It was the early 70's, we were at Mass one Sunday evening,
when the priest announced, "All of you, please go home, a curfew is taking place. "
It was taking place within hours.
We all headed home, worrying about my father who had yet to come home.
Finally, all of us were home and accounted for.
This was during the time of active communist activities.
While it must have been a scary time for the adults.
We did not mind it since it meant we did not have to go to school.
It was however very eerie to be woken up at the early hours of morning by a loudspeaker announcing, extending the time of the curfew.
It was a government vehicle with loudspeaker mounted.
Being a rather large family, existing on my father's salary alone,
it meant we did not have much food on stock.
Mother tried to buy some vegetables from our neighbor,
her old friend, who had an extensive vegetable garden.
She did not have any to sell us and gave us a bundle of Chinese Chives instead.
Our next door neighbor, seeing our plight, gave us a tray of eggs.
We survived on that and salted fish.
We happened to have some salted fish at hand.
Steamed, the meat is tender, flaky and very salty.
It was oooh so good, eating it with plain white rice.
We remember it to this day.
However, the same salted fish has never tasted that good.
After a few days, the men had enough, their families needed food.
We learned they were breaking curfew to get some food.
I joined them and cycled to a store with its door slightly open to serve us.
I was the lone young girl amongst grown men, braving the curfew.
It took almost a year for the curfew to be reduced to night time.
In my zeal to succeed one day as a nun, I started cycling to Mass early in the morning.
My father worried about me, a young girl cycling alone in the dark to Church.
A few times, I was unnerved to find, it was still curfew when I cycled out.
Curfew was lifted at six but only in the town area.
I often headed out at five thirty.
It was a bit unnerving cycling out alone in the dark.
But being kind of an extremist, always driving things to the extreme,
I could not stop myself from wanting to leave the house early in the morning.
My problem was more, reciting rosaries at the shrine of the Our Lady.
Dark and alone, every shadow was a threat.
Not of people but of the devil and ghosts.
I prayed in sheer fear of both, watching every shadow that moved.
Yet even that was not able to stop me from leaving that early in the morning.
I had decided to prevail as a nun by all means.
Ma told me, the nuns pray non stop, they even get up at night to pray.
I started doing the same, kneeling up to pray whenever I woke up at night.
It frightened my sister so much, my dark form swaying from drowsiness,
she told my mother who put a stop to it.
I started praying three rosaries a day and never missed it.
One rosary comprises around 66 prayers.
Later, at the monastery, my heart ached, recalling evenings
when my mother wanted to chat and I was busy reciting the rosary.
God I have always with me, while my days at home were numbered.
And once I leave, I would never be able to go back home again.
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