Hell is not in flames; It is full of lies.

Back to the countryside, the hometown that I have learned to hate less.

• The old church bell was replaced after years of church renovation. I don't get how people don't appreciate the beauty of an aging structure. They don't get that preservation should be the way to go, not total renovation. But it is to be expected in a town where reputations and status is more of importance than history, art, and heritage
• I remember when I was little, I used to sneak into the prohibited area of the church grounds. the church was just adjacent to the Catholic school I went to. Long ago, the church grounds was said to be a cemetery. I remember finding epitaphs that date hundreds of years ago.
• I was and still afraid of heights. I tried going up the belfry when I was around seven. I gave up when I came to the last flight of stairs. Compared to the previous flights in the lower floors, it was more ladder-like. It was steep and creeks with every step. I still regret not mustering all the courage I could get to climb past it.
• I hated the priests, especially the nuns. Confession was mandatory in my school. Every month, we line up in the corridors and wait for our turn. The Monsignor hearing the confessions was so loud, everybody knows your "sins" and your given penance. That is rude and totally wrong. The Sisters on the other hand, oh how should I start, there's just too many to tell. Long story short, they hated my spirit because I think and I question. And I was right.
• On to the townspeople. The segregation is very visible. The rich act like they own the town, including the church - they're the best patrons of the parish. The middle class act like they're rich. And the families barely getting by, well they are the happiest people really.
• It was a small community. Everybody knows everybody. People smile at you because they know something about you. When I was eleven, a classmate came up to me and said, "I know something about you that you don't know." I felt uncomfortable and it played so much in my head for years. "Teacher told me, and I'll never tell you." She added. When I was thirteen, my mother told me about me having a different father than the father who I grew up to know. In the following years, I realized what my classmate from before was telling me. And it wasn't just her or the teacher that told her, the whole town knew that certain thing about me even before I knew it. When I recently came back, I met a friend and he told me that earlier that day, while he and his family were having lunch, his mother asked him if I was still visiting my real father's family. And from then on, the whole lunch conversation was about me. These are people I'm not even well acquainted to. And I haven't been home for a very long time. When I think about it, I just can't help but shake my head slowly. 
• Things like that don't really affect me anymore. It's just that, these people, they fill the town with secrets, and lies, and pretense, and ill will.
• I loved the place I grew up in. It is really beautiful. Unfortunately, the people have muddied it. But I'm teaching myself to love that place again, people aside.

On another note, I went there with P to visit my family and I toured him around. I love how I shocked and intrigued people when I went around and how I triggered whispering conversations. They were talking about me alright, but they didn't know that I knew that, so I just smiled.