Grief to Grace: A Filipino Journalist's Vatican Coverage: Inside a Month of Faith, History, and Breaking News

Text by Mye Mulingtapang | Photos courtesy of Portia and Ernie Delgado

From Mourning to White Smoke: A Frontline Vatican Conclave Experience

The past few weeks have been a blur — a whirlwind of history, heartbreak, and hope. As I sit down to finally catch my breath after nearly a month of non-stop coverage, I realise how deeply this assignment has changed me — not only as a journalist but as a person of faith.

Covering the death, wake, and funeral of Pope Francis — a beloved shepherd who led with humility and mercy — was not just another assignment. It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment that demanded every ounce of strength, clarity, and grace I could give. From the moment the news broke, the world stood still. Rome became the center of mourning.

Under the searing Italian sun, I stood shoulder to shoulder with thousands of faithful, lining up to pay their last respects. The cobbled streets of the Vatican were filled with prayer, weeping, and reflection. I was there — phone in hand, tripod slung over my shoulder, and heart wide open.

Every day brought new challenges — shifting schedules, security bottlenecks, emotional exhaustion. But with them came profound encounters. I spoke with Filipino pilgrims who had traveled across continents to be there. I met nuns who carried hand-written letters of prayer, and OFWs who pooled savings just to attend the papal Mass. Their faith reminded me why I chose this path: to tell stories that matter.

From the very beginning of this marathon coverage — from Pope Francis’s final blessing to the dawn of a new papacy — I knew these stories had to be felt, not just told. That’s why I recorded not just live reports, but the quieter, behind-the-scenes moments: the lines under the heat, the prayers whispered in different languages, the faces of hope.

In the silent and sacred space of one of Rome’s most revered basilicas, people patiently line up, carrying flowers and whispered prayers to honor the simple white tomb of a Catholic leader loved by the entire world.

The tomb of Pope Francis, located inside the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, was opened to the public on Sunday, April 27, just a day after his burial and people continue to flock and take time to visit his final resting place  bringing with them gratitude, prayers, and an inspiration they will never forget.

For over a billion Catholics around the world  including the Filipino community in Italy, life continues under the light of faith Pope Francis left behind.

His memory does not end with his burial. I have witnessed after queuing for hours how it lives on in the hearts of Filipino children, in the prayers of migrant workers, and in a faith that remains alive across the world.

The Reality Behind Frontline Vatican Coverage

I had the privilege of working with some of the most respected names in journalism: Zen Hernandez, whose calm presence and sharp instincts carried me through breaking reports. At one point, I found myself in the press corral beside Jessica Soho, Korina Sanchez, Vicky Morales, and Cheryl Cosim. Icons I once watched growing up, also stood with me as colleagues. Their warmth, professionalism, and generosity were unforgettable. To witness their work ethic up close was both humbling and inspiring. I learned so much from simply standing beside them.

And then, the world held its breath once again. The mourning gave way to anticipation as the Conclave began. The sacred, secretive tradition to choose the next leader of the Catholic Church. Together with senior reporter Rose Eclarinal and photojournalist Ernie Delgado, we captured not just images but moments that moved millions.

One hundred thirty-three cardinals from around the world entered the Sistine Chapel, while the rest of us outside turned our eyes to the tiny chimney.

Every puff of black smoke tested my patience. I’d brace myself, refresh my live feeds, and report: “Still no pope.” And yet, even amid the tension and exhaustion, there was quiet anticipation and excitement. 

Then, on the fifth vote, it happened.

White smoke.

I had rehearsed the words in my head countless times, Habemus Papam! But when the moment finally came, they burst out of me in a breathless, joyful rush. This wasn’t just another news update. This was history. And I had the honor of breaking it to the Filipino audience not from a polished studio or scripted live feed, but through a raw, real, and personal selfie report right from St. Peter’s Square.

It was late afternoon in Rome when the white smoke finally appeared. I remember staring at the chimney, phone in one hand, holding my breath. A second later, my instincts kicked in. I turned my camera to face me, hit record, and said the words I had waited days to say:

"Habemus Papam! We have a pope!"

“Habemus Papam!”

But this wasn’t delivered from a studio or a polished setup. It was through my selfie report. A raw, real, and pulsing with emotion. I held up my phone in the middle of the crowd, with the bells tolling and cheers ringing around me, and broke the news to our audience: We have a new pope.

That unfiltered video, shaky, unscripted would later be aired across platforms, shared on social media. Because in that moment, I didn’t just report history. I lived it. And through my lens, so did every Filipino back home.

From the very beginning of this marathon coverage, from Pope Francis’s final blessing to the dawn of a new papacy. I knew this story had to be felt, not just told. That’s why I recorded not just live reports, but the quieter, behind-the-scenes moments: the lines under the heat, the prayers whispered in Tagalog, the faces of hope.

When the newly elected Pope Leo XIV appeared at the loggia, I saw him up close a couple of days after his proclamation. Radiant with humility. His eyes met mine for a brief second. Then, unexpectedly, he extended his hand. I shook it firmly, gently. No panic. No security rush. Just a quiet moment of human connection I will carry with me forever.

There was no time for multiple takes, no fancy gear. Just the crowd’s roar behind me, my voice trembling with excitement, and the emotion that could only come from someone who had stood in the heat, stayed up for nights, prayed with the faithful, and waited like the rest of the world for that sacred announcement.

In the days that followed, we didn’t rest. There were profiles to file, angles to pitch, and stories to shape. But I was no longer the same reporter. I had been changed. Sharpened by pressure, softened by grace.

This month-long journey was not just a career milestone. It was a spiritual pilgrimage. A masterclass in faith, storytelling, and resilience. I learned how to write faster, but also deeper. I learned how to report from the margins, but always with heart. I learned that journalism is not just about showing up. It’s about being present, being human.

From the very start of this marathon coverage   up to the moment the Vatican confirmed the passing of Pope Francis, I knew this story had to be felt, not just reported. That’s why I chose to deliver updates not only through formal stand-ups, but through selfie videos that captured the behind-the-scenes moments: standing in line under the sweltering Roman sun, talking to Filipino pilgrims wrapped in flags, kneeling with them as prayers echoed across the Square.

To witness the passing of a pope, the mystery of the Conclave, and the election of a new leader while standing among the very journalists I once admired was more than just an assignment. It was an unforgettable journey that reshaped the way I see journalism and my place in it.

With nothing but my phone in hand, I found myself capturing history as it unfolded. From solemn vigils outside St. Peter’s Basilica to spontaneous conversations with pilgrims and clergy from around the world, I turned to selfie reports not just to document events but to tell the human side of the story. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about presence.

Those selfie reports became my lens, not just into the news but into people’s lives. I interviewed grieving faithful, curious tourists, seasoned Vatican correspondents, and hopeful believers who had waited years for this moment. Each interaction reminded me that behind every headline is a heartbeat.

But the experience went far beyond that single scene. It taught me that storytelling isn’t about the size of your camera or the polish of your script. It’s about showing up with authenticity, listening closely, and sharing moments that matter.

This was never just work. It was a pilgrimage through faith, history, and human connection. A story I didn’t just report, but one I lived. With nothing but my phone in hand, I stood in the middle of it all, capturing not just the headlines, but the heartbeat of a moment the world was watching.

In those moments, raw, real, and deeply human, I realized that journalism isn’t about having the best tools or being the loudest voice. It’s about presence. It’s about listening. It’s about bearing witness with honesty and heart.

And now, looking back, I know this much is true. Journalism isn’t only about chasing history. Sometimes, it’s about standing in the middle of it with your phone in hand and saying to the world:  This is Mye Mulingtapang, and it’s my honor to share these stories with the world.