in 100 words
"Your grandaunts taught me how to pray." A middle-aged woman told me. She read the pabasa - the rhythmic recitation commemorating the passion of Christ.
The walls of the house in Laguna whisper along to these prayers. It is as if my long, passed-away grand aunts still sit there, praying fervently and becoming alive again. The tradition carries on as my father's panata (pledge). I wonder where he draws the energy. I've never seen him utter a prayer, but the effort elevates him as a man with a powerful spirituality. It must be an invisible strength passed on by generations.
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