This is the last time I’ll be able to interact with other people. I’m writing this letter to resign from my consciousness; this letter will be the final proof that I genuinely existed. I used to cry for help, but it felt like every fiber of sanity God had given me was slowly being taken away the more I fought for my freedom. I finally lost hope that I could get out of this situation and could even say that God had already abandoned me.
I joined a cult called Pobre Alegria, which aims to create the ideal family of individuals. I saw one of their pamphlets by my door; maybe they knew I was struggling financially. I couldn’t land a job, and perhaps they are exploiting my struggles for them to have followers. The pamphlets say that joining is effortless, and the followers have a monthly allowance. I knew I was an easy target for them, but it was easy to ditch a cult if things got very ugly for me.
The pamphlet instructed me to go to a specific place at the pueblo on a particular date, nine in the morning. The brochure said that a service van would arrive to bring us to the venue of the congregation. I was a few minutes late, but the van awaited the aspiring members. I knew it was the service given that there was this cursive writing written on the door which spells Pobre Alegria.
For some reason, I felt tired inside the van. Was it the air freshener the van is using or my motion sickness at work? I asked myself. I fell asleep in the middle of the journey and woke up through the sudden breaks indicating the trip was over. The driver, Tito Paeng, said that following the forest pathway would lead me to the communal grounds. I said thanks to him, and the van ran at full speed, going west. I still needed to learn where this was, but I knew that this was the city outskirts due to the expansive farms on the other side of the road. The sun is at its peak, making me think it’s still noon, so I started my journey toward where the cult resides.
The forest path extended deeper inside the forest in a straight manner. Trees bend their branches as if creating a canopy to cover the pathway. I’m unsure if this was natural or the cultists were working on this, but I kept walking in the shade.
A few minutes later, a boy in his teens, about 15 or 16, is seen running from a distance. He wore a white shirt and pajamas as if he were a kid trying to attend a holy pajama party. He was smiling towards me, a smile that can be achieved if you have elastic cheekbones. The smile was a little weird, especially when he started running in my direction. Aside from not comprehending how he could smile and run simultaneously, I was ready to defend myself once the kid turned out to be a robber in the woods or anything like that.
He stopped on his track when he reached one foot in front of me. The teenager opened his mouth and muttered sentences that took me a long time to understand. I realized he was talking in the local dialect, which was different from my forte.
Do you understand Chavacano? the kid’s raspy voice sounded like a TV with no reception trying to make words.
I do understand a little. My voice went faint due to the bizarreness I was experiencing, considering I was still outside the cult grounds.
The boy smiled, flexing his dimples and straining his cheek muscles. He started walking further into the forest path and decided to follow him. We began our steps in the same direction.
Are you one of Pobre Alegria?, I asked him, trying to break the ice between us.
Yes. Peter answered, not looking in my direction.
I accepted that the kid had already butchered the conversation. I just appreciated the beauty of nature while I walked the forest path. A few minutes later, we finally reached the end of the natural canopy, though the forest path continued. A wooden bungalow can be seen a few meters from the branch ceiling.
A senior citizen was watering some plants on the first bungalow. She wore a white duster, giving us a look that you would see how cavemen discovered fire. Her teeth-less mouth opened, creating a smile, locking her eyes towards mine with dilated eyes. It’s as if a mask of an old lady is currently wearing a duster.
Aling Teresita. The TV kid said. I am Peter. Peter muttered, not even glancing in Aling Teresita’s direction. It is as if he’s trying to tour me at a zoo. Despite the boy’s cold treatment, I just nodded and followed his lead.
We passed through more identical bungalows, and we met more cult members. They wore the same white theme but wore clothes that best represented them. A man you would expect to be a dad wore polo shirts, kids wore shirts with kiddie designs, and teenagers wore shirts and pajamas or shorts. There were seven bungalows in total, some of them housed more cult members. Each cult member gave me the classic Pobre Alegria welcome – a smile that strains your cheek muscles and an uncomfortable death stare.
After the seventh bungalow, the forest path finally ended at our destination - we finally arrived at a building that resembled a local barangay hall, except there was no citizen’s charter or Philippine flag outside. The building was a lot larger than the previous houses. Peter and I entered the building. There were several rooms could be found before the staircase. There were wood planks labeled with pilot pens that said Founder’s Office, Coordinator’s Pantry, or Study. We entered a room that had the label Convening Area.
We entered the room, and to my surprise, people like Peter in all forms and shapes gathered inside the room. Seats were arranged; seats were placed in the back, a chair in the middle, and four seats beside the podium. I was surprised to see the people we met from bungalows gathering there, and I started to wonder if there were secret entrances from the home to the convening hall. They all stared at me with smiles, like I was some awaited idol. What weirded me out more was that Peter pointed to the seat, saying that’s where I was supposed to sit. They were expecting only one new member of this congregation. My mind was still blown by the teleportation of the people from bungalows, a middle-aged man whose name tag read as Coco approached me. These people have the habit of closing their faces a few centimeters closer than my comfort space.
I’ll now be orienting you. Welcome to Pobre Allegria.
Except for the stares of the people, the orientation went well. Slowly, I got adapted to their habit. I just focused on listening to Coco’s speech. The essential details that I needed to consider were the following:
My first few months in the cult were very smooth. It felt like I was working towards self-improvement and getting money from it. I was only required to attend the community seminar, activities, and meditations, given that I had just joined the circle. The spiritual coordinator would give sermons to the congregation inside a room similar to where dance performers practice –a vast space with mirrors covering the room’s walls. Group activities include group reflections and exercises facilitated by a spiritual coordinator. During a community meditation, everyone is expected to be in their Indian seats, close their eyes, and follow the coordinator’s lead. The leaders would guide you about the things to imagine, and it’ll make you feel better right after. Kah Coco told me that a few months later, I would be required to undergo personal meditation guided by the founder.
During those weeks, I barely knew the other cult members – I barely had any personal conversations except with the spiritual coordinators. I only knew some of the members by observing them. There was Aling Teresita, a senior citizen with a green thumb and the one living in the first bungalow I would see. She owns a greenhouse beside her house. Passing by Aling Teresita and her shrubs and flowers is weirdly relaxing whenever I return from civilization every week. The youngest members of the cult, Rene and Alpecchi, are playing all sorts of locally known games on the forest path just behind Aling Teresita’s bungalow. They sometimes played with marbles, played sipa (a local sport that works like a miniature sepak takraw), a game of tag, and hide and seek. As I went further inside, I met the other cult members, such as Tatang Ronnie, Tito Mauricio, Tita Evy, Paulo, and Teodoro. For the spiritual coordinators, it has been Coco who oriented me a lot in this congregation.
Pobre Alegria was not like other cults whose doctrines feel a little off. The cult’s doctrine was grounded in reason. The cult follows this book written by Apo Sandang, where all personal meditations are listed and how to do them and some narratives about finding happiness in nothingness, how to be true to yourself, and how to be a better family member for the circle. However, the cult slowly showed its true colors when I further observed the other members of the cult.
Further weeks became weirder when I returned to the monastery. It gradually dawned on me that my interactions with the members felt like talking to empty husks. Whenever I visit the community every week, I can see her watering the same plants. It just gets more bizarre, given that I arrive at different times. Whenever I was a few meters before the bungalow, Aling Teresita would greet me, to which I replied; then she started talking about her life before she entered the cult and how thankful she was to the cult. There were moments when I refused to reply to her; the gaze just followed me. There were moments when I tried to break her character by asking her questions, but her answers would always be yes, no, or she didn’t know. Whenever there is dead air, she would immediately continues her life narrative. This also applies to most people who live in the bungalows I meet.
I started asking some of the spiritual coordinators about my concern. Most answered that I was overthinking, but Coco gave me an alarming answer.
“Oh, they are still a work in progress.”, he said as if it was a matter-of-fact statement.
“Work in progress? What do you mean?”
He froze. After a few seconds, the cheerful character came back. “They still suffer trauma from their previous experiences from the outside world.”, he told me with a tone of pity.
What does he mean by work in progress? Does he suggest that those people are undergoing some experimentation or something? The more I think about it, the more I believe that the cult higher-ups are watching my thoughts. I don’t want to put my nose in something I must not involve. I decided to observe since, sooner or later, it might be a short time before I become one of those people. The money I was getting from the congregation was too good for me to quit immediately.
The day finally came for my meditation together with the founder. While walking on the forest path to the main building, I noticed no people inside their bungalows. When I finally reached the building, the congregation was in the convening room with blank expressions. The pilgrims looked at me with lifeless eyes. This time they were not smiling. I sat on the reserved seat when one of the coordinators approached me.
Please wait for two mins. The founder is on his way.
I sat on the chair of shame. Those two minutes were the most painful, as all eyes were pointed at me like lenses of a microscope. It felt like they knew everything about me just by looking at me, and it made me uncomfortable.
Can you people stop staring at me? My voice had a begging tone even though I intended to snark at them.
They didn’t budge as if me saying that was part of the specimen’s action. Thankfully, someone entered the room, and the heavy atmosphere became worse. All eyes went to the old man, the founder of the Pobre Alegria, Apo Sandang.
That man was the most terrifying creature I’d ever seen in my entire life. My hair stood at its ends at the sight of him. He was not anything monstrous, though I knew he lies something between a human and something paranormal. The proper term encapsulating his existence is something surreal and grotesque. He was like a creepy medieval painting brought to life. Those eye sockets were filled with golf-ball eyes whose pupils were the size of a normal eyeball. His eyebrows were very thick that they looked like a mustache on his forehead. His head was slightly larger than an average human, justifying the oversized facial features. His wrinkles folded like medium-sized bedsheets piled together. His mouth was lined until a few centimeters from his earlobe, making me think he could swallow a whole chicken. He strolled as if he were moving in slow motion, with one step and one stroke of his cane. The moment he reached the podium, his eyes were locked on me. Even though he had very grotesque features, his expression was calm – his presence was very priest-like.
Brothers and sisters.
The pilgrims stood up.
We shall baptize this man to be part of this ever-loving family.
The founder started approaching me. The others hastily formed a circle. You can call me Apo Sandang. In every sentence he says, he would immediately reset to smiling. I couldn’t speak or move – my whole body froze. At first, that was because I was too terrified, but I can feel the rush for survival, and I am currently struggling to get out of an invisible grip. Apo Sandang closes his face towards mine. He started to ask me questions, but I couldn’t answer him.
Are you scared? Apo Sandang whispers.
I nodded. My head is also shaking.
Close your eyes.
My focus was disturbed by a sudden tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and my heart nearly dropped when I found myself facing the congregation’s founder face within a few centimeters. He held my shoulder firmly, trying to lock his eyes on mine, making my heart race begging for its life. After a few seconds of death stare, he gave out a laugh - a forced one. The laughter became a slowly became chorus. I observed that all of the pilgrims had adopted the founder’s face. It was indeed a horrific experience. After a few seconds, I woke up again at my residence, as if I was woken up in a dream.
After the official baptism, I lost much of my lifespan because of the experience. I’m still thinking about how I got home, but it was a relief to escape that hell of a situation. The cult is already starting to degrade my psyche. Ever since that incident, I feel like I’ve left some of my sanity in the communal camp. The memory of the founder’s surreal face was etched on every corner of my brain. I was still thinking about the cult’s members’ state.
I hallucinated the founder’s image at home, work, and even on the streets. At first, they were only images generated by my mind. The photos became more vivid and vivid every day. Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I see his face. The occurrence also became more prevalent. Eventually, I started to see them in others’ faces. It would startle me a lot, especially since Apo Sandang’s face is terrifying. My friends and co-workers would suspect me of being crazy. My family started considering putting me in psychiatric treatment. Whenever I sleep, Apo Sandang’s face would appear in the darkness, calling out my name.
After a few weeks, I stopped going back to the pueblo. I did not go back to the monastery. I thought about Apo Sandang’s words about seeing ourselves in others the same way we see him in others.
They take it way too far.
The morning after a month of not returning to the unknown village, I was woken by a knock. I opened the door and was shocked to see Aling Teresita. Together with him were Rene and Alpecchi. Aling Teresita’s wrinkles were reduced, and her eyebrows became thicker. The kids’ faces had a sinister look resembling a very familiar face.
While I was frozen at the sight of them, Aling Teresita opened his mouth, giving out a shrill voice.
Don’t think you’re not one of us anymore. A true family never forgets. You’ll always be part of the family.
The kids followed the lead of Aling Teresita. Out of terror, I shut the door in front of them. Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The image of Apo Sandang started to reclaim its throne in my mind like a devil had been connecting the puzzle pieces.
My family has abandoned me. They returned me to a sanctuary where patients whose treatments require seclusion. Maybe this is my salvation.
I finally gave up an essential piece of my humanity in exchange for being part of this enlightened family.