As you can see, the list of requirements is about a mile long. But I figured, it’s just tedious, but I can do it. Maybe I could spend a day or two gathering all the documents, and be ready for the initial assessment and interview the next day, or even Monday. A terse but helpful lady at the LCRO Table of Requirements pointed me to step 1, where I could fill up a form to request for the latest certified/local copies of Mom’s and my birth certificates. I filled up and submitted the request, and they told me to go to the next room and wait.

Apparently, all the miserable people, ehem, I mean, applicants, had to wait in this large room, and your name would be called over a sound system. Your request would be handed to you, and you would be directed to an available City Hall employee at the counters, who would tell you what to do next.

I made a mistake with my first attempt, and wrote my mother’s full name on the request for my birth certificate. Since the error was with her name to begin with, naturally they didn’t find the original/local copy of my birth certificate. It was at this point that the clerk told me I would have to go to the hospital where I was born, and ask the clerk there for a copy. I nodded politely, thanked her, and left the waiting room. Then I walked to the corridor near the LCRO Table of Requirements, called Oneal, and promptly started crying. “They couldn’t find my birth certificate *sniff* and now they said *heave* I have to go *sniff sniff* to Mary Chiles! *cough* How the hell am I supposed to know where the hell that is! *sob* I don’t know how to get there!” Around me, other applicants were walking, staring, looking at their own impossible lists.

Oneal did his best to reassure me that we could find the hospital, things would work out, we would find all the documents and make the correction and it would be fine. I’m sure he felt very helpless, sitting in the office while I was in the dusty, decrepit concrete jungle that is Manila City Hall, battling my way through the red tape. Oh hunny, I’m so sorry to have stressed you out.

When I put the phone down, I realized my mistake, and decided to try again. I got two more forms, and filled up one with all the same information that was on my actual birth certificate. I also filled out a request for a copy of my mom’s birth certificate. But by this time it was almost noon, and I feared I would have to wait an hour or two while the city hall employees went on their lunch breaks. To my surprise, a very enthusiastic man at the waiting room counters explained over the PA system that they would not close for lunch, that they would have lunch in shifts, and that they would still process the requests. Despite the fact that the city hall manangs were grumpy, it cheered me up a tad that this nice old man was trying to keep our hopes up.

Eventually my turn came, and thankfully it was a success. Another terse lady called me over, made some notes on my request forms, and told me to walk to the next building, pay the fees, then come back and submit the payment stub at Step 2. With a lighter heart I walked out of the LCRO (damn accursed place) and towards the Taxpayers Lounge. I was but a few feet from the lounge when I was accosted by a nice man, who asked where I was going.

I thought he was a city hall employee, since the other hallways seemed to have other staff whose sole duty was to direct people towards the right office. I said I was going to the Taxpayers Lounge, and he asked what my problem was. So I explained that I was having my birth certificate corrected, and he exclaimed that it was a long and arduous process that would take at least six months. But not to worry! He had a solution, and he beckoned me to follow him to his friend on the second floor, and the problem would be fixed in a week.

Gladly I went with him, complaining about the bureaucracy as we climbed the stairs. On the second floor he led me down the row of councilors’ offices. We stopped outside one such office, and he introduced me to this fat, middle-aged woman sitting by the window, talking to another fat, middle-aged woman. He explained my problem, and told me that this woman (I forget her name) could help me. So I sat beside her, and explained my problem in greater detail. I thought we would enter the councilor’s office and talk there, but the woman seemed perfectly content to hold office by the window. She said if I went the LCRO way, it would take months and months, plus a court hearing, to change my birth certificate.  If I did it her way, she would just write out a court order stating that I had submitted the petition for the correction three months ago, and my birth certificate was now fixed. It would only take a week, and P2,500.

It was while she was explaining the process to me that I noticed she wore no ID, and seemed to have worn a groove in the seat because she was just so comfortable there. She must have noticed the decline in my enthusiasm, because she said it could also be done for only P1,000, but it would take two weeks. It was at this point that I realized: I was actually talking to a fixer! Preparing for this wedding has certainly opened doors to totally new experiences.

When she was done explaining, I said I would have to think about it. She gave me her number, which I dutifully wrote down, and I said I would call her once I had the money. As soon as I was out of her line of sight, I ran downstairs and made a beeline for the Taxpayers Lounge, eager to avoid any other nice old men who would try to offer me the easy way out. Once I was in line to pay the fee, I called Oneal and told him about the whole debacle.

When I got off the phone with Oneal, the pregnant woman in front of me told me she had actually done exactly as Fixer Woman had said, but through a lawyer or something who actually worked at City Hall and was a family friend, someone her family knew and trusted. I think I just politely said I didn’t know anyone at city hall, so I’d just have to stick it out. I paid my fees (which took a comedic turn, because they opened up a Senior Citizen’s lane and one old lady protested when the clerk called her “lola”), went back to the LCRO, submitted my payment stub, and was told to come back on Monday to claim the birth certificates.

By this time it was past 1:00, and there was nothing more I could do at City Hall. I trudged to SM Manila, found myself some meager lunch fare–which I couldn’t even finish–and called Oneal for another update. Notice, by the way, that the day had been spent trying to obtain only items 1 and 2 from Manila City Hall. The other seven items are another story. Abangan!

When we reserved the St. Francis of Assisi Chapel at Fernwood Gardens, we had to go to the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish in Project 6, since the chapel was under their care/authority (“Tyranny” would be more appropriate.  But I get ahead of myself.) So we booked the chapel for our date, and the parish office gave us a list of requirements. It was a pretty long list, but it didn’t seem that bad when we first saw it. Hah, unbeknownst to us, we were about to embark on a journey that would take us to many City Halls and churches . (And I just wanted to use the word “unbeknownst”.)

Just so we’re all on the same page, boys and girls, here’s the list of requirements they asked of the bride and the groom:

1. NSO-certified birth certificate
2. NSO-issued CENOMAR
3. Newly-issued baptismal certificate, with the annotation, “For Marriage Purposes”
4. Newly-issued confirmation certificate, with the annotation, “For Marriage Purposes”
5. Wedding banns and permit to marry
6. Marriage license from the municipality where either the groom or the bride reside
7. Latest 2×2 picture with white background
8. Pre-marriage counseling seminar
9. Canonical interview
10. Final interview and confession

All documents must be dated within 6 months of the wedding, and submitted two months before the wedding. Okay, seems easy enough. The birth certificate and CENOMAR could be ordered and paid for online through the NSO website, and would be delivered right to our doorstep, no problem. The baptismal certificates were easy; Oneal was baptized in San Vicente de Paul Church in Manila, right beside Adamson University. I was baptized in Santo Domingo Church in QC. Both were fairly accessible.

The confirmation certificates, we knew, would require some effort. Oneal didn’t remember what year he was confirmed, but he knew where. I, on the other hand, was confirmed on the sly, in the US Embassy in Riyadh, by an Italian bishop from the Vicar Apostolic of Arabia, which was based in Abu Dhabi. I had the original certificate though; surely Mount Carmel would be satisfied with that? After all, they couldn’t possibly expect me to hop on a plane to Riyadh or Abu Dhabi to get my confirmation certificate. Could they?

The wedding banns were easy; these were documents issued by Mount Carmel and posted in our respective parish churches for three consecutive Sundays, to inform our communities of our upcoming marriage. For the uninformed, this is done to give others the chance to present any possible impediment to the wedding before the actual event. Should no objection be raised, the parish churches will give the bride and the groom permission to marry.

The marriage license we thought would be tricky. We decided to file for it in Parañaque, since Oneal had live there all his life, and had many documents attesting to the fact. I, on the other hand, have lived in Saudi Arabia, Kamias, Antipolo and Cubao, so my documents had rather scattered addresses. To our surprise, the requirements for the marriage license were simple enough. Some documents and one hour of forms, photocopying, payments and “counseling” in Parañaque City Hall were all it took, and one week later we had our marriage license! Well, there was a surprise.

The pre-cana seminar proved to be a case of misunderstanding and annoyance. We had wanted to take the pre-cana seminar at the Center for Family Ministries in Ateneo de Manila University, as it came well-recommended by many people. Oneal asked Mount Carmel if this was okay, and a nice lady said it was. So we reserved a slot in a CEFAM’s January schedule, and I deposited a payment of P4,000. That was a bust, but more on that later.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That weekend, Oneal and I went to Mount Carmel to submit our documents, confident that it would be a breeze. We had everything in order, and we figured we could just explain about my confirmation certificate being rather, ah, inaccessible. Alas, we were very gravely mistaken.

They noticed in my documents–specifically my birth certificate and my baptismal certificate–that my mother’s name was not consistent: one document said only “Marian” while others said “Marian Regina”. This apparently was unacceptable, because there must be NO DISCREPANCIES among any of the documents. They asked me what my mother’s name really was, and I said, “Marian Regina.” The parish office told us, well, you’re going to have to have your birth certificate corrected at city hall. They were willing to proceed with the marriage, but only if I submitted (1) an affidavit stating I would correct my birth certificate and not hold the parish liable for any conflict arising from the discrepancy in names; and (2) a Certificate for Facilitation of Correction of my birth certificate from the Local Civil Registry Office of the City Hall of the municipality in which I was born. Oh, and (3) a copy of my corrected birth certificate, to follow after the wedding.

Did you get all of that? I didn’t, because I was so dismayed by all that the parish office guy was saying that I almost burst into tears right there and then.

Of course, parish office guy wasn’t done. He said he had to consult the Diocese of Cubao about my confirmation certificate. Not content, he also said that Oneal’s baptismal certificate would be a problem, because his name was stated there as “Jose Ronnelo Rosero”; none of his other documents bore the name “Jose.” He would have to go back to San Vicente de Paul, and they would issue a letter so he could bring it to the Office of the Chancery in Intramuros, where an amendment would be made.

And for the big finale: we were required to take the pre-cana seminar in Mount Carmel, and even if we had taken the seminar at CEFAM, it would not be sufficient. So the slot we had reserved and the payment I had made were all in vain.

We went back home, rather dismayed, and wondered what to do next. Well, I knew what I was doing next: lying in bed and moping, tears streaming down my face as I wondered, “What are we supposed to do now?” It was like a giant rock had been dropped in our path, and there was no way around it.

- rej

One of the things that’s been bugging us are the church requirements for couples who want to marry. Specifically, we’ve been trying to remember where our confirmation certificates are! I knew I was received the rite of confirmation when we were in Saudi Arabia, but I couldn’t remember exactly when, and where my certificate was.

Our pursuit of Oneal’s confirmation certificate turned into an Intramuros field trip. His mom had said he and his cousins were all confirmed at Manila Cathedral in 1975, so Oneal and I figured our search should start there. This would also be our opportunity to finall explore Intramuros on foot, camera in hand, something we’d been wanting to do for years.

We first headed to Manila Hotel for brunch with Oneal’s mom. Then the driver took us to Manila Cathedral, where we were just in time for the noon Mass. It was Ash Wednesday too, so it was lovely timing. The church was full, and we were able to receive the ash on our foreheads. After the Mass, the office was closed until 2:00, so we decided to go exploring first. We walked around Intramuros and on to San Agustin Church, took pictures of everything, and even found some pretty maritime offices and the Kaisa Filipino-Chinese Community Heritage Museum. One of these days we’ll go back and explore the museums.

At 2:00, we were back in Manila Cathedral, and the office was open. Oneal inquired at the window, and was promptly told that all records for rties performed prior to 1976 were stored in San Agustin. Oops. So we had to trudge back in the afternoon heat and the dust of the city, back to the office at San Agustin.

You can imagine our relief when the girl at the office found the certificate. She was using a slow old computer, and to search their database she used a DOS program, filling in the blanks with the information Oneal provided on the form. It was a slow search, and we had to take a seat while waiting, but at least the records are computerized! The results told her not only that Oneal was confirmed in the Manila Cathedral in 1975, but also told her the ledger and line number where the original record could be found! We were really happy and relieved.

Unfortunately, the certificate would only be valid for 6 months, so if we got a copy then, it would be expired well before our wedding day. Nevertheless, it’s a relief to know exactly where the certificate is, and how to get it when we need it.

Next: my confirmation certificate! Seeing as how I can’t exactly go back to Saudi Arabia and I wasn’t confirmed in an actual church, I’m not sure how the Mount Carmel parish will react to my confirmation story. Still, Mom found my certificate and gave it to me today, so I can at least consult a priest and ask if that’s acceptable, or if I need to be confirmed again.

Wish me luck!

– rej