A Manila traffic enforcer flagged me down as I ran the yellow light, thinking I could make it.

I begged him not to take my license because my daughter is waiting for me at the hospital in the province. I told him I just came from PGH and I would be transfering her there…they are admitting her for cancer…

And I broke down.

I was there on Taft Ave with the hazard lights on for 30 mins or so. I wailed inside my car. I cried all my anguish and grief. All the pain. All the fears. I screamed and begged God to heal her. I cried out loud, let out the pent-up emotions I guarded tightly. For 11 days I kept it all inside; I couldn’t cry. I hid all my fears and grief because I needed to be strong for my daughter who is in so much pain.

I don’t want her to be scared and worried.

I wailed to God, to spare my daughter, to not take her away from me now. Not yet. Not yet.

My Catholic upbringing took over as I bawled so loud, asked God for forgiveness for all the wrong I’ve done. The Catholic guilt—the general idea that no sin goes unpunished and that what’s happening to my daughter is a punishment for all my transgressions.

I know it is not really like that but I couldn’t help feeling that way, in that moment of immense weakness. It finally surfaced, that guilt that was inculcated in me by my very Catholic parents and by the nuns in Sunday school—through years and years of drilling that maxim into me. That God is a fire and brimstone God, someone to be feared and so, so far away from me. Because I am a sinner. He is so far that I needed the intercession of a million saints and that I needed to pray to them so that they in turn will pray for me so that God may hear a sinner like me. Like I needed to say 50 Hail Marys so that God will get irritated with my repetitive prayers and finally hear me.

A lifetime of guilt trip and fear-mongering (“if you don’t do this you’re going to hell”) does that to you. I’m still unlearning, retooling, rebirthing.

The traffic enforcer knocked on my window again when he saw I was still there, half an hour after he pulled me over. He heard me, saw me, and took pity on me that he bought me water and made me drink it.

With very red-rimmed eyes, I managed to drive back to the hospital tonight. They told me her antibiotics are on Level 5 already and yet she still has fevers. Something else is there.

We’re still waiting for a small private room to be freed up at PGH. I don’t know how long we’ll wait. In the meantime, they asked for a 3D rendering of the ct scan so that the PGH doctors can read it again.