religion always goes hand in hand with social reaction.

It is a system that fights against any social

progress, a system built to oust any deviation from the norm. It is supposed to shame people who
don’t fit in, it’s supposed to keep us down, it’s supposed to call a sin that what is different is
dangerous.

What happens when you mix the gospel of love with the innate need of any organized religion for hierarchy?

My father was an ideological adherent to this mix, popularized by some “progressive” preachers in the church. I
will never forget the example he would be talking about repeatedly: “If your son won’t make his bed in the
morning, be like Jesus — do it in his stead until he realizes your love.” In other words: Shame him. Show him
how little he loves you through this very selfless act that he is too egoistic to reciprocate. Make sure to
invalidate any, even the tiniest, act of rebellion through it. Irreversibly tie the concept of love with shame. Love
equals shame. Shame equals love.

But the unfaithful who only claim to have experienced God’s guidance are not only present outside the church.
They creep in the very heart of the community, spreading heresies that would undermine the truth.

If all the people tell you that you are wrong it simply means that the universe is out there to get you — you, the
one who knows the truth.
I remember the day Jeremy picked papaya blossoms from my garden in our remote town in Itogon, Benguet. It
was early in the morning, and I could not help but notice his actions. He has always been a thoughtful boy, but
this was different. As I watched him, I was curious what he could need those for on Valentine’s Day. I never
expected Jeremy to have a girlfriend, especially with his studies in Philosophy under the tutelage of Jesuit-
educated instructors. A priest, they said, could not marry, and I thought Jeremy would follow that path. But
there he was, gathering those papaya blossoms. My mind wondered who the lucky receiver could be. I had no
idea that it was the start of something I never would have expected.

Four months after that Valentine’s Day, when Jeremy picked those papaya blossoms, his eldest brother got
married. Jeremy brought a woman named Jhoanna, who seemed older than him, to the wedding. My husband
asked her two things: where she was from and what language she spoke. She got both answers wrong. She said
she was from Manila and had just moved to Baguio City, so she could not speak Ilocano yet. She was also
wearing a leopard print spaghetti-strapped dress, showing off the tattoo on her back. I thought she
misunderstood the significance of tattoos in our culture. But these did not matter much to us because, in our
eyes, she was just Jeremy's friend.

Time passed, and the decision of both Jeremy and Jhoanna to marry shocked us. They were so sure, but my
heart was full of worry. They wanted to do it secretly, but they could not because of the law. They expected us
to give our consent and agree to their rushed marriage. But how could we? We wanted our son to be happy. Our
traditions just do not allow it. I told Jhoanna that we could not give them our permission because Jeremy’s
brother had just gotten married. In the theology of the Cordilleras, if siblings marry within the same year, one
of the marriages will fail. The community will blame us if we allow them to marry.

I felt torn when Jhoanna’s mother intervened with a demand letter urging us to consider if our child were in
Jhoanna’s shoes. Sure, I wanted what was best for them, but I just could not help but worry.

Despite our hesitations, the wedding pushed through. Love must have blinded Jhoanna. And she had to oversee
everything herself since we insisted on keeping it quiet and did not offer any help, considering we had just
spent all our money on Jeremy's brother's wedding.

The wedding ceremony turned out to be a series of troubles. First, Jhoanna could not get my name right; she
told the court clerk it was Constancia instead of Conchita, which made me correct her. Then, there was
confusion about Jeremy's father's name too – it is Johnny, but the judge refused to believe it. These were just
some of the problems encountered during the wedding.

As we ended up signing their marriage certificate, I could not help but wonder what kind of future lay ahead for
them, going against our wishes like that. I know this was not anyone's ideal kind of marriage. I hoped
everything would turn out okay for them, but I guess only time will tell.

We could not just let them live together right away after getting married. Our community’s expectations
weighed heavily on us, forcing us to keep their marriage a secret. Jhoanna continued to live alone in her
apartment while pregnant. I knew it must have been difficult for her. But we could not risk bringing shame
upon our family or inviting gossip within our little neighborhood. Jeremy stayed with her on weekends, but it
was different from being together full-time. I wished that we could change things and make it easier for them.
However, we were bound by our culture, which guides our actions. And so, we continued to uphold our
traditions, even if it meant sacrificing their happiness for a while. We thought that this was the right thing to do
for our family and our community.