I SPENT two days at the wake of Fr. Roque “Khing” Pineda Vaño at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Seminary (IHMS) chapel in the company of high school classmates and friends, Joy Calimbayan Sevilla, and Vera Villocido, which was comforting, even more so because it stirred childhood nostalgia. Some places and spaces hold a special spot in our hearts growing up, and IHMS figured in mine.
I wish I could remember one of his homilies, but I couldn’t. Maybe I was still too young to be grappling with his lessons on activism, or maybe my parents drilled into us never to entertain thoughts of rebellion. But I would mostly attribute it to childhood. What would I know about what’s happening in society then, except that there was a war in another part of the world? What’s vivid to me is him riding his motorcycle with someone on the back. My thoughts then were, “Who got qualified to be his back rider?” But I was a kid then, how would I know this adult stuff?
It’s funny, but I remember each Sunday we would guess which of the many priests at IHMS would preside over the Mass for the Taloto parishioners. Since Taloto hosts the seminary, we were in for a treat every Sunday. I tell you, I had heard so many priests give their sermons each Sunday. We would often hear the adults ask, “Who’s doing the Mass today?” I guess in that way, the parishioners were fortunate.
Coming back to IHMS was a walk down memory lane for me and a homecoming for Fr. Khing, as conveyed by his younger brother, Gerry:
We gather today in a place that meant so much to my brother — this seminary, where his vocation was shaped, where he studied, and where he eventually returned, not just as a priest, but as a teacher and vice rector. In many ways, this was home to him — both as a student and as a formator of future priests.
Fr. Khing was the sixth of nine siblings (Salvador Jr., Rosito, Jesus, George, Lea, Fr. Khing, Fr. Amado Jose, German, and Felicitas). Just less than a year ago, we also lost our seventh brother, Father Ding, while he served in Zamboanga. To lose not one, but two brothers in the priesthood, within such a brief time, is something our family is still learning to bear.
I grew up with Khing, and even as a young boy, something was already unmistakable about him. He excelled naturally, with consistent honors, and eventually graduated as valedictorian in elementary school. When he entered the seminary here in Tagbilaran, that excellence continued, culminating in a Magna Cum Laude distinction.
On the surface, things seemed to come easy for him – intelligence, presence, even a certain charm. In our culture, a young, bright, good-looking seminarian often attracts attention, support, and even admiration. And with that comes temptation – especially for someone who has chosen a life of celibacy. But through it all, Fr. Khing remained faithful to his vows. And yet to understand him fully, you must accept this: He was not a conventional priest. I say this with love — and with honesty — because I knew him not just as “Fr. Khing,” but as my brother. He had a strong mind and an even stronger sense of conviction. He did not bend easily to authority if he believed something was not right. He would stand his ground, even at personal cost.
Popularity was never his goal; truth, as he saw it, was. At times, this made him difficult to understand. Even within the church structure he served, his perspectives were often more nuanced, more probing, less confined by traditional lines. He once stood in the Vatican grounds holding a placard that read, “Allow priests to marry.” That alone tells you that he was not afraid to wrestle with the institution he loved. In hindsight, this act was not for himself but for colleagues who left the priesthood and got married.
In his daily life, he also did not fit the mold that people expected. He smoked, he gambled, he played golf, he enjoyed the company of friends, including women, but always within the bounds of respect and friendship. And because of this, he was often misunderstood. Stories were told; narratives were shaped. The “Marites culture” as we know it, added its usual dagdag-bawas. And because Fr. Khing was not one to defend himself, many of these perceptions remained unchallenged.
But I stand here today to say this much: Much of what was said about him does not capture the truth of who he was. Because beyond all the complexity — beyond the contradictions people thought they saw — was a man with a deeply generous heart. A heart that trusted. A heart that gave. A heart that formed friendships that endured.
And perhaps no words encapsulate this better than a simple message written by Melissa Flores Unajan, whose life he touched:
“Sometimes, the most difficult ones
have the biggest hearts . . .
Fr. Khing, thank you for the generous trust,
the kindness, and mostly the friendship . . .
One more mission to fulfill . . .
Rest easy now, Fr. K . . .”
Brother . . . you have fulfilled your mission. Rest easy now.
I thank Gerry for handing me the manuscript so I can publish it in my column. His words lay bare the man behind the motorcycle and the mystique. It turns out, the “quality” I couldn’t quite figure out as a child was an amalgam of his intellect, divergence, snobbery (as he rode his bike), and courage to be human in a world that regards him as an icon.
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This concludes my two-part tribute to Fr. Khing Vaño. Writing this series felt like I had completed the assignment that we weren’t able to accomplish. Farewell, Fr. Khing. Thank you for respecting my wrath and for your courage to be human.
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The author owns and manages Belinda Communications Consulting. You can reach us via email at belindabelsales@gmail.com. Engage with us on X @ShilohRuthie./PN
