*Note this story is in Tagalog

Isa itong magandang lugar para manalangin. Ang mga salita ng kaniyang mga magulang ay umalingawngaw sa puso ni Alfonso.

Sa unang pagkakataon na sinabi ng kaniyang mga magulang na sila ay pupunta ng La Union, naisip na ni Alfonso ang mga itatanong niya sa surfing instructor.

Ngunit hindi niya inaasahan ang mga batong walang laman sa isang lumang simbahan.

Sa paglipas ng mga taon, sila ay nagbigay ng isang uri ng kaginhawaan.

Anuman ang mangyari sa kaniyang buhay, nandoon lamang ang mg bato. Nandoon sana siya.

Naalala ni Alfonso ang unang beses nang makita niya ang pari.

Nakita niya ito sa gilid ng kaniyang mga mata. Ginagalugad niya noon ang mga guho at tinitingnan kung sino pa ang ibang naroroon.

Nagtawag siya ng isang kaibigan at nakakita siya ng isang multo.

Tumatangis, tumakbo siya papunta sa kaniyang mga magulang at sinabi sa kanila ang kaniyang nakita.

Pareho ang kanilang naging sagot — “Ipanalangin mo siya.”

Alas-otso na ng gabi, tatlong oras buhat nang dumating si Alfonso sa simbahan. Muli siyang nanigarilyo at inalala ang nakaraan.

Tinangka niyang alamin lahat ng tungkol sa pari, ang mga alamat patungkol sa pugot na ulo, ngunit wala siyang napala.

Walang nakaaalam kung paano siya napugutan ng ulo. “Pero mahalaga pa ba ito?” naisip niya.

Sumagi ang isa na namang repleksyon sa isip niya. “Ang salitang ‘nawala’ ay nangangahulugang alam mo kung saan ka papunta, hindi mo lang alam paano makarating doon.” Hindi siya makahanap ng iba pang salitang makapagpapaliwanag ng sitwasyon niya.

Hindi siya nagkaroon ng anumang layunin na maaari niyang habulinl

Alas-nuebe na at sa wakas nagpakita na rin ang pari, nag-iikot-ikot sa mga pinagpalang bato.

At sinimulan na ni Alfonso:

Ama namin sa langit

Sa Iyo namin matatagpuan ang kaligtasan

Ang mga kaluluwa ay gumagala

At itinatangis ko sa Iyo

Para sa mga nawawalan ng pag-asa

Para sa mga nawawalan ng pag-ibig

Ikaw nawa ang maging lahat ng bagay

Sa lahat ng tao

Upang mailigtas Mo sila

Itaas mo ang Iyong mga kamay

Palayain mo ang aming mga kaluluwa

Pakawalan mo kami sa aming mga tanikala

Linisin mo kami mula sa aming mga nakaraan

Gamutin mo ang aming mga sugat

Upang kami ay umasa sa hinaharap

Ito ay nangyayari lamang sa pamamagitan ng Iyong biyaya

Sa pangalan Mo

Na nagliligtas sa amin

Amen

Inulit-ulit ito ni Alfonso nang walang tigil hanggang sa tumulo ang kaniyang mga luha sa mga bato/

Alam niya na naroon pa rin ang pari sa susunod.

Alam niya na hindi ito patatawarin.

Ngunit naniniwala siya sa kapangyarihan ng panalangin.

Mula sa isang ligaw na kaluluwa papunta sa isa pa.

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English Version

It’s a good place to pray. His parent’s words rang hollow in Alfonso’s heart.

The first time his parents said they were going to La Union Alfonso had already thought of the questions he would ask the surfing instructor.

He didn’t expect the empty stones of an old church.

Through the years they became a sort of comfort. No matter what happened in his life, the stones would be there. He would be there.

Alfonso remembers the first time he saw the priest.

It was out the corner of his eye. He was exploring the ruins and wanted to know who else was there.

He called out for a friend and he found a phantasm.

Tears in his eyes, he ran to his parents and told them what he saw.

Their answer was always the same – ‘Pray for him’

It is 8PM, 3 hours since Alfonso arrived at the church. He takes another drag on his cigarette and remembers better times.

He tried to find out everything about the priest, of course, digging through urban legends about the headless specter and finding nothing of note.

No one knows why he lost his head. ‘But does it matter?’ he thought.

Another drag, another reflection. ‘The word ‘lost’ implies that you know your destination and you just don’t know how to get there.’ He couldn’t find another word to explain his situation.

He never had a goal he could chase.

9PM and the priest finally shows up, making his rounds through the once-blessed stones.

And Alfonso begins:

Heavenly Father

In You we find salvation

Souls wander

And I cry to you

For those that are hopeless

To those that do not know love

You become all things

To all people

That you may save them

Lift Your hands

Set our souls free

Undo our chains

Cleanse us of the past

Heal our scars

That we may look forward

It happens only through your grace

In your name

Who saves us

Amen

He repeats this without pause and Alfonso’s tears fall on the stones below.

He knows that the priest will still be there the next time.

He knows that he won’t be forgiven.

But he trusts in the power of prayer.

From one lost soul to another.

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*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Translation by Gabriela Baron
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Translation Copyright © Gabriela Baron

Inspired by The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins urban legends

The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins Illustration by Kring Demetrio
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The post The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

I wish to go where we shall meet,
Together, in a silent retreat
Alone is where my heart resides
To see you is my last desire
And in my heart burns a slow fire
All I want is to hold your hand
Or feel again that soft sand
From the beach where we first met
And watched the sun set
You are gone and I must believe
That in some strange, forgotten present
I would not have to live with this lament

The candle’s scent is your last breath

My mind is trapped with days gone by
Filled with frozen fireflies
Now my mind is torn with doubt
I sit here and contemplate
While silently cursing fate
I think back to better times
They come to me like ringing chimes
And all the feelings that I hold
Now just leave me cold
What once was flickers and passes

The candle’s scent is your last breath

There will be time to wonder
“What might have been?”
Time to look back and spin
Around the unsaid sins
I will say “I know I tried”
“But you still died”
“And had I lied..”
Nothing would have changed
So I sit and think about
The fireflies that we caught
And how I can live without

You were kind
You were patient

But the night is nearing its end
And I will take my heart to mend
I can feel you in the wind
So let your spirit stay free
You are no longer bound to me
We both let loose our chains
And free our imaginary pain
And it was worth it after all
To raise my head up tall
And sing about the life lived
That in some true, remembered past
I was with you, at long last

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Poem inspired by the Karkarma myths from Ilocos

Karkarma Illustration by Marc Samuel Magpantay

The post Karkarma appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

There was once a hunter who made a terrible mistake. He searched for his quarry in the shadow of Mount Daeogdog, where the gods of his people lived. The most powerful of all the gods was Gamhanan, and he had a special pet. This favored creature of the great god was called the Panigotlo, a pristine, white deer with full antlers. One spear was all it took to silence the majestic sound of this enchanted creature.

There was once a village that had no choice. A full moon and the bleating of the Panigotlo signaled an abundant day for planting the next morning. The festivities and merriment suddenly stopped when they saw a figure approaching across the river. The hunter, Dagasanan, had on his shoulders the carcass of Gamhanan’s pet. They all knew that they could not abide by this sacrilege of the great god. The villagers took their spears and swords and slew Dagasanan by the river and his father in their home.

There was once a spirit that thirsted for vengeance. On the spot where Dagasanan was killed, an inyam tree grew. The hunter’s ghost would not know rest. The tree cast a shadow and on that spot his hunger for revenge would be sated. One child of the village would pay for what their ancestors had done. A child every year until the villagers would know the pain that he felt when his friends betrayed him.

There was once a boy who didn’t believe in ghost stories. His friends dared him to swim by the inyam tree and all he did was laugh. The boy called his friends cowards for believing in the stories that their lolos and lolas told them. He knew he was different and the bravest of their group, so he took the challenge and jumped in the water.

There is still a part of a river in Aklan named after the hunter, Dagasanan and an inyam tree that people avoid. They say that the loud noises that come from the rocks are his spirit crying in pain, looking for his next victim.

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story Adapted from ‘Legend of Aklan’ in Philippine Folk Literature: The Legends. Eugenio. 2002.

Dagasanan Illustration and Watercolor by Robert Rañosa Del Prado

The post Dagasanan appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

About 70 years have passed since those days, probably more, but who’s counting? I’m just an old man who only has his memories to keep him warm. I drink to remember, I also drink to forget.

My grandchildren are in the next room, along with my great-grandchildren. I silently thank the Lord for my good grace. I remember the nights in the POW camp, stuffed in boxcars without any way to see the outside world. The Japanese would kick as many of us in each car as they could. I remember the men I fought with, good men. They were broken by disease and hunger. I don’t know how I got out of there alive. It took more than any sort of physical strength that I could ever bear. But looking into the eyes of my children and their children and their children’s children, I know what I was fighting for was worth all the suffering I could ever endure. I would do it again one million times over.

Isa sits next to me and asks me for another story. Among all my great-grandchildren I think she’s the smartest. She always has her head stuck in a book and she really likes hearing my stories, especially from the war. Today, I’m going to tell her something different.

I sometimes go back to Lingayen. I like to stand by the gulf and remember the friends that fought with me, the friends I had lost. It’s quiet now, but I can still hear the lingering echoes of the kamikaze aircraft flying into the ships. Last year I wasn’t alone. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I could recognize what it was from a mile away.

No one had time for burials then. We were resourceful and had to use what we could. That usually meant covering the bodies in mats and leaving them where we found them while we avoided machine gun fire.

We stared at each other for a long time. I don’t know if it was someone I knew, someone I bled with or someone I made bleed. It didn’t say a word, it didn’t even move. It just stood there, blocking my way. I took out the knife that was a gift from the marine I met after the war. I never thought I would have to use it.

I stabbed the ghost where it stood, its legs disappeared and the mat unfurled, releasing a horrible stench. To some people that putrid odor would be disgusting, but with all I’ve been through, I know that sometimes horrible smells can lead you to freedom.

Isa frowns, I don’t think she believes my words. She asks for another one about the kamikazes and the ships and I surrender. There’s no arguing with a young child looking for a story.

It has been around 70 years since those days, but the ghosts and echoes still linger.

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the Pasatsat legends from Pangasinan.

Pasatsat Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
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Watercolor by Isabel Leonio and Mykie Concepcion
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The post Pasatsat appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

To my lovely daughter,

I don’t know where you are right now. I wish I did. I wish I could see you one last time. I don’t know if I can put into words how much I miss you.

You looked so beautiful in that dress. I remember you picked it out yourself. You were so proud. You styled your long, black hair so wonderfully and your smile lit up the entire room. I still remember your smile. It was your first grown-up party, and you tried so hard to act like an adult. I just wished you didn’t grow up so fast.

You were a beautiful young woman, but all I could see was my baby girl. The girl that played with her beanie babies for four hours a day, the little girl that refused to eat her vegetables until we sang her a song. My baby girl.

You spent so much time getting ready that you didn’t notice you were late for the party. You were panicking so much that your daddy and I couldn’t help but laugh. You thought your whole world was going to end.

I’m sorry. I should have been there. I should have been there when that boy broke your heart. When you were so heartbroken you ran across the street without even looking. I will never forgive myself for what happened to you.

I was your mother. I was supposed to be the one who protected you from the world. I should have saved you.

I miss you so much. I cry every day because living without you is so empty. I want to hold you in my arms and never let you go. This world doesn’t mean anything if I can’t have you with me.

I will see you again.

Please wait for me.

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the White Lady legends

White Lady Illustration and Watercolor by Yanna Gemora
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