One day during my holiday at home, my dad called and asked if I was free for a morning walk. Despite having just completed a 5 km walk that morning, I eagerly responded, “Sure!” Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves on one of the bustling main thoroughfares in Manila, Philippines—an unfamiliar place to me, but as I would soon discover, a cherished “home” to my dad during his college days.

“I’ve wanted to come back here for about 50 years now. I was here from 1967 to 1969, and every day I would walk the path that I will be sharing with you today,” he shared, surprising me. “Papa,” as I affectionately call him, a term for dad in the Filipino language, is a quiet and reserved person. We rarely heard him share stories about his life. So, on this day, I was grateful for my spontaneous decision to go for a stroll with him.

As we walked, he pointed out the place where he resided for three years during his college days. The landlady had been kind enough to let him stay even if he could not pay rent. In 1972, three years after graduating, he returned to the place with my mom to thank the landlady and pay rent dues.

For three years, his daily routine unfolded with a walk from his boarding house to Mapua University. After his classes, he would set out on a journey towards Sta Cruz Church, renowned as the Church of the Blessed Sacrament where he devoted time to prayer. He would then continue to walk to Quiapo Church, now known as the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene before returning to his boarding place again. In this daily sacred routine walk, he discovered a wellspring of hope, strength, and courage.

During the approximately 5 km walk, spanning two hours, he narrated stories of the street scenes, available street foods, and recollected cost of living at that time. Life was uncertain and hard, yet his experiences of friendships and kindness fostered a profound sense of gratefulness.

Throughout the time spent with him that day, I couldn’t help but recognize the precious gift I was receiving—a memory, a glimpse into my dad’s life from 50 years ago, now woven into the fabric of my own story.

I’m grateful that I accepted his invitation that day. It makes me ponder how I’m being invited to take walks or sit with relatives and friends to share a cup of coffee, creating opportunities to weave our own stories together.