Photo Taken By This Writer Going To Phang-nga, Thailand Inside A BusWith Its Cross Culture And Interfaith Beliefs.

WHERE ART THOU MY EYEBROWS OR HOW I REDISCOVERED GOD THROUGH POMELO
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Once upon a time, I had seen pythons and a dead person upclose but it did not jar me to take up knives and become an angry woman. In fact, these sights made me closer to spirituality and my avowal to peace as the better alternative to change things.

I had attended a service here in Yala, Thailand with hopes of dusting the feathers off my winged self. I had always been tolerant of other people's faiths, having with me Baptists as friends when I was young. I would invite them to attend my Misa de Gallo; I am in return invited to join their Daily Bible School camping gatherings. In fact, a Catholic (me) bagged the first prize in a biblical contest and I was not begrudged for my different mode of worship.

Hence, it was a breather that I found my location, off-kiltered as I was in a junction of Sunday gatherers, yesterday morning, while the sun is crisp and shining brightly. I got lost in a temple but was talked to by a kindly, Thai woman where I am heading. I said, I am looking for a place of worship. She replied that she could take me there. I hopped in her motorcycle and was driven to the original destination.

The place is called Yala's Fellowship Assembly Hall. It sounds like a municipal office cum church. Everything here reminds me of my quiant town, down to the people I have flashes of memory from the past. The worship starts at 9:00 a.m. as advised by a cook who was selling siomais, siopaos and teas to his early breakfast eaters adjacent to the church.  I had an egg sandwich beforehand and vowed to buy the Chinese cuisine smorgasbord after the worship which, again, I was advised to wrap up at around 12 high noon.

There was a makeshift table in front of the church where people take their morning meals. I was offered siomais (in a large tin plate) tea and rice by a trio of Vietnamese-looking people. I had declined for I was still full. They kept on giving me tea cups, plates and assorted food as if I were part of the diners. I had thought of them very kindly. I had a memorable conversation with them about food and places. They came from Chang-mai.

The assembly hall was formally opened by a familiar face.

I did not feel left out upon seeing this guy who looks like a corn kid of the Stephen King novel who had opened the gate for my entrance. He talked in proper English, the kind which reminds me of grammar books. He drove a pick-up and asked me if I came from the Philippines. I think I am wearing an invisible map of my country on my forehead since they always predict my correct country of citizenship. The hall is painted in lavender, with sturdy chairs and bulletin boards for church services and donations. It has toys and tables for children. I talked to Ne-pha, the early bird, who drove in his dainty motorcycle. She has a dandy Espana native, embroidered bag and  a cute fish denim cover for her bible. She wore great shoes too. I praised her for all the wonderful things that she owns. She mopped the hall and cleaned the area squeakily.

I offered to help but she told me to sit down. I was told, as a changed schedule, that the service starts at 10:00 a.m. I patiently waited, pulling out my ballpen and sheet of paper to gather my thoughts about Ang Lee and his picturesque films of the Orient in blooming colors.

The church goers looked like Thai/Japanese/Chinese Orientals. I reminded Ne-pha that the people who had arrived slowly (with ready smiles and polite gestures of Sawadeeka) came from these different ancestries. I asked for the pastor's name. She said, everyone can actively participate in the fellowship with no resident evangelist.

Everyone here is a pastor, a priest, a reverend.

The old Chinese presider opened the service with songs I could not understand but could dissect. This is my revelation: I may not know the language but I nonetheless share their means of communication. I understood them like they understood me.

They have bibles and veils (like the Catholics) although they likewise vary. A beautiful woman who sat beside me wore a yentil-like cup coaster, a cap in crochet. She placed it on top of her head. She looked Jewish. The other woman who can quote the bible well, in great modulation, was wearing a black, crocheted hair band reminiscent of Maria from The Sound Of Music. She looked like a Vietnamese. There was a very tall guy on a wheelchair who was shuddering and looked extremely pious. He reminds me so much of lanky trees weeping orchids out from their barks.

This is a Catholic/Baptist/Yentil/Buddhist/Taoist service and I like its democratic engagement of God's words.

People started to trickle in this fellowship of beings. I have met Su-ne, Kiet-Kong, Mon, Pai-linne, Somphul, Kawin and Paih-Buhn. These are the worshippers who had discussed the Roman passages (Romans 13-14 are tablets of good behavior and it is worth the discussion) in debate form.

They are like homilies in capsules, discussing good and evil, of corruption and authority, of doing a neighbor a good deed and to put a cliche to this, of "all things bright and beautiful, all creatures, great and small."

Kiet Kong had a lively parry of words with Kawin. Both quoted God and Confucius. They looked like they had been taken away from their material wealth but are nonetheless inviting those who had made them such in glorified redemption. The play is on moral conscience and they are all articulate and had good points each going for them. Thou shall not steal, thou shall not speak ill against thy neighbor, do a good deed. These people had discussed them like Jesus Christ would.

The flock, similar to Born Again Christian gatherings, mutter the words "Amen, Amen" repeatedly. It sounds "Yeah, man" and "Yemen" at times.

Only people who had truly shared viands together can mount a great debate on this end. They even have different bibles and hymnal pamphlets.

The service truly ended at 12 high noon. I was advised to stay for lunch. We had spicy food. The presider told me that it  is Vietnamese but the beautiful woman told me it is authentic Thai. Curry soup with noodles. They enjoyed the fare with splices of parades and town activity talks. I got myself fruits (their unripe mangoes are the best I have tasted thus far), eggs and a portion of the curry.

I congratulated everyone who had declaimed their great, biblical speeches and those who had interpolated on the actions of men. They had articulated that we must not, at all times, manipulate those who are weaker than us since strength, power and prestige are short-lived.

I had concluded after this service that these men are just like my portly priest back in the Philippines who officiates mass inside the Robinson's mall during Sundays.

Those who had sinned must have cried rivers over this realization as these eloquent speakers had spoken truly and succinctly well.

And yes, while their English is not "strong", as Kiet Kong (he said he could never be forgotten as it has syllables similar to King Kong) had parlayed, we all understood the language of our innate humanity as spoken from God's words.