We love you, Father.

I attended a Requiem Mass for Pope John Paul II last night. I just felt I had to pay my last respects and say farewell to one of a few people left in this world who has a true pure heart. I never thought going to Mass would make me recall memories of the long forgotten past, and saying goodbye to them.

The Malolos Basilica was crowded with the faithful at nine in the evening- a sign that, indeed, the great Pope's death has a deep impact on Filipinos. I was quite surprised that, even if it's that late already, students in their uniforms had a chance to partake in this last rites for the former Church leader. I would have dismissed it as a fact that teachers might have required them to go to Mass, if not for a more valid fact that these kids are with their families, praying together.

The scenes that I saw in the Basilica were so touching. Memories of the World Youth Days (1995) returned to me in an instant. I remembered asking permission from my parents to participate in the vigils, the pilgrimages, the activities of the said event. I really wanted to be part of it since that was the only chance I could join the World Youth Day choir of our own diocese. It was a chance of a lifetime. Being young and quite ignorant of many things outside the household, I struggled my way to being independent, even if it would be just a week. It was difficult for many of us, but no one remembers that. All that is remembered is that we were "holy" and yet we had fun!

I remember the night vigils, the first week when sleep were scarce, yet no one was complaining. I remember sleeping in a tent beside one of the buildings that surround Luneta. I remember boys hitting on girls, even if everybody hadn't taken a bath yet. I remember the signing. Oh yes, the singing. Those were the days when it felt God is everywhere. It felt good remembering those days. I miss those days.

Indeed, little did I know that it was more than just joining the choir. The World Youth Days gave me the first taste of how it is to belong to an ideal that is very significant- to exist is to be part of a bigger picture. Later on, I learned that this, indeed, is part of Karol Wojtyla's Philosophy of Participation. For life to be meaningful, the acting individual should be part of the whole. Intersubjectivity.

This is the meaning that I felt when I walked the streets of Manila with the rest of my fellow youngsters that year. This is the meaning that I felt when I stood there in EDSA while Erap's rule crumbled to pieces years after.

As the theme song of the World Youth Days filled the Basilica, I couldn't help but cry. I wasn't ashamed- all my tears won't match the sincerity, concern, and love of Pope John Paul II to this country. Like Christ to his flock, I felt his passion to take care of us, saying "Hello" every now and then. I saw it, I felt it as I saw him pass by us in 1995. He waved his hands, and I felt the peace felt by many of whom I were with last night. A nun admitted that when she saw the Pope that day, she promised God that she will devote her remaining days on Earth to serve him- and so she did. A mother whom I met in front of John Paul II's portrait claimed that her husband turned his back from adultery the moment he had a split-second eye contact with the Pope in the Popemobile. Even veterans claimed that a white dove landed on the Pope's shoulder while he was addressing the war survivors when the Pope visited in Bataan. His greatness and holiness manifests even in the physical realm. Even his death affects humanity deeply.

I also shed tears as it felt like saying goodbye to my youth. The death of this great man signifies that humanity has to move on, as I have to move on in life also. Goodbye to the days of my innocence, when feelings and life itself was just pure and simple.

Written in the logbook where people people left their condolences:

"Dear Father, now that you are next to God, please continue praying for us and our country. Love, Katie..."