Bedtime Stories

One thing I never really had in my life was being told bedtime stories at night. In simple, provincial Ozamiz, bedtime stories were unheard of, and it was something I only learned about from Western movies. To be sure, my grandma sang me to sleep as she would gently push me in the hammock to and fro. To be sure, my mother taught me poems and told dark, horror stories on evenings when the city was sometimes expunged of light.

But bedtime stories just were not yet done. It wasn’t our generation.

Now, even at the age of 24, I still want a bedtime story. And I don’t want them to be about how the government’s national budgeting system works or how a woman stabbed a man in the neck in an act of defense of her honor and whether this constitutes an act of homicide…(Hehehe) I think I want to be transported to places somewhat removed from reality and yet reflective of it. Think kingdoms, and princesses, and potions, and ogres, elves, and dragons…songs and birds helping to make your bed or dress you in the morning.

I want the good old fairy tales, and I want to experience them anew, as a young adult who never forgets the simplicity of a child.

I want to snuggle up in my blankets, and sink deeper into the soft mattress on which I lie and have someone whisper stories into my ear, painting in gentle tones a world of dreams, as I slowly drift into them, and into sleep. I want to know what truths they have to say about this life and what morals they reveal. I want a story I can carry in my heart.

I used to remember this priest. I heard him speak often, and he was a memorable storyteller. The chapel would be dimmed and I’d listen in rapt silence as he spoke of beautiful things. He told of beautiful stories and other things regarding that which the world could not give.

He was a masterful storyteller this priest. And he once exhorted us to pray for ourselves the gift also of storytelling. And I realize that I actually can tell stories too. But not like others who weave stories with notes, moving pictures or paint and brush. I tell a story with my laptop and fingers and my English. : )

Which brings us back again to what I’ve been saying all along. I want a tale. (Sigh.) And I want a voice other than mine to tell me that tale.

But limitations considered, I guess I’ll just have to satisfy myself with thoughts or short stories encapsulated in songs or short paragraphs. Bear with me when I share them with you.

Goodnight.