Andy

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I spent twelve years inside the silence of a contemplative convent in the Philippines. That silence is where my gift of prophecy was born not in a vision, but in obedience. Today I sit with people who carry questions they've never said out loud, and God gives me a word for them. I am born and raised in Legazpi, Albay, Philippines where I became a contemplative at the age of 18. I love praying the Rosary. I have seen countless miracles from praying the Holy Rosary from the heart. I am temporarily out of the contemplative life to fulfill some missions I needed to do outside. Hope to talk to you heart beat to heartbeat.

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I am a university professor, but long before I became an educator, I was simply a frightened young boy trying to understand the strange things happening around me. As a child, I would see people who had already passed away. Some would appear silently, while others seemed desperate to ask for prayers, help, or even deliver messages to the people they loved. At an age when most children were learning how to play, I was learning how to live with fear. For many years, I cursed this gift. I prayed for it to disappear. I avoided speaking about it because I knew how easily people could misunderstand experiences like these. There were nights I could barely sleep, asking God why I had been made different. Deep inside, I knew I could not continue living with my heart constantly open to things I did not fully understand. As I grew older, I made the difficult decision to close what many call the “third eye.” I wanted peace. I wanted silence. More than anything, I wanted to live a normal life grounded in faith and purpose. It was not an easy journey, but through prayer, discipline, and surrender to God, I slowly learned that gifts are not always meant to stay in the same form forever. What I lost in visions, I gained in deep understanding. Over time, I discovered I could look at a person and immediately sense what they carried within them — grief, fear, loneliness, exhaustion, even the burdens they never speak about aloud. Some call this claircognizance, a quiet knowing that arrives without explanation. For me, it feels less like seeing and more like understanding the soul standing before me. Being a professor taught me something important: every person is fighting a battle hidden behind their smile, their success, or even their silence. My gift became less about the supernatural and more about compassion, discernment, and truth. I no longer seek extraordinary experiences. Instead, I try to help people feel seen, understood, and spiritually guided in moments when they feel lost. In a session with me, you can expect honesty, depth, and quiet reflection. I believe God allows certain gifts not to create fear, but to bring clarity, healing, and direction. Sometimes people do not need dramatic answers. Sometimes they simply need someone who can truly see them, listen to what is unspoken, and remind them that they are never alone.

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They used to call me “Weird Grace” in theatre school in Manila. At first it sounded playful, almost harmless, but deep inside, those words stayed with me. People noticed that I would say things I could not possibly know — emotions someone was hiding, struggles they never spoke about, even moments in their lives they thought no one could see. I was sensitive in ways I could not explain. Sometimes it felt like I could walk into a room and immediately feel the heaviness someone carried behind their smile. For years, I thought something was wrong with me. I tried to silence that part of myself because I was afraid of being judged or misunderstood. In theatre school, everyone wears masks in one way or another, and maybe that is why I learned so early how to see beyond them. I could sense when someone was pretending to be strong, pretending to be happy, or pretending to be loved. It became exhausting carrying feelings that did not belong to me. There was a season in my life when I truly believed this sensitivity was a curse. I prayed constantly for God to take it away. I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to stop carrying the weight of other people’s pain in my heart. There were nights I cried without fully understanding why, only knowing that something inside me was aching for peace and direction. Everything changed when I met a Christian counselor who saw through me in the gentlest way. During one prayer session, she laid hands on me and said words I will never forget: “What you have is not a curse. It is a calling.” For the first time in my life, I did not feel broken. I felt understood. She taught me that discernment, when rooted in faith and love, can become a way to guide people back to truth, healing, and even back to themselves. Today, I use my gift differently. I no longer focus on fear or mystery. Instead, I help people remove the masks they do not even realize they are wearing. Sometimes people come to me feeling lost, disconnected, exhausted, or emotionally trapped, and all they really need is someone who can gently reflect back the truth they have been avoiding. I believe God allows certain people to carry light into places where others only see confusion. When you speak with me, I will never judge you or shame you. I will tell you the truth gently, prayerfully, and with compassion. I believe honesty should never wound people unnecessarily. My approach is grounded in Scripture, discernment, and love — the kind of love that listens deeply, protects softly, and speaks honestly. Think of me not as someone above you, but as an older sister walking beside you, helping you see clearly again when life has made everything feel heavy and uncertain.