I sat beside my cousin Debbie Hope in a dimly lit theatre of Festive Walk Cinemas, with original flavored popcorn in a brown paper bag, and water labeled Hope in a Bottle, in tow.
We were going to watch Avatar: The Way of Water.
Prior to the start of the year, when I went home to Guimaras, for the traditional New Year’s Eve celebration at Lola Narda, we decided that we’d watch a movie at the start of the year. Since I scared myself by watching Nadine Lustre’s Deleter alone, we picked Avatar: The Way of Water as our immersive cousin bonding cinema experience for 2023.
And we got rekt.
The theme of home and family was the focal point of the movie and it reverberated through me like the cold January breeze. When Jake Sully and Neytiri’s family looked back at their “home”, while flying towards another part of Pandora, to flee from the “sky people” who are hell bent on making Jack pay for his past “sins”, I remember so many moments.
In the last 35 years of my life, as a Pastor’s Kid, we have moved from one place to another—from Guimaras, Oton in Iloilo, to Camp Nikos, then to Sto. Tomas, Davao del Norte, back to Millan, Guimaras, then moved again to Tobias Fornier, Antique. Mine included moving to Metro Manila for bigger dreams, and coming home to Antique to crash and burn.
At one point last year, I asked my sister: “Where is Home?”
She answered, “Heaven.”
I asked her in the context of my roots disintegrating and feeling dislodged from my home.
As someone who moved out from the church parsonage, to experience a new environment after Mama’s death, and in a way to cope with grief and loss, I felt dislodged from my roots, from the very core memories that planted my feet on the ground and the sand of Tobias Fornier, Antique.
In Avatar: The Way of Water, when Neytiri weepingly screamed at Jake “This is our home!” as they decide to leave the forest, I felt it.
I wonder how it was for Mama—when she followed the will of the Lord to be with her husband, and work hand in hand, as pioneer missionary workers in Tobias Fornier, Antique in 2002. I wonder what she felt—leaving her land, her house, and her plants to follow the “Lord’s will” for the family.
In cottage prayer meetings and prayer meetings, and most especially on her birthdays—at least in the last 4 years that I lived with her and with the family—she would always testify that she’s thankful that she became a Pastor’s Wife because she was able to travel and meet new people who became her family.
But I guess she enjoyed every move, and considered them as part of God’s grand design. She has always believed that “all things work together for good” as Romans 8:28 states. And so, despite the moment when she cried, as relayed by my Father during preaching, when it finally dawned on her that she’s leaving her childhood place, her home, her roots, and her accessibility to Lola Narda, her Mother, my grandmother, it must have been hard for her.
So, I understand and felt what Neytiri was screaming and weeping about.
I understand the paradigm shift that happens when leaving home, and the accompanying crying spells and depressive episodes that beset someone’s being. I understand why it would make someone angry at first, or scream at someone who decides for the family to transfer from one place to another. I understand why Neytiri was weeping, and the rest of the family, sad, as they fly out to Metkayina.
As the last few scenes of Avatar: The Way of Water rolled, my cousin Debbie Hope quietly wept while I tried to rub my eyes with my fingers—hoping that she would not notice that I was also weeping silently.
I even said to her, “Tata, may tissue ka da?” (Tata, do you have tissue?”
And we both laughed.
For me, I wept because I remember Mama in Neytiri’s courage to fight for her family and for her children. I remember the moments when I left home and ventured into the unknown. I remember the special bond that I have with my siblings, and my promise to Mama on her hospital bed, while she was intubated and I was holding her ankle, that no matter what happens, we are going to stick together, through thick and thin. I actually wanted to drop my knees on the floor, put my hand on my face, and sob relentlessly. But I was trying to tone down my breakdown. (Lels)
I cannot speak in behalf of Tata Debbie Hope. Of why she wept towards the end of Avatar: The Way of Water. But I am sure, she has her own reasons.
And I’m sure, they’re all valid.
For now, I am thankful that, as cousins, we have this shared experience of watching Avatar: The Way of Water. And that other than our love for books, and movies, our quiet weeping signals our shared sentiment towards our love for our families, the value we put on home and our roots, and in the bigger scheme of things, as cliché as it may sound, our belief in the concept that home is where you hang your hat and your heart.
And like what my sister said, heaven is home.
Image retrieved from IMDB
The Prodigal Kid 