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On Lent: Why do I write?

Primarily because I wanted/want to help. If I could and I can why not? Right? And, to make people smile. Yes, I had written some pieces that made them feel the realities of life, one reader even teared up, however, generally, my articles have been light and focus on the intrinsic goodness of mankind. A few days ago, I met a reader who just exclaimed to me, “Bicol Mail,” when I shook hands with him, that is one of the many factors fueling my career in writing.

At this point of my writing career, I realized that I should like to keep on writing. Why? For all of you, the readers.

As I celebrate my birthday in the coming weeks, I Googled my name on the internet. My website is number one on the search results. It does not mean anything. It does not mean that I am famous. To tell you the truth, the system of Google, reports that I have been writing all these times. I started in the early 2010’s which means in the Internet: since I have been writing that long, by now, my website planted roots on the web, hence, it is on the top of the search results. Quite elementary really.

Furthermore, my dashboard says that I have readers from Denmark, Brazil, United Kingdom and so on. How does that make me feel? I feel the responsibility becoming heavier. Although, I feel elated at the same time.

As a Columnist if there is one valuable lesson that I could share with you in any endeavor you choose in life: that would be finding your own voice to speak your own truth. The truth so that others will see. The truth so that others will hear. The truth so that others will feel. The truth so that others will smile. The truth so that others will win. The truth so that others will move. The truth so that others will think. The truth so that others will seek. Ultimately, myriad truths so that others will share.

As I accept my defeat (i.e. I am only human), may the Universe hear my prayers. I always wrote with a cause. I gave everything I got and I said to Jesus, “I am all in”. Because I knew He won the war a long time ago. It was not a gamble. I was rest assured. Seasons have come and gone. Seven years of writing. The evolution of my career in the arts and letters. There were storms yet I claimed my sun. I never wrote the truth about my pain because I know it is nothing compared with yours. I just wanted to bring you up and not bring you down. Why? Because there is too much trepidation and animosity on the front page. I thought to myself when you reach the opinion page you would see a bit of Light even with just mere words. Written words. Written with only good intentions.

But if I failed you a few times, I hope a piece had been a home run. Even just one. I only have God to turn to and who else but Him alone. And, I know that for all here on Earth the dreaded dark hours do come in the stillness of the night. Sleepless. And the glaring sunny day that we toil to make ends meet. Exhausted. I remember you as always. I look at your eyes, the eyes that had read my work. And the smile you gave me as you recounted your favorite pieces like the ones I wrote about my father and my mother, then, I smiled back.

When that day comes when there are no more written words. In you I find the strength to trudge on a bit more. Like reinforcements from a dreary and weary battle, I shall continue to write. You. When all rhyme and metaphors are gone, and you read my column yet again. Remember, that it was you that I created those words for. When I almost lost my breath, there were no more struggles left. Always looking for new things to write about. Every story I have written led to inner peace. I know along with me, you were there.

In the final analysis, it is the inspiration by God. I lift my head to look up to the Heavens with you. I pray to take away your sorrows because like you for emphasis I am human too lest we think we are above anyone else. We make mistakes and our imperfections should be reminders to plant our feet firmly on the ground. May God’s Light shine on us all. Why do I write again? Because of you. When that day comes that the pen is already resting on my desk instead of my palm, I will remember you. Because I had always been told that writing is a noble profession and unlike Robert Frost, I, absolutely, chose the road less travelled by to show you that God loves every bit of you. No remorse and no regrets. When you are whole and more so when you are broken. Because with Him, I tried with utmost humbleness to piece together a mosaic masterpiece of our own fragility and frailties worthy enough to be, metaphorically, placed on a large windowsill of a grand Basilica like a stained glass window.

So that, when the Sun’s rays touch the delicate glass, it would illuminate the glory of your life depicted in this written work lovingly crafted by a mere writer who could be called a fool just like how my father wrote compared to the Master, God, who created you and me and sent His only begotten Son to save us for He loves us. May we find strength and solace, comfort and courage, reason and refuge, and meaningfully, mirroring the sorrowful mysteries and the Stations of the Cross in the Lenten Season and celebrate the Glory of the coming Easter.

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