When I was a kid, I used to go to church with my whole family. Me, my brother, my mom and my dad. We lived in a small village where everybody knew everybody so we were used to going to mass every Sunday as a whole family. That’s how I was brought up. One time, I went with my mom to line up for the communion. I was 4 that time. She held my hand and led me towards Father Pio Savonarolla, the parish priest. When we reached him, Father Pio gave my mom something like a white biscuit and she ate it. I thought I was going to get one too so I stepped towards him and held out my little hand. To my dismay, he put his hand on my head, gave me a nice pat and a very wide smile. I didn’t take that smile very nicely. Why didn’t he gave me that white biscuit he gave mom? Was it because I was a bad kid? Did Papa Jesus told him that I broke Kuya’s robot toy and hid it somewhere? Or did Papa Jesus tell him that I secretly threw away all the contents of my lunch box because I didn’t want to eat rice?

So my mom dragged me away from him. I was crying maybe because I either felt neglected by the priest or guilty by what I did that week. I was literally crying while walking to the pew, both tears and snot dripping all over my shirt. My mom told me to stop crying as it was embarrassing for my teachers who were also there but I didn’t listen. I wanted that biscuit from the Priest. I wanted to be like everyone who received it.

When I reached dad, I hugged him and he carried me out of the church to buy me some bibingka.

That was 16 years ago. Now, I’m all alone sitting at the pew, listening to the gospel recited by this unknown Priest. I’m half-listening, wondering what happened that I’m all alone now. I can’t remember when was the last time we went to Church together. I can’t even remember when was the last time all four of us rode to Church aboard my Tatay’s motorcycle.

But maybe that’s just the way it is. No matter how hard you try to stick together, you’re still bound to be separated.

When I have my own family, I’ll make sure that I’ll take my kids to Church and when they cry about not getting the communion, I’ll also take them out for a walk around the church or probably buy some puto or bibingka for them. Then I’ll tell them it’s what their Lolo did to me when I cried too.

P.S. Thank you for the birthday greetings. I am very much overwhelmed. :)