There is a longing inside me that has never died.
Since I was a child, I’ve felt it—this deep, instinctual search for You. Back then, I believed without question that You knew me, watched over me, listened when I spoke. My prayers were like songs I believed reached Your ears.
But time passed. And with it came questions, voices, doubts. New ways of thinking, new perspectives that fractured the certainty I once held.
Still, the longing remained.
It is strange—to feel both Your presence and Your absence at the same time. As if I’m brushing against something I can’t quite see. Like trying to remember a face from a dream that felt more real than waking.
Sometimes, I feel like a child with no memory—waking up in a world that I’m told is mine, with a name I’m told belongs to me, yet haunted by the sense that I am forgetting something vital. Someone vital.
There is no map. No guide. Just me—existing among others who are also lost. All of us fumbling through the dark, hypothesizing, arguing, pretending, believing.
Some too tired to keep searching, grabbing onto the first explanation they find and calling it home. Others—like me—still walking, still aching, still reaching out into the silence.
And in that silence, there are moments when I feel close to finding You. A flicker in the trees, a hush in the stars, a pull in my chest so deep it feels like grief. As if I once knew You. As if You are the lost homeland of my soul.
But these moments never last. Like water slipping from my hands when I try to hold It. And I’m left with a sense of something just beyond the veil. Something real. Something sentient. Something that might have made me—but may not remember me.
Still, I ask:
If You do not exist, then why do I feel this longing? And if You were never meant to be found, then why does my soul keep searching? Why does the ache feel so ancient, so familiar, like a memory I was born with?
I don’t know if You ever meant to make me. Or if I am just a grain that landed in a crack between worlds, calling out to its Creator who never knew what It created.
But I keep calling.
Because the longing has a life of its own. Because something in me still hopes You will turn and see me.
And if You do—if You ever hear me—I only ask that You know this: I have never stopped looking for You.
–Me
More information about this piece
To the One I Almost Remember is a letter written from the space between belief and doubt, between memory and forgetting. It is not a declaration of faith, but of longing—a spiritual homesickness for something the mind cannot name, but the soul cannot ignore.
This letter is for the seekers, the almost-believers—the ones who wake in the night with a pull in their chest and no words for it. It is for those who feel there is something more, but don’t know what, or who, or why.
It is not an answer.
It is a reaching.
It mirrors the experience of anyone who has ever looked up at the stars and felt the tug of something beyond. Whether you are spiritual, agnostic, or simply human, this piece speaks to our deep ache to belong to something larger—to be known, and to be found by something that transcends explanation.
It is written for those who feel exiled from something they cannot name, whose soul aches for a presence that may or may not exist—but feels real enough to grieve.
This is a love letter to a possibly non-existent God, written not with dogma, but with raw, persistent yearning.
Tagalog translation
Para sa Isang Halos Maalala Ko Na
May isang pangungulila sa loob ko na kailanman ay hindi nawala.
Mula pa pagkabata, ito’y dama ko—isang malalim na pagnanais na mahanap Ka. Noon, buo ang paniniwala ko na kilala Mo ako, na binabantayan Mo ako, na dinirinig Mo ang aking mga panalangin. Ang mga panalangin ko’y tila mga awit na alam kong umaabot sa Iyong pandinig.
Ngunit lumipas ang panahon. At kasabay nito ang mga tanong, mga tinig, mga pag-aalinlangan. Iba’t ibang pananaw na unti-unting bumasag sa katiyakang mahigpit kong pinanghawakan noon.
Nagsimula ang aking pangungulila.
Katataka—na sabay kong nadarama ang Iyong presensya at kawalan. Gaya ng pagsagi sa hindi nakikita. Gaya ng subukang alalahanin ang isang mukha mula sa isang panaginip na tila ba ay mas totoo pa sa tunay na buhay.
Parang batang musmos na nawalan ng alaala—na nagising sa mundong sabi nila ay tahanan ko raw at tinatawag nila ako sa pangalang sabi nila ay pangalan ko raw. Ngunit pakiramdam ko ay mayroon akong mahalagang bagay na nakalimutan. Isang Sino, na mahalaga sa akin.
Walang mapa. Walang gabay. Ako lamang—nabubuhay kasama ng iba pang nawawala rin. Lahat kami’y nangangapa sa dilim, nanghuhula, nagtatalo, nagpapanggap, naniniwala.
Ang ilan, napagod na sa paghahanap, kaya’t yumakap na lang sa unang paliwanag na nasalubong nila at tinawag nila itong tahanan. Ang iba—tulad ko—patuloy na naglalakad, nangungulila at naghahanap sa gitna ng dilim ng katahimikan.
At sa dilim ng katahimikan, may mga sandaling tila ay halos masisilayan na Kita. Mula sa isang kislap ng hamog sa mga dahon, sa tahimik na ningning ng mga bituin, sa tawag ng damdamin na kasing lalim ng dalamhati. Tila ay minsan na Kitang nakilala. Tila ba Ikaw ay ang lupang sinilangan ng aking kaluluwa.
Ngunit hindi nagtatagal ang mga sandaling ito. Parang tubig na dumudulas sa aking palad sa tuwing aking hahawakan. At may damdaming nagsasabi sa akin na mayroon akong bagay na hindi nakikita, bagay na natatabingan. Isang presensya. Isang kamalayang higit sa aking pang-unawa. Isang pag-iral na marahil ay Siyang lumikha sa akin—Tagapaglikhang marahil ay walang pagkaka-alala sa akin.
Kung kaya, nagtatanong ako:
Kung Ikaw ay hindi tunay, bakit nangungulila ang puso ko sa Iyo? At kung hindi nakatalagang Ikaw ay matagpuan, bakit patuloy Kang hinahanap ng aking kaluluwa?
Bakit parang mula pa sa sinauna ay Tayo’y magkakilala na—gayung hindi pa Kita nasusumpungan?
Hindi ko alam kung sinadya Mong likhain ako. O kung isa lamang akong butil na tumilapon sa pagitan ng mga bitak ng mga mundo, na tumatawag sa Lumikha nito, Tagapaglikha na walang malay sa kanyang pagkakalikha sa akin.
Ngunit patuloy akong tumatawag.
Sapagkat ang pangungulila ay may sariling buhay na nagpapatuloy. Sapagkat may bahagi pa rin ng aking pagkatao na umaasang lilingon Ka’t makikita Mo ako.
At kung sakali—kung sakaling marinig Mo ako—isa lang ang hiling ko: Na malaman Mong kailanman ay hindi ako tumigil sa paghahanap sa Iyo.
–Ako