“In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-2)

It’s funny but I’ve written newspaper articles, editorials, speeches and project reports. I’ve even edited a Catholic magazine and served as a staff correspondent for the Catholic News. Yet never in my life have I written about Pentecost and the Holy Spirit.

Why? First of all, there is my professional background as a true-blue secular journalist. Then my personal past as a half-baked Catholic—despite being a cradle Catholic, I went through my childhood un-catechised as my own parents were busy making ends meet in the impoverished, and often disaster-ravaged Philippine countryside.

I also do not possess the depth and breadth of knowledge that some of you may have since I really did not start taking my Faith seriously until 1998.

Consequently, I stumble each time I attempt to write on the Holy Trinity.

But one night The Prompt editor Anthony Tan called to ask if I would contribute an article to the website. Before I knew it, I told him I would write about Pentecost.

What I had actually meant was that I would write about the ‘Pentecosts’ of my life—the periods in my life when I found God in the beauty of my family and my efforts to radiate God’s love to all around me.

The Pentecost in my life is such a long drawn-out affair. It has been a series of struggles but the struggles helped prepare me for what is to come—the coming of the Holy Spirit in my life to empower me to evangelise, and use my life stories and talents to reach out to others.

Papa was a Rolling Stone

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit away from me.” (Ps 51:10-11).

By the late 1970s, I had begun experimenting with drugs and marijuana. I found myself far away from family and the Church. My drift away from the Faith took place earlier. For close to a decade I did not set foot inside my parish—Santo Rosario—in Pasig City, Metro-Manila, where for four years while I was a child I had been an altar-server. Being more involved with fraternities, friends of the Faith were also far and few between.

So I was still in a spiritual limbo when I arrived in Singapore as a young student in 1979. Landing at Paya Lebar Airport, I thanked my lucky stars for bringing me to Singapore on an Asean Scholarship and for delivering me from poverty. A word of gratitude to God was furthest from my mind.

What was on my mind? A nice hostel room, a comfortable bed, well-balanced meals, new friends, and of course, a free education courtesy of the Singapore government...

Indeed, I thought salvation was found in my move from the filthy banks of the Pasig River to the beautiful greenery of Bukit Timah campus and the Botanic Gardens.

But when the shadows fell, I began missing the people I loved deeply—my parents and my two sisters. I thought especially of my mum. I would write lengthy letters to my family, mull for hours on campus grounds and go on solitary walks in the Gardens.

Perhaps this loneliness drove me to God? For even the hardiest of us can be broken.

I found myself behaving like a little child again. Amusing my Buddhist roommate from Malaysia no end, I knelt down by my bedside to say my night prayers. I had been converted and reborn as a Catholic.

Soon I was joining the little group of Catholic students from Raffles Hall for prayers and Sunday morning Mass at St Ignatius.

Returning for the first time to Mass after many years, I broke down and wept for forgiveness after receiving Communion. My friend Steven Koong practically had to drag me away because the next Mass was due to begin.