As October - the Month of the Rosary, draws to a close, I often find myself reaching for those familiar beads that have accompanied me through every chapter of life. To me, the Rosary is more than a prayer; it is a heartbeat, a rhythm of faith that has pulsed quietly beneath my days from childhood until now.
I grew up in a home where faith was lived, not spoken of. Every evening, when the world outside slowed and shadows began to gather, our family gathered around a small wooden altar. A simple statue of Our Lady stood there, crowned with flowers from the garden, flanked by flickering candles and a framed photograph of my late mother, whom I never knew.
She passed away when I was barely a year old. That photograph, beside Our Lady’s gentle gaze, was the image of love I grew up with. My father, a professional medic and widower with many mouths to feed, would lead the Rosary faithfully, his voice steady and clear. We prayed for protection, for good health, and for one another.
As children, we often mumbled our Hail Marys half-asleep or distracted, but my father’s discipline and devotion left an imprint. The Rosary, he used to say, was the harness that kept us tied to heaven. At the time, I did not fully understand it. But as the years went by, that rope became the lifeline I would hold onto again and again.
When I left home, I drifted from the habit. I found the Rosary repetitive, even tedious - a prayer of endless words strung together. I wanted the world, and the world seemed far more exciting than beads and mysteries. Like many young people, I prayed only when I needed something. The Rosary gathered dust in a drawer, as I told myself faith could wait. But God has His ways of calling us home.
Life, as it unfolded, was not always kind. I met loss, loneliness, and failure. In moments when the lights dimmed and hope seemed distant, I found myself reaching again for the Rosary—the same one that had once been discarded in a wooden drawer. At first, I prayed clumsily, almost out of habit. Yet, as I began to meditate on each mystery, I realised the Rosary wasn’t about repetition; it was about rhythm. It mirrored life itself - each “Hail Mary” a breath, a heartbeat, a quiet surrender to grace.
There were nights when I clutched the beads through tears, not knowing what to say. And in that silence, Mary listened.
One memory remains vivid. I was on a flight once, caught in a patch of rough turbulence. The cabin lights flickered, and fear gripped everyone. Without thinking, I reached for the Rosary in my pocket and whispered a single Hail Mary. By the time I finished the decade, the skies cleared. The plane steadied. Coincidence, some might say, but I knew otherwise.
The Rosary has also been my companion through more ordinary struggles. I was never good at mathematics, and before every exam as a student, I would pray the Rosary. Somehow, the results always turned out better than expected. It was as though Mary added her quiet grace to my little efforts.
Today, I pray the Rosary daily, often early in the morning before the rush of the world. It has become as natural as breathing. In May and October especially, I feel drawn more deeply into its mysteries - months that seem wrapped in Marian light.
Asian Beads of Reverence
As an Asian Catholic, I often think of how the Rosary resonates across faiths and cultures. We are, after all, a region of beads and chants. The Hindus have their japa mala, the Buddhists their prayer wheels, and the Muslims their tasbih. Each reflects humanity’s deep yearning for the divine through repetition, through rhythm, through stillness. The Rosary, in that sense, is my own form of Asian meditation, my mantra of mercy.
And Mary, to me, is not a distant queen but a mother - my mother. Having lost my own mother as an infant, I have always turned to her as my surrogate mother. There were times in life when I felt lost or frightened, uncertain which way to turn, and somehow, through the Rosary, she gently guided me back. It is she who steadies my steps when the ground shifts. It is she who whispers, “Do whatever He tells you,” when I am tempted to give up.
There are still days when I pray distractedly, or when I forget. But the beauty of the Rosary is that it waits. It does not demand perfection, only presence. And in those quiet moments, when the world feels noisy and uncertain, the beads between my fingers remind me that I am not alone. The Rosary, in its simplicity, gathers the scattered pieces of my day and threads them into prayer.
Looking back, I see now that the Rosary has never left me. It has simply waited for me to rediscover its meaning. From the family altar of my childhood to the turbulence of adult life, it has remained my constant companion - the gentle heartbeat of a faith that began at home and continues to grow.
And so, as this Rosary Month comes to a close, I find myself once more before that familiar image of Our Lady. The candles may flicker differently now, and the altar may have changed, but the prayer remains the same: “Hail Mary, full of grace…” Each blue bead of my Rosary is a memory, a whisper, a mother’s embrace. And I, her child, am still learning to pray.
