I fell in love with this song the moment I heard it. And when we had lunch with Gary V sev­eral years ago and he men­tioned that this was one of his favorite songs as well (and we asked him to sing it to us), I fell in love with it again. I think Gary sang this song in the wed­ding of Mike and Ange, two friends of mine. I don’t know if he got to do his own ver­sion in an album though.

In the next few weeks, I will be focus­ing my time on some per­sonal study, impor­tant work-related projects, and rela­tion­ship stuff.

Because of that, I have decided to keep my post­ings to AngPere­grino to a min­i­mum. I will be writ­ing inter­mit­tently, just until the sched­ule clears up.

When I was a young boy of six or seven years old, my dad taught me how to make a kite. He first taught me how to make what looked like a cross­bow out of walis tingt­ing, cover it with glue and attach plas­tic over it. Then he taught me how to tie the ends of the walis tingt­ing with thread. He also taught me how to put plas­tic on the two ends of the kite for bal­ance. The secret was attach­ing the thread and/or nylon string: it has to be attached strongly enough to with­stand the winds but flex­i­bly enough to allow for move­ment. He then gave me a used can of Alpine evap­o­rated milk to wind the long thread.

This is prob­a­bly my most favorite story in the bible (I also love the beau­ti­ful story of Esau for­giv­ing his brother Jacob, but that is a topic of another post). I love this story because it is a very human story that rivals the clas­sics: dis­ci­ples going back to what they know best (fish­ing) and not catch­ing any, of depress­ing rou­tine made even more depress­ing because of fail­ure, the dark­ness of night mir­ror­ing the mood of the dis­ci­ples who had lost hope, and Hope walk­ing on the shore just as dawn is break­ing.

I remem­ber writ­ing this for Father Roque Fer­riols, my Phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor who is known as the Father of Fil­ipino Phi­los­o­phy. I gave this to him dur­ing our oral exams. And we talked about this poem instead of talk­ing about the the­sis statements.

I had writ­ten it in a fit of inspi­ra­tion while watch­ing a moth fly near can­dles I had lighted to bring some scent and ambi­ence to my room. I remem­bered Socrates. I remem­bered Fr. Fer­riols. And I remem­bered myself.