THE first time I saw a pope was back in 1970 when Pope Paul VI visited the Philippines, the first pope to visit the country. The popemobile passed in front of us along the stretch of Roxas boulevard allowing me a clear view of the Pope. He glanced at our direction and it seemed like I caught his eye, or so it seemed. And just when he did, I felt a flush of an unexplainable feeling.  I did not cry. I just kept on waving and looking and watching ‘til his view faded away. I felt blessed. But I was too young then to listen and understand the message he brought. Four decades later, our nation is blessed to be visited again by a pope who is well-loved and admired for his simplicity and candor.

When that little girl cried during Pope Francis’ meeting with the youth at the University of Santo Tomas, we all cried with her. I know I did. Not once but many times. I cried the moment I saw the Pope alight from his plane upon his arrival from Sri Lanka. I cried when I heard him do the homily. At the Cathedral. In MOA. In Tacloban. And finally, in Luneta.

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