Sometimes, when I’m walking home and the light hits just right, I think about how everything we touch eventually fades. Flowers wilt even when we water them. Songs end even if we hum them over and over. People leave, or we leave them. And yet, there’s this stubbornness in us that keeps loving anyway. Maybe that’s the real miracle, not the kind you read in holy books, but the human kind, the persistence to care even when the world insists on ending. I’ve seen it in small ways. A friend still baking her grandmother’s bread recipe even though she never quite gets it right. We have a neighbor who's an old man. Every morning, he would sit on his porch, sipping coffee from a chipped mug, talking softly to no one. At first, I thought he was just muttering to himself. Then one morning, I heard him say, “Your orchids are blooming again.” His wife had passed five years before. He still tended to her plants every day. Love, I realized, doesn’t stop asking to be fed just because the other pe...
by Ma. Graciella