My devotion started early in childhood. It was then purely in the supernatural and the mythical realm.

Being the third child of the seven of our parents, I was more exposed to the church and prayers--aside from the family daily evening rosary and the individual praying in bed.

Being an altar boy, I served not only in our Peñafrancia Shrine nearby but also at the Cathedral adjacent to our parochial elementary school and the next town's parish of Canaman where I was born and where I would spend my school breaks with my maternal grandma: the fiesta and the Sunday barrio masses, the November 1 cemetery blessings and Holy Week rituals, the Christmas simbang gabi and other church services (like assisting in funeral rites and attending Legion of Mary meetings).

Only my high school seminary years in Quezon City would interrupt--but not stop--these religious exposures in Bikol. And our main church then was the Peñafrancia Shrine.

The Shrine either to hear Mass or just touch and kiss the "manto" of the image or both --was our medicine cabinet (for recovery from illness), our wishing well (for requests for material things we sought), our refuge (from disasters), and our thank you center (where we wear for the first time our new clothes or shoes for the blessing, and where we report our achievements).

This childhood devotion did not wane even when it metamorphosed into higher theological perspectives through the years of my early involvement in the rabid anti-communist movement in 1970, then in the efforts at social transformation and towards justice and peace for a better society.

To this day, eight years after retirement from government service, there is still that hovering advice from my mama: the intercession of the mother has always a strong swaying influence on her child. Viva la Virgen!</p>