraft whom she solicited for an unusual opinion, told her that there were two women—both from the Visayas—who were very envious of my wife, who went to a mangkukulam (witch) to harm my wife fatally. I knew a couple—both Bisaya—who were envious of my wife for some reason only the couple or my wife knew. But I am not the kind of person who can easily believe this kind of implausible report, even if it comes from my mother.
Putting witchery or magic into the picture is beside the point. I am referring to the malas—the “negativity” that had befallen us. But I still can’t get my head wrapped around the idea that our fate was really preordained, and we could just wait when and how it would happen, just like how the Greek tragedians portray a man, as a helpless creature borne along by destiny, so he had no right to whine or pity himself, or complain about indeterminable events caused by a combination of unpredictable forces.
My wife’s devotion to Mother Mary and lately to Divine Mercy is unquestionable. She was a very prayerful person, especially during the last stages of her illness. I could feel her resolve to live a little longer for us, that she must hold on to her faith for the last time, but somehow, God must have known what is best for her.
I am not as religious as my wife, but I always believe in a Supreme Being, and luck had nothing to do with what He did for us.
They were two miniature figures of animals made of paper. They were origamis of a fish and a bird in green art paper made personally by my son Nathaniel as simple present for my birthday last September. He gave them to me with a note bearing this message: According to Japanese tradition, an origami heron/bird means long life while the other (fish) means money/wealth. Put the fish in your wallet always.
Just like what he wanted me to do, I thrust them in my wallet, and stayed there ever since, not so much for good luck, but rather for their sentimental value, like any special gift from some special person.
But I don’t capitalize on his heart-tugging wish for my long life and wealth, but for what he felt or thought about me after his mother’s death. There’s no question that he has insight into my big lost, or perhaps sees me now as running out of luck. To him, I’m Superman just downed by a kryptonite, or Samson who lost his seven locks, or a Jedi who lost the Force within him now suffering series of setbacks. I need help so badly, I must hang on, no matter what, and to overcome everything from mighty odds to terrible misfortune and even mind-boggling tragedy, and become my son’s hero again.
That would take a lot of heroic guts, of course. And my son is more than willing to help with his good luck gift.
Before the tragedy, some people were emphatic about the luck our family had then, that is, for being happy and complete. I remember them saying that we are so blessed. They say I am lucky (or blessed, as some people use to mean the same as lucky) for having a regular job, a pretty wife and three bright kids. They say we are lucky with the house we are living in right now, a fact attested by a friend of my in-laws in Malate, who is believed to have a third eye or gifted with an unusual skill on magic spell, when she visited our house. The plump and mysterious woman told me that there were no bad spirits or elementals residing with us in the house, but what we only got was a harmless gang of white duwendes (elves) occupying some corner in the front yard.
A former yaya of my daughter would attribute these elves for the luck that brought about the quick recovery in our finances from the loss we suffered after we were swindled by our real estate agents, and why, after our pricey mistakes, we got our own house from a clean title. It might not be true, but who am I to disagree to another person's belief?
In fact, my late wife grew up in a family believing all those luck and, like most Filipino families including ours in Ilocos, theirs was practically prone to idiosyncratic superstitions. I don’t have any problem with superstitions, as long as they would do my family no harm. So when my family transferred to our new abode in Bulacan almost ten years ago, I allowed myself to be involved in those little rituals associated with such occasion. I brought in a jar of salt, a bottle of water first, and a cup of rice, before we entered some of our things. And going back farther to the past, during my wedding, my wife and I did almost everything or followed superstitions for good luck which our elders said that were connected to the conduct of the wedding, other than those required of the traditional rite in the Catholic church. Otherwise, they warned me, some bad things would befall the marriage.
But somehow, deep inside, I also joined other people who desperately need to believe in luck. I have this clandestine hope that something good may happen to our marriage and the whole family with every luck that I could get.
My wife even had these “charms” she kept during the last few years of her life: a medallion, a rose petal from a blessed shrine, a tissue with a blood of a saint, stampita, a prayer booklet with a piece of a cloth from an image of the Nazarene, and a cultic symbol of an eye inside a triangle. She might have kept them for their charms, or the miracles they promised evoke or for sentimental reasons. But she died just the same.
Part of the many questions of my grieving mind that I desperately looked for answers upon her death, is why these lucky charms, or such incantations of miracles, didn’t help her at all. Now that my wife’s gone after almost 15 years of marriage, and our family no longer complete, does it mean that our luck had expired or we are not lucky after all, in spite of the rituals, charms and those thingamajigs involved in evoking luck? Is it our bad luck that we have to suffer this way?
My mother, just days before my wife’s death told me that a man in our place in Ilocos with an otherwordly power against witchcraft whom she solicited for an unusual opinion, told her that there were two women—both from the Visayas—who were very envious of my wife, who went to a mangkukulam (witch) to harm my wife fatally. I knew a couple—both Bisaya—who were envious of my wife for some reason only the couple or my wife knew. But I am not the kind of person who can easily believe this kind of implausible report, even if it comes from my mother.
Putting witchery or magic into the picture is beside the point. I am referring to the malas—the “negativity” that had befallen us. But I still can’t get my head wrapped around the idea that our fate was really preordained, and we could just wait when and how it would happen, just like how the Greek tragedians portray a man, as a helpless creature borne along by destiny, so he had no right to whine or pity himself, or complain about indeterminable events caused by a combination of unpredictable forces.
My wife’s devotion to Mother Mary and lately to Divine Mercy is unquestionable. She was a very prayerful person, especially during the last stages of her illness. I could feel her resolve to live a little longer for us, that she must hold on to her faith for the last time, but somehow, God must have known what is best for her.
I am not as religious as my wife, but I always believe in a Supreme Being, and luck had nothing to do with what He did for us.
Now whenever I look at the
origamis in my wallet, they remind of the thoughtfulness of my son, and my
commitment to be with my three children during their own inexplicable grief,
rather than the luck these paper charms may bring. I believe that it’s only
through prayers that I will be able to get a remarkable confluence of elements
all working together for our family. What is important is not the tragedy
itself, but how I must respond to it. Hence, with or without any lucky charm, I must
look for a way to make things better in my family.
Just wish me luck, if you may!
Just wish me luck, if you may!
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