Memoirs and songs.
The hissing of pumped air, the sweet putrid aroma of alcohol and kerosene, the spark of the red-tipped match that started it all, and the beginning of night in a far-flung village detached from the gallows of city lights.
I am not a pianist, but I can tap a tune.I am not a singer, but I can hum.I am not a teacher, but I can inspire.I am not a writer, but I can doodle.I am not a priest, but I can pray.I am not […]
Poetry
Vocations and Conversions There might be a dwindling number of vocations to the priesthood and the religious today, but we are still blessed with our clergy and religious brothers and sisters. Other than the vocations, an area I could think of is the RCIA formation, […]
Essay
The sun was rising behind the thin outlines of Mt. Guiting-Guiting. The panorama of the mountain stood tall above the stillness of sea and clouds. In the villages below, roofs made of galvanized sheets and thatches of nipa started to appear. The soft breeze swayed […]
Memoir Vocations and Conversions There might be a dwindling number of vocations to the priesthood and the religious today, but we are still blessed with our clergy and religious brothers and sisters. Other than the vocations, an area I could think of is the RCIA formation, […]
Essay
