I was born into a family of different faiths—my grandparents were Iglesia ni Cristo, while my parents belonged to the Aglipayan Church. My childhood felt like a house with many doors, yet none of them seemed to open into a place where I truly belonged.
When I reached my second year in high school, a friend named Jairo began to share about Jesus. His words were like seeds scattered on hardened soil—I laughed, brushed them off, and went on with my life, never imagining those words would one day take root in me.
But then came a season of silence in my heart. I carried an emptiness so heavy it felt like a hollow echo inside my chest. I couldn’t understand why, but it gnawed at me, pulling me deeper into despair. One afternoon, on my way to Jairo’s house, I passed by a small congregation. From inside came the sound of voices lifted in song—bright, joyous, and alive, like sunlight breaking through a storm.
Curiosity slowed my steps until I found myself standing at the doorway. The moment I crossed the threshold, an invisible embrace wrapped around me. The weight in my chest lifted, and the void that had consumed me was suddenly flooded with joy—overflowing, unexplainable, like a river bursting through dry ground. For the first time, I felt alive.
I kept returning to that place, drinking from the well that never ran dry, until I finally chose to be baptized. My transformation was so clear that even my grandparents could not deny it. They came, out of curiosity at first, but soon their hearts too were captured by the same joy that had rescued me. Before long, my entire family stood together, no longer divided by faith, but united in serving the one true God.
Yet, as time went on, I wandered. Like a prodigal, I traded the light for shadows, using the gifts God gave me to entertain the world rather than honor Him. I thought I was free, but in truth, I was chasing illusions—smoke that slipped through my fingers. Still, through all my wandering, God’s promises never faltered. His voice was always there, a gentle whisper calling me home.
Now, I have returned. I know I cannot undo the times I failed, but I can choose to rise again. Today, I dedicate my words—my pen, my stories, my heart—to the One who never let me go. Writing for God will never be enough to repay Him, but it is my offering, my way of giving back the talent He wove into me before I was even born.
And so, with all that I am, I lift my praise to Him—the Most High, the One who turned my emptiness into overflowing joy.