Caleb - The Boy Made Of Light

My mother always said I was born with a shine around me. Not literally, of course, but you know how mothers are. Everything is a miracle if it crawled out of their womb.

Still, sometimes I wondered if she was right. Not about the shine. But about the part where she said, “Caleb, people will always look at you. Make sure what they see leads them to God, not to you”.

It was easy advice when I was young. Harder when the world decided I was handsome. Or worse. The internet decided I had “angel-tier visuals”.

Apparently it only takes one viral clip of you delivering a sermon at sunrise with a raccoon crawling up your leg, to your head, to make you a global sensation. I still don’t know why that raccoon chose me. Or why that camera angle made me look like a fallen angel. That’s exactly what we were trained to fight off.

One slow-motion pan from some teenage churchgoer’s phone, and suddenly I was “the holy heartthrob” of the diocese.

Next thing I knew, I was getting reprimanded for getting comments online such as, “Jesus take the wheel but let Caleb drive”, “Lord, forgive me for I am about to sin, but COME ON”, as if I had made those deliberately.

But that was my life now, whether I liked it or not. Crowds. Selfies. Whispers. Tourists attending mass just to film me saying “Amen”.

I wanted none of it. It’s all exactly the opposite of what a future bishop should attract.

So when the seminary assigned me to the small village of Izu for a quiet training period, for prayer, study, community work, I felt relieved. Maybe here, I could finally breathe without someone yelling “Father, marry me!” across a pew. Maybe here, I could be just a man of faith again. Not an internet meme with a Bible.

The place was small, soft, and slow. A village that definitely didn’t have raccoon Wi-Fi. The streets were peaceful. I tugged my suitcase over the uneven road on my arrival, smiling as elderly residents nodded politely at the arrival of the new batch of young priests. 

It was like they were watching a parade. But old style. No cameras. No one tried to take a selfie with me. No one gasping like I dropped out of heaven. Well, maybe some polite stares. But most of it came from the other men in the same seminary batch as me.

Maybe I can be invisible here. To a degree… Maybe at the very least, see-through.

I noticed a café with warm lights and quiet music each time I head back to the dorm. I had been meaning to come around to say hi to the staff as they were also part of the church, but between learning the language and outreach on the surrounding villages, it had taken me a month to finally have free time. It doesn’t help that when I leave for missions, we depart around 3 am, and when I come back around 9 pm, they were already closing.

When I came in, it was packed with elderlies who just finished their morning exercise, so I thought I’d just say hi to the cats out the back for now. I kept passing them by each day, and on a few occasions, some hissed at me. It’s about time I get to know them and get a fluffy cuddle in. 

Though, in all honesty, it was an excuse, just as much as it was the truth. The elderly here do not hold back in scrutinising my face. Today, I rather have a quiet morning of cats judging me, not humans admiring me.

But that too, was fully booked. Even the cats were preoccupied. A girl was already feeding them. She was crouched behind the building. She didn’t see me. Or maybe she did and pretended she didn’t. I shouldn’t have stared. But there was something about her.

The cats adored her. They curled at her feet like offerings. She broke her bread into tiny pieces so each one got a fair share. She had that kind of presence. Gentle and hidden, almost trying to fold herself into the corner of the world so no one would trip over her.

Kindness does something to me. Always has. But this kindness in someone who looks like tragedy stitched into human form? That hits different.

I stepped closer despite myself. She flinched upon seeing me.

Ouch… Did I just scare her? Me? I froze as if someone had slapped holy water onto my face.

‘A-ah, sorry!’ I blurted. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Her eyes lifted to mine, and my entire brain short-circuited. She had beautiful eyes. Not sparkling nor bright, but deep. Like they were holding entire oceans of things she refused to say. Eyes that apologized even when she wasn’t at fault. Her hair tied low, her expression was soft but tired. Tired in a way people get when life has punched them too many times and they stopped asking why.

‘I didn’t mean to interrupt. My love. Please forgive me.’

It slipped out. A stupid habit leftover from scripture readings where we call the congregation “beloved”. People outside of Japan of course use it in everyday greeting. But with her, it sounded wrong. Or worse, intimate. My ears burned at her horrified reaction.

After losing command over my words and practically being flustered like a little boy who confess to their crush, I managed to apologize. Eventually. The cats stared at me judgmentally. I deserved that.

After finding out that she can speak English, I asked her if I could bounce my Japanese learning with her, but she looked like she wanted to run off. Though, even after glaring at me like I did something wrong as if I have just kicked the cats, her voice was soft and patient.

‘I toured overseas before,’ she said simply. ‘My English is okay.’

She offered no more information. No reason. Just a fact placed carefully between us, like a small gift she wasn’t sure she should give. She stood, brushed crumbs off her apron, nodded politely, and tried to leave. Something inside me jolted. People ran to me, not from me.

‘Wait! Um… sorry again,’ I said, rubbing the back of my neck. ‘I’m new here. I just wanted to introduce myself.’

She paused. Not because she wanted to, but because she was polite.

‘I’m Caleb,’ I said gently. ‘Training with the church for a few months. Maybe a year. I might need some friendly guidelines here and there.’

She nodded and was still guarded. Just a small bow of greeting. No smile.

‘Your Japanese sounded fine,’ she said politely. ‘You’ll be fine without me.’

She shifted the bread container in her hands. ‘I should get back to work.’

I nodded quickly. ‘Of course. Sorry for distracting you and your cats. They seemed friendly.’

‘They’re not,’ she said. ‘They just like food.’ 

And with that perfectly deadpan delivery, she walked inside the café before I could think of anything else to say. I stood there like an idiot with the cats circling me like furry judges.

‘…I think she might hate me,’ I muttered.

The cats meowed as if confirming it.

I wanted to say something reassuring, something friendly, something normal. But she looked at me like I was a person she should avoid. Not “dislike”, but “avoid”. As if I represented a whole world she didn’t want to touch.

‘…I really do need to work on introductions,’ I muttered. ‘I could use a friend like her.’

I’ve done outreaches for as long as I could remember and had interacted with different walks of life. I could tell by now through a person’s gaze those who grateful with what they had, those hurting, and those in the middle. Her eyes told me nothing.

She treated me like just a normal man. Well, maybe not normal. She didn’t stare at me, even though her eyes threw daggers whenever we made eye contact. Didn’t blush. Didn’t ask for a picture. Didn’t even smile the polite “you’re handsome but I’m holy” smile I usually got from church members.

It was unsettling and a bit refreshing. And quite strangely, intriguing. I walked back to the priest’s dorm thinking about her more than I should have.

Her hesitant English. Her soft voice. Her helpful nature hidden in aloofness.

Kindness hidden inside exhaustion. A girl trying so hard not to be seen… Like me, then. I really shouldn’t get involved. She didn’t want me involved.

She treated me like a stranger she wasn’t sure she could trust. And strangely, that made me want to earn her trust. Not because she was beautiful, though she was. Not because she was kind, though the cats proved that. But because there was a heaviness in her eyes I couldn’t stop thinking about.

A heaviness hidden under gentleness. A quiet girl who looked like she was trying to disappear. A perfect example of someone I should pray hard for.

A girl I suddenly, inexplicably, wanted to understand.