After 28 years, I was given the chance to visit once again the Santo Niño Shrine of Tacloban City, also known as the Romualdez Museum. The first time I set foot there was in 1998, when I attended the Media Cultural Workshop hosted by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) in partnership with the National Book Development Board (NBDB). I was part of the delegation of The Pillar, the official student publication of the University of Eastern Philippines, where I served as a member of the editorial board. At that time, I was a third-year college student.
Our visit to the Santo Niño Shrine was part of the seminar, meant to help us appreciate local arts and history. Earlier that day, we had also toured the San Juanico Bridge. The NCCA and NBDB officers were truly amazed by the experience, especially since it was their first time to visit the area—most of them being from Manila.
During that first visit to the shrine, I was astounded by the mansion’s opulence. It was the first time in my life that I had ever set foot in a palatial home. Our guide ushered us through its many rooms and vast halls, each reflecting a blend of Filipino, Asian, and European design. The furniture and fixtures were impressive, crafted either locally or imported from abroad. The President and the First Lady each had their own rooms—so enormous that our modest home could have fit inside them several times over. Each member of the family also had a private room. The first family truly lived like royalty, with rooms, halls, and staircases seemingly designed for a royal household.
The guest rooms were especially striking, each with distinctive motifs showcasing artworks and handicrafts from Ifugao, Tacloban, Bicol, Mindanao, and other regions. I vividly remember several art pieces from Guiuan, Samar, most notably a fountain made of seashells and coral stones. Even after all these years, I can still recall the details as if it were only yesterday.
On my second visit, 28 years later, I felt the same sense of awe and wonder. Time, however, had left its mark—the interior had visibly aged. Still, the façade remained impressively unchanged, standing as grand as ever.
After my recent visit, I sat on a bench a few meters away from the mansion and found myself overcome with reflection and nostalgia. My thoughts drifted back to 1994, when I first came to Tacloban as a high school delegate to the Regional Schools Press Conference held at Leyte National High School. I was only 15 years old then, brimming with youthful idealism and ambition. That experience was followed by similar trips in 1995 and 1998. Today, I have lost count of how many times I have returned to this city.
As I sat there at the age of 46, all I could do was heave a quiet sigh for the years that had passed. My age had changed. Life had changed. In that moment, I realized how God had blessed me throughout the years—how He carried me through every struggle and allowed me to survive them all. I first came here at 15 with nothing but dreams. Today, I return at 46 with many of those dreams fulfilled, still weaving new ones—this time not so much for myself, but for my loved ones and for the people I hope to serve.
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