If benches could only speak
AS I SAT hugging my knees facing my laptop pondering about a topic to write for Friday, my thoughts wandered and seamlessly proceeded to the bench that I gleefully sat on in the huge grounds of the Maribojoc church.
I couldn’t seem to forget it. I believe these benches weren’t the old ones as the church and its grounds were totally damaged except for a statue during the infamous earthquake of 2013. But still they haunt me like they belonged to a glorious past when lovers bid their final goodbyes before succumbing to the grief and pathos of a broken heart. I just can’t help it! I’m a sucker for broken hearts.
Like centuries-old trees including living Acacias that have withstood the mercilessness of business companies and environment- abhorrent government leadership, benches, plazas, including churches, clearly witnessed — and continue to do so — the progression of romance between two individuals until its quiet dissolution at any given time. If only benches could speak.
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This article is not meant to be a Valentine story, otherwise it would be so unromantic and morbid, but I’m not thinking Valentine either. It is simply a story that has resonated with me for as long as I have begun writing.
Benches made of concrete, looking plain, unnoticeable until your legs and feet hurt, are just put there — by a thoughtful individual or an artist — to serve a purpose. Like I mentioned, when we visited Paoay church, I saw no benches in the fringes of the church building.
But benches are often useful by late afternoon until nighttime when town folks decide to do a leisurely walk, enjoy a huge space sans obstruction, be mesmerized by the stars, or watch the fullness of the moon.
Lovers sit on benches to express their silly promises — the bane of young love; the supposed faithfulness of mature love — ending in separation; the consistency of old love — which I have seen flourished among the elderly; and the in-between. The inbetweens are those that don’t belong to the three categories who find their love stories and romances, meaning marriages, strengthened through the passage of time. I must make a distinction otherwise I would offend many living souls.
At first, my fascination was with windows. Then staircases, followed by doors. But through it all, it’s only the subject of benches that I attempted to write an article in the past.
Maybe it’s my old sentimental soul because benches are usually found in plazas and church grounds in Bohol, and these places and structures belong to a different era when love was forbidden because of economic status and the cultural practice of the time.
When I look at benches in plazas and church grounds, I imagine in my head the forbidden love of a rich lass and a poor lad — the daughter of the haciendero and the son of the jardinero, the clandestine romances of friars — I wonder how the women respond to the indignation of the townsfolk because this was the period when bastardo y bastarda came into existence in our consciousness.
Some people belonging to the older generation couldn’t come to terms with their being an illegitimate child. Such was the stigma of the word then.
I even wonder about the bones in the unmarked graves outside the church walls of Maribojoc. Did they include the bones of special women whose lives inspired the lonely Spanish friars at the time? You must remember that these friars came from another country, another continent, whose native language was totally dissimilar from the natives, who were educated, but looked completely different, that even if they were acknowledged to be the leaders of the parish, they still stuck out because of their appearance. No amount of blending would camouflage, nor change how they look, not even their cloaks. They would still be distinguishable.
I have heard about the romances of our Filipino heroes. They, too, had their share of broken hearts and they had broken many hearts. These are men. They were no different than the friars of old. But where are the stories of Filipinas? Were they always the victims, disowned by their families, and shunned by society?
Ah, but that’s another story to tell.
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