The Book Thief

23/08/2026

For the past nine years, I have had the privilege of teaching in law school, after first teaching undergraduate courses. Time has allowed me to witness legal education from both sides of the classroom, as a student struggling through the pages of law books and as a professor watching new generations navigate the very same journey.

Recently, I joined a law students' online community. Its purpose is admirable: to become a haven where law students and aspiring law students can freely seek guidance, share frustrations, and help one another survive the rigors of legal education. I joined not merely to answer questions, but to understand the perspective and sentiments of today's students, to compare them with our experiences years ago and, perhaps, to see legal education through a different lens.

As I quietly observed, I realized that some things never really change. The faces are different, the technology is different, but many of the battles remain the same. Financial struggles continue to haunt students because there is never quite enough. Working students still wrestle with impossible schedules, trying to squeeze readings into already exhausted days. The overwhelming volume of cases and codals still demands more hours than a day could ever offer. Law school remains unlike any other educational experience, governed by its own peculiar rules, traditions, and expectations. Terror professors, relentless recitations, and examinations seemingly crafted by the devil himself continue to test not only one's intellect but also one's endurance. And despite all preparations, there will always be those dreadful days when everything simply falls apart, and lne ends up sahing: "s**t happens".

These struggles are as old as legal education itself. They have endured across generations like stubborn landmarks along every law student's journey. Law school has always been, and perhaps will always remain, sui generis.

Yet, as I continued reading, I encountered concerns that made me smile. Questions such as, "What books do I need?" "Should I buy a tablet?" "Which coffee shop is best for studying?" "What brand of highlighter works best?" amused me at first while it lingered to almost annoyance.

Naturally, my mind drifted back to our own days. And, admittedly, a familiar thought crept into my head. "Kami nga noong panahon..." Back then, books were scarce. Photocopied materials and pirated book reproductions were often more common than original copies. I survived using notebooks adorned with movie stars on their covers, stacks upon stacks of hard copies of cases, and borrowed notes from generous upperclassmen. We did not debate over tablets; we debated over whose photocopies were complete. Our fuel was not artisan coffee from cozy cafés but fluorescent lights, instant 3-in-1 coffee, and, for some, perhaps a bottle of Pale Pilsen after an exhausting week.Those were the days. For a fleeting moment, I almost hastily judge and echoed Senator Robin Padilla's famous line: "Mahina ang generation na ito." (Binoto n'yo ba siya? 😁)

But then I realized I was mistaken. The problems did not disappear. They simply evolved. Every generation carries its own cross. It sings it owns song and should a different battle cry which still remains a battle cry.

If our generation struggled because information was scarce, today's generation struggles because information is abundant. We once worried whether the notes passed down to us were outdated or, worse, "poison notes." We constantly verified whether what we were reading still reflected the law.

Today, students face an entirely different battlefield. They stand in the middle of an information storm where truth competes with misinformation, half-truths, sensational content, and outright lies. Books are no longer difficult to find; the difficulty now lies in choosing which among the countless authors deserves your trust. Resources are everywhere, and precisely because they are everywhere, students often feel compelled to consume everything, forgetting that no one can possibly read it all. The abundance that was meant to liberate has, in many ways, become another form of burden. They are now overwhelmed with wait is available.

These are only some of the objective realities, things beyond our control. The legal system, the curriculum, the methods of instruction, technological changes, and even the overwhelming amount of information are circumstances we simply have to accept.

Yet beyond these external struggles lies a far more difficult battle. The battle within. Every student carries personal fears, insecurities, prejudices, expectations, and emotional burdens. Philosophies change. Perspectives shift. Mental and emotional struggles have become just as real as academic ones. These invisible battles often determine how students approach legal concepts, respond to failure, and persevere despite setbacks. Ironically, these are the very things over which we possess the greatest measure of control.

While we cannot dictate how difficult the examinations will be, we can choose how diligently we prepare. While we cannot control the professor's style of teaching, we can control our attitude toward learning. While we cannot silence the noise of the world, we can decide which voices deserve our attention.

The greatest courtroom in law school is often not inside the classroom but within ourselves, where discipline argues against procrastination, hope pleads against despair, and faith quietly overrules fear.

Perhaps that is why the simplest advice given by our professors has remained timeless. Keep things simple. Worry only about the things that lie within your grasp. As for those beyond your control, entrust them to the Divine.

After all, as the late Dean Riano beautifully reminded us: "Why worry, if you can pray?"

12/06/2026

Punto de Vista

Happy Independence Day!

Today marks the 128th anniversary of our Declaration of Independence from the Spanish Crown. It was a pivotal moment in our nation's story, a thunderclap that echoed across centuries, announcing to the world that a people long chained had finally found the courage to stand. From that declaration emerged the Revolutionary Government and eventually the Malolos Constitution, the first republican constitution in Asia. Though history would deny it the opportunity to fully unfold, its very existence remains proof that Filipinos once dared to dream beyond servitude and imagine themselves as masters of their own destiny.
But history, like a river, rarely flows in a straight line.

After the Pact of Biak-na-Bato, General Emilio Aguinaldo and several revolutionary leaders sailed into exile in Hong Kong. There, amid uncertainty and shifting alliances, Aguinaldo sought American assistance in continuing the struggle against Spain. The rest, as they say, is history. Through the Treaty of Paris signed in France, Spain ceded the Philippines and other territories to the United States. One empire lowered its flag; another raised its own. Spanish rule ended, yet another chapter of foreign domination quietly opened its pages.

Yet Independence Day is not merely about a date inked in a history book, nor about a declaration read from a balcony, nor even about the first unfurling of our flag beneath the June sky.

Partly, yes, we celebrate the moment.
But more importantly, we celebrate the people behind that moment.
We celebrate a generation that looked beyond province, surname, dialect, and personal ambition. Different voices found harmony in a single cause. Diverse hands carried one banner. Their future was uncertain, yet they believed it was worth fighting for. More than that, they believed it was worth dying for.
Rivers of blood watered the fragile seedling called freedom so that future generations could someday rest beneath its shade.

And so, 128 years later, I often find myself wondering:
If those who shed their blood for our freedom could see us today, what would they say? What would be their thoughts about the Republic they envisioned? If they had social media accounts, what would their posts look like? Would they celebrate our progress? Would they marvel at our achievements? Would they be proud of what we have become? Or would they spend their days typing lengthy status updates beginning with: "Mga kababayan... ano na naman ito?" More importantly, would they still say that we were worth dying for?

I do not know if everyone will agree, but it seems that we are living through a season of political turbulence. The winds of discord have become so strong that even the Senate itself could hardly deny the storm clouds gathering above our political landscape. In many ways, they stand as living exhibits of the very chaos they attempt to explain.
The struggles of the past revolved around who should lead a nation struggling to be born.

Today's struggles often revolve around who should preside, who should control institutions, who should inherit influence, and who should remain seated upon the throne long after the music should have stopped...
Different names...
Different faces...
The same old hunger...
The same ancient appetite dressed in modern clothes.

This reminds me of a powerful line from the film Juan Luna, where the painter passionately argued that perhaps our greatest problem was never foreign domination alone. Perhaps our deepest wound has always been the conflict of Filipino against Filipino, where personal ambition occasionally grows taller than patriotism itself.

The battlefield has changed, but the war remains strangely familiar.
Today, assassinations are not always physical. Character assassination has become an everyday sport. Half-baked stories wrapped in vendetta travel from screen to screen like wildfire carried by a typhoon wind. Rumors move at the speed of Wi-Fi, while truth patiently waits for a stable connection. A lie today no longer needs legs. It has fiber optics. At the same time, many of our people remain trapped within systems that cultivate dependence upon local political patrons. These modern-day feudal lords sustain influence not merely through governance but through patronage, weaving webs of obligation so intricate that entire communities become dependent on them for opportunities, favors, and sometimes even survival.

In such a system, loyalty often transcends reason...
Utang na loob becomes a leash.
Blind allegiance becomes a virtue.
Critical thinking becomes an act of rebellion...
What emerges is an army not necessarily united by principles, but by dependency; not by conviction, but by convenience; not by truth, but by narrative...
To borrow a rather unpleasant image, many have become flies endlessly grateful for the very pile of refuse that keeps them fed.

And because of this, some are willing to sacrifice everything, even their lives, not for country, not for ideals, not for the Constitution, but for personalities. Perhaps that is one of the great ironies of our time. We gained freedom from foreign rulers, yet many willingly surrender their freedom of thought.

Recently, a post on Facebook caught my attention. It reminded us:
"Hindi tayo pinalaya para maging fan club ng mga pamilyang politiko; pinalaya tayo para bantayan ang bayan, maningil sa makapangyarihan, at ipaalala sa kanila na ang Pilipinas ay hindi mana, negosyo, o apelyido." There is profound truth in those words. Citizenship was never intended to be fan membership.
Democracy was never designed to become a family heirloom. Public office was never meant to function as inherited property passed from one political generation to the next like an antique cabinet in a wealthy household.

Because if we continue searching for salvation in surnames rather than principles, in personalities rather than institutions, then perhaps the brutal line from Juan Luna becomes painfully relevant: "Para kayong mga birhen na naghihintay ng tapat at busilak na pag-ibig galing sa isang p**a." Crude?... Certainly... Uncomfortable?... Absolutely. But some truths arrive wearing muddy boots rather than polished shoes.

And so, on this Independence Day, perhaps the question is not whether our heroes were willing to die for us.
History has already answered that question.
The more difficult question is whether we are willing to live up to what they died for.
Can we choose reason over blind loyalty?...
Truth over convenience?...
Country over clan?...
Principle over personality?...
Because freedom is not a family inheritance. It is not a trophy displayed in a glass cabinet. It is not a relic preserved in museums.
Freedom is a garden that must be tended by every generation lest weeds of apathy reclaim it.

It is a flame that must be guarded lest the winds of complacency extinguish it. It is earned again and again by every citizen who chooses conscience over comfort.

And if Rizal, Bonifacio, Mabini, Luna, and countless unnamed heroes could scroll through our timelines today, perhaps they would not ask who we support. Perhaps they would ask a far more uncomfortable question: "Ano ang ginawa mo para sa bayan maliban sa pag-share ng meme?"
A humorous question.
A painful question.
But perhaps the most patriotic question of all.

May we continue striving to become a nation that remains worth living for, and, if necessary, worth dying for.
As the final lines of our National Anthem remind us every time we stand and place our hands upon our hearts: "Ang mamatay nang dahil sa'yo." Words we sing so often, yet perhaps understand too little.

This Independence Day, may those words cease to be merely lyrics and become a challenge.
Not a call to die for politicians.
Not a call to die for parties.
Not a call to die for surnames.
But a call to live for the Republic.
To think for ourselves. To speak when silence becomes convenient. To stand when apathy becomes fashionable. And to love our country enough to demand better from it, and from ourselves.

For in the end, independence is not simply a gift handed down by our heroes. It is a responsibility entrusted to us. And every generation must decide whether it will merely inherit freedom,or prove itself worthy of it.

02/06/2026

Naholdap ka na ba, o baka hindi mo lang namamalayan na unti-unti ka nang ninanakawan?

There are thefts that come without knives, without raised voices, without the chaos of pursuit. They arrive like a quiet breeze, soft, almost tender, yet when they pass, you find pieces of yourself missing: time you can never reclaim, dreams left to gather dust, convictions slowly drowned out by the noise of the world.

In the hush of this invisible plunder, certain voices rise, not loud, but enduring. Voices that do not merely fill the air, but press gently against the soul. One of those voices belongs to Gary Granada , a troubadour of truth, whose songs are less performances and more revelations. His lyrics feel like mirrors held up to society, clear, unflinching, unwilling to flatter.

I grew up with his music threading through the background of my days, carried by the worn-out cassette tapes my father used to play. Each song felt like a quiet sermon, not imposed, but whispered, settling somewhere deep, where understanding takes its time. With every press of “play,” something unfolded: the realization that robbery does not only happen in dark alleys, but also within systems, within cultures, and sometimes, within our own quiet consent.

And so the question lingers, like an echo that refuses to fade:

Nanakawan ka na ba? O hinahayaan mo na lang na nakawan ka, sinasamba mo pa nga at pinararangalan.

Official audio of Gary Granada's "Holdap" from his album "The Legend Series: Samu't Saring"Stream and download: https://backl.ink/344207​Don't forget to subs...

31/05/2026

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Nagsimula sa pagpikit, pagtakbo't meron pang bilangan.
Dala nito'y ngiti't saya sa mga madla't kabataan.
Kahit Gabi na minsa'y puno parin ng ingay at halakhakan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Pati sa paaralan nandun pa rin ang hanapan.
Ngayon nama'y ibang hakbang mejo lang may kahirapan.
Pagkat ito'y mahalaga, kaya kelangan harapin na puno ng kagalakan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Sa Paghahanap ng trabaho may dagdag pang habulan.
Ito ang pinanindigan kaya sa paaralan at board exam ay ginalingan.
Kaya lang may saklap bakit pagkatapos may hapdi na ngayon ang paghahapan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Pati ba naman sa mga tulong at serbisyo ay para paring laruan.
Hindi na siya masaya, hindi na rin nakakatawa, ngayon naman pati pala sa pila'y pahirapan
May biglang sumigaw, pila daw ay ayusin pagkat may ayuda ata doon sa harapan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Tyaga tyaga lang daw Sabi ng lider na galing pa sa bayan.
Sabi ng mga Boss, 'wag mag alala pagkat nakalista naman lahat ng pangalan.
Nanumbalik naman ang Ngiting matagal ng nawala't lumisan, para sa 'sang supot ng kararampot na kayamanan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
habang nakatulala't nagdudusa, may bigla s'yang naalala't nalaman.
Binigkas n'yang kapangyarihan itinuro sa kanila noon sa paaralan.
Si Juan pala'y may lakas na mas mataas pa sa mga kinauukulan lalo na sa Araw ng Botohan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Ngunit alam din ito ng mga politikong makapangyarihan.
Kaya't mata ni Juan ay pinipiringan, Tenga ay sinisigawan at Boses pilit binubusalan.
Kamay ay kinadena sa sobreng alok o sa takot ng balang hindi maiiwasan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Pag malapit na ang halalan biglang marami ng kapamilya't matalik na kaibigan.
Pag halalan tila ba'y may fiestang puno ng panadaliang kagalakan at kasiyahan.
Ngunit natatangi naman ang awayan, bangayan, pati talamak na fake news naglipana't nararanasan.

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Hirap na sadlak sa dusa, luha't pait ang maging nararanasan
May Pag-asa pa ba'ng pagbabago sa Pilipinas ang sangkatauhan.
Muli pa bang masayahan si Juan sa laro ng tagu-taguan?

Tagu-taguan...
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Kaya sa araw ng halalan lumabas at ang baya'y panindigan.
Pahalagahan ang boto, markahan ang balota at 'wag ibenta't talikuran.
Ang boto mong sagrado't pinag isipan, magiging Daan sa Pag tindig at Pag-ahon ng insng Bayan.

Tagu-taguan.
Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Maibabalik pa ba ang sayang naranasan natin noong kabataan.
Ang halakhak, ngiti't tawa habang naglalakbay at naghahanap ng kapayapaan.
Oo, naman pagkat sa tagu-taguan sa'tin parin lahat nagsimula ang kapangyarihan.

Kaya 'wag matakot na lakbayin ang Tagu-taguan, Ang Laro ng Buhay ni Juan.
Ito ay para sa lahat at hindi sa iilan lamang.
Ipanalo mo ito, diba yan naman ang gusto nating makamit, ang manalo sa laro ng tagu-taguan.

Kaya 'wag nang magtagu-taguan o maghanap hanapan. Sa araw na 'to Lumabas na sa bahay at bomoto para sa kinabukasan.

31/05/2026

The Truth About Resilience

Filipinos are resilient, yes, this much is true. But resilience is not the stubborn clinging to a dim and borrowed light; it is the quiet, trembling courage to face the unvarnished truth: that we have been deceived, that we have chosen poorly, and that our rising must be not in pride, but in awakening. Resilience is not the shrug wrapped in the phrase “okay na lang din ’yan”; it is the fierce refusal to be lulled into complacency, the audacity to confront reality as it is, and the conviction that we deserve more than the crumbs we are told to call abundance. Para bang binigyan tayo ng biskwit at ice tubig, sa ibang nakaka-angat Jollibee Chickenjoy ang paayuda, Pero okay lang yan nakakabusog naman.

Ginago tayo. Ginagago tayo, at patuloy tayong gagagohin hangga’t hindi tayo tumayo at nagsabi, nang buong puso: TAMA NA. How? By guarding our silence against every whisper of propaganda, and by choosing to speak only at the moment when truth itself parts the veil and reveals the time is right. We were exploited, this is no secret tucked beneath polite speech. We hold the key to breaking this endless cycle of deceit; it has always been in our hands. Itaga mo ’yan sa kokote mo. We always had the answer in our hands, all these time. Ang taong gising, mahirap gisingin; ngunit mas mahirap pukawin ang pusong nagbibingibingihan sa katotohanan. And far more tragic still is the one who knows the truth yet chooses to close his eyes, to exploit, to drag others into his own chosen blindness. Some do not merely refuse truth, they flee from it, deny it, betray it. Alam na, pero kinatigan pa. Ginagago tayo, at ang masakit, ipinagngalandakan pa, willing accomplices in the grand heist of our nation. Sabi nga ni Nikka C. Gaddi, information asymmetry daw ang tawag dito,’yung pagkakaroon ng impormasyon na hindi alam ng iba, isang tahimik pero makapangyarihang bentahe, ginagamit para makalamang, makauna, at makapuwesto nang pabor sa sarili. Para itong liwanag na sinarili, tinabing nang mahigpit, at ginamit hindi para magturo ng daan kundi para kontrolin ang mga natitira sa dilim. Alam mo na pala noon pa, at ngayon magpapabidang tila si Darna na dala ang Bato ng kaligtasan. Remember, This is on you.

Are we such as these, too afraid to look foolish, too proud to admit we were wrong? That is not resilience; that is the arrogance of blindness, pride masquerading as strength. True resilience is not the obstinate refusal to be corrected, but the humility to stand beneath the searing light of truth, even when it burns away the illusions we once embraced. Hindi tayo natatakot mapagsabihang, “Wait, let me educate you,” lalo na’t ito ang kinakailangan, para sa atin, para sa bayan, para tayo ay maituwid sa landas ng katotohanan. If we choose to stay blinded rather than be educated, then this, all of this, is on you.

And to those who spun the web of lies, parasites fattening on the hopes of the trusting, you are the leeches feeding on the wounds of the nation, the flies of convenience circling our decay. But hear this: when the banquet of falsehood finally ends and truth begins its slow, inexorable stirring, it is your own venom that will consume you. Everything you have sown belongs to your ledger; the reckoning is yours alone. This is all on you.

For true resilience is not the art of enduring the lie, but the discipline of confronting it. We, the Filipino people, are resilient not because we kneel before what simply exists, but because we dare to rise for what must be. The truth, however bitter, however blinding, must be the fertile soil where our strength takes root. Only then can we claim to be awakened, turning our missteps into seeds of redemption and our failures into the foundation of a new dawn. We deserve the leaders we have; therefore we must choose better next time. Otherwise, this is all on you.

Life often lays before us two paths: the popular road, wide, comforting, lined with jackets and bills as hollow souvenirs, and the other, narrow and jagged, seemingly unwinnable, the path few dare to take. Many shut their eyes to this second way, for it exposes what we have long ignored; it rattles the bones of our complacency and challenges the counterfeit belonging we have so easily embraced. If we remain in this stupor, then this, too, is on you.

Yet it is upon this forsaken road that true courage is forged. Here, at the crossroads of duty and destiny, we confront what jurisprudence names the political question, matters no court may resolve, entrusted instead to the sovereign people who sit as judges of the nation’s fate. The decision is not ours to escape nor ours to delay. It is ours to face, with clarity, conscience, and the courage to bear the weight of history on our shoulders. Let our silence be so deafening that it thunders a single truth: this is all on you.

In this crucible, resilience transforms from mere endurance into rebirth, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its own undoing, emerging with fiercer wings, keener sight, and a heart that remembers its burning. This is the resilience of the Filipino: a resilience that demands accountability, rejects comfort as a bribe, and seeks the truth even when it is inconvenient, unflattering, or painful. For there is no other choice; otherwise, this is all on you.

So let us rise, not merely to survive, but to seek justice; not merely to withstand the storm, but to name it; not merely to endure the wound, but to heal it. Only through such resilience can we turn our nation’s afflictions into the fertile ground of renewal and reclaim what has always been ours. Because if we fail again, we must claim another blunder: this is all on us.

And now, on this day I prayed would never come, I speak the words that should never have needed saying: We were right. We, the silent minority, were right all along. You betrayed us. You hid everything and wrapped the betrayal in the cloak of our resilience. Yet here we stand, despite our silence, steadfast, unbowed. And in the quiet strength of truth, we say: We were right after all. All of this, every wound, every lie, every ruin, is on you.

30/05/2026

The Republic of Clowns: When Governance Becomes a Circus of Power

Clowns and jesters once wandered the gilded halls of royal courts, not as guardians of kingdoms, but as ornaments of amusement, painted smiles masking the rot beneath crowns and chandeliers. Their task was simple: to entertain their masters, to dance when summoned, to drown unrest with laughter while the empire quietly decayed behind velvet curtains. They were never entrusted with the compass of a nation, for their loyalty belonged not to the people, but to the hands that tossed them coin and favor.

Yet today, as the latest spectacle unfolds within the chambers of the Senate and the House of Representatives, one cannot help but feel that the republic itself has been transformed into a carnival of power. The halls once meant for statesmanship now echo like theaters of rehearsed outrage and choreographed indignation. Hearings become performances, principles become costumes, and truth itself bends like a circus mirror before political convenience.

Public office was meant to be a sacred covenant, an altar upon which leaders offer service, sacrifice, and conscience for the welfare of the nation. But too often, what stands before the people are political acrobats swinging from one allegiance to another, balancing not on principle but on survival. They applaud injustice when it shields their allies, then suddenly discover morality when it threatens their ambitions. Conviction has become negotiable; integrity, a prop to be worn only when the cameras are watching.

And therein lies the danger of governments ruled by performers rather than servants. A clown may entertain for a moment, but a nation governed like a circus bleeds slowly beneath the applause. Democracy becomes mere stagecraft, where loyalty to personalities eclipses loyalty to country, and where governance is reduced to a contest of theatrics louder than reason itself. The people sit as unwilling spectators beneath the great tent of power, watching leaders juggle accountability, swallow truth like fire-eaters, and parade spectacle as though it were substance.

History has always been merciless to societies that mistake performance for leadership. Empires rarely collapse in thunder; more often, they decay in applause, while citizens are distracted by the noise of the show. For when the curtain finally falls and the lights of political theater dim, it is never the powerful who sweep the shattered glass from the stage. It is the ordinary citizen who pays the price: through lost opportunities, deepening division, weakened institutions, and a government that slowly forgets the very people from whom its authority was borrowed.

The gravest tragedy is not merely the embarrassment of political theater, but the erosion of faith in the institutions meant to defend democracy itself. When lawmakers become performers instead of stewards, justice turns selective, accountability becomes transactional, and truth is auctioned to the highest political bidder. The republic then ceases to be guided by principle and instead drifts like a ship steered by applause and ambition.

A nation can endure disagreement, for dissent is the heartbeat of democracy. But no nation can survive leaders who treat governance as entertainment and public service as a personal stage. For when the halls of power become a circus, the country itself becomes the unwilling audience, trapped beneath the tent, watching the spectacle, while the foundations of the nation quietly burn behind the curtains.

We are not merely bystanders to the leadership we have, we are, in many ways, its architects. The leaders before us are shaped by our choices, our silence, our voices, and our votes. In that sense, responsibility is not selective; it is shared. As Dr. Dolores Laguilles once told us in her class: "We deserve the leaders that we have. We are responsible for all of these. All of us and that premise is absolute."

NB. The photo is AI generated.