I went to Church yesterday to hear the last mass of the day at six o’clock at our local parish.  I was listening intently to the sermon and during the offertory, for some reason, I looked down the seat in front of me. 

What else should I notice but tiny circles of dried up wax?  Who knows how old those particular drops were or for what reason their candles were burned for but there they were: the keys to my memory lane. 

My parents are both Roman Catholics and they had me quite late in their lives.  They were already in their mid-thirties, I think, so by the time I became conscious of anything in around me, they were already at that point in their lives where they were already looking to the church for guidance for their spiritual journey. 

I grew up to mass during Sundays; we did it every week no matter what until I entered high school.  I guess I received the stricter religious upbringing; my brother is seven years older than I am so I assume he experienced the career-focused version of my parents as opposed to the religious people who raised me.  I assume this because he’s not as zealous as I am when it comes to anything that is faith-related.

Anyway there’s this one anecdote that my father just loves to tell during dinner.  Apparently when I was once that annoying kid in church who just can’t sit still, no matter what.  Yes, I was that three-year old who, despite the fact you’re in currently inside the church listening to the word of God, you’d still want to slap silly.  I was a spoiled brat, what can I say? 

They’d take me to church, but since I literally had the attention span of a toddler, I usually became bored of the ceremonies and fill up my time by running up and down the halls.  After being winded by such activities, my father says that I’d go back to my seat and lie down, a bottle of milk pacifying me for the mean time. 

Also, apparently “Kordero ng Diyos” (“Lamb of God”) was my favorite church song of all time.  How did they know this, you ask?  Well because my father says that no matter what I was doing at the time, be it running down the aisles, picking dried wax off the tables or sucking my bottle, I’d immediately stop, stand up and sing.  Very, very loudly. 

The fact that I knew all the words to “Kordero ng Diyos” when I was just three years old is a testament to the fact that I was brought to hear mass regularly, despite my ADD-ish behavior during the rituals.  Apparently I’d sing the song on the top of my lungs, going at my own pace and ignoring the choir and everybody else.  I’d sing (or shout) loudly and out of tune one whole line ahead of everybody else.

So seeing those tiny circles of dried wax yesterday immediately brought me back to my childhood.  At this point I’m just thankful for that innate innocence that shielded me from the embarrassment of the things that I did during those masses. 

As I listened to the choir singing in the background I caught myself picking at the wax.  I just couldn’t help it.  Old habits do die hard, I suppose.