Manang Celia never tired of talking about her own religious transformation into the Angel of Recycling. The shifting political tides had driven her into filing for an untimely early retirement from the Bureau of Customs. Soon after, she was stricken with cervical cancer and her husband of 30 years ran off with a manicurist who, to add insult to injury, happened to be her goddaughter for her confirmation. Since then, Manang Celia had immersed herself in volunteer work. She had purchased sewing machines and invested in a livelihood project for the squatters who lived along the peripheries of her house, an imposing oddity known as the “Mansion.” She had built it on the same narrow twisting street where she had grown up, believing that the place had good feng shui and that her continued presen
