Right under my nose, a fellow passenger on a van from Catarman to Calbayog City had stolen my umbrella. He could give Lupin the third a run for his money- the umbrella was gone in a jiffy! But still, I wanna thank him for not including my backpack.

Which reminds me of the parishioners of St. Francis of Assisi Parish Church in the quaint town of Siquijor, Siquijor. With my ferry trip to Dumaguete delayed that morning, I meandered back into the town and stumbled into the olden church as a mass was about to begin. All of the churchgoers were in their best Sunday attires, I settled for the last part of the long rows of pews as I fidgeted in my capris and slippers. Communion rite later started and I was grateful for leaving my bulky backpack on my seat. Bags, purses, wallets were left on the pews as the mass attendees queued up to the altar.

When I think of Siquijor, I’m reminded not only of witchcraft and beautiful beaches, but even more of its old churches and their admirably honest people.

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