The author, finally a Juris Doctor
Four years in law school passed in what feels like a mere blink of an eye. Yet, each day was a battle, a test of resolve, patience, and resilience. Now, on the verge of claiming the “Atty.” in front of my name, I feel compelled to narrate my journey—not as a celebration of success, but as a testimony to perseverance, sacrifice, and unwavering commitment to the ideals of justice.
Law school, as they say, is not a walk in the park. It is a walk in a “Jurassic Park.” To call it hard is an understatement. Words often fail to capture the intensity of law school life, the weight of responsibilities, and the relentless demands of reading, memorizing, and applying legal principles to real-world situations.
I began this journey with one clear goal: to become a lawyer capable of securing a better future for my family. But beyond that, I wanted to pursue justice—not merely as an abstract ideal, but as a lived principle. My personal experiences made this calling impossible to ignore.
A member of my family died in a motorcycle accident, leaving behind unanswered questions and unresolved claims. In the end, her life was valued at only P25,000. No more hearing, no due process, just money. Another relative permanently lost the use of his hand after a violent altercation, while another suffered crushed legs from a separate act of violence. All were victims, yet justice never truly came for them. Witnessing these tragedies revealed to me the fragility of justice when those seeking it lack power, influence, or representation.
During the beginning of the pandemic lockdowns, I experienced firsthand the painful divide between justice and injustice. Despite being only a barangay away from home, I was prohibited from entering our municipality for three days and was forced to sleep inside a van outside the province. What made the situation even more painful was that the Municipal Mayor had already granted us permission and even issued a formal letter authorizing our entry. Nevertheless, we were still denied access.
Armed personnel repeatedly drove us away and escorted us out of the area. I was treated with fear and contempt, as though I carried the virus myself. For lack of a better term, mas masahol pa kami sa hayop kung pandirihan. I can still vividly remember a PNP officer telling us, “Umalis kayo rito, hindi namin kayo kailangan, mga salot kayo.” In that moment, I felt powerless, excluded, and stripped of dignity despite having done nothing wrong.
These painful realities etched in me a profound understanding: laws exist, but they are only as meaningful as their enforcement. These experiences strengthened my resolve to pursue this dream, to equip myself with the knowledge and skills necessary to advocate for those whose voices are marginalized, and to fulfill my duty to protect the vulnerable.
The author in one of his Clinical Legal Education Program (CLEP) sessions
In doing so, I hope to embody the spirit of Article II, Section 13 of the 1987 Philippine Constitution: “The State recognizes the vital role of the youth in nation-building and shall promote and protect their physical, moral, spiritual, intellectual, and social well-being.”
In 2020, I first enrolled in law school, filled with hope and determination to pursue my dream. However, when the pandemic struck, everything changed. Resources became scarce, remote learning was almost nonexistent, and the financial burden of tuition grew even heavier. At the same time, I was retrenched from work as part of the company’s cost-saving measures, which is a lawful ground for termination, yet one that caused my world to collapse overnight.
For that year, I had no choice but to suspend my studies.
Still, neither the pandemic nor hardship could extinguish my dream. Deep within me, I knew that my purpose remained unchanged. In 2022, I gathered the courage to re-enroll in law school despite the uncertainty that haunted me. I constantly questioned myself: Was this truly my calling? Could I survive the demands of legal education without any background in law, without family members in the profession, and without mentors or friends to guide me?
I was stepping into uncharted territory completely alone. Yet it was precisely in that uncertainty that I discovered resilience. Every challenge strengthened my resolve, and every sacrifice reminded me why I chose this path in the first place.
During my interview, a moment of confrontation crystallized my resolve to pursue the law. I was asked about my support for same-sex marriage, which, at the time, was not recognized under Philippine law. The Dean challenged me directly: “You want to be a lawyer, yet you support actions contrary to law?”
I was also questioned about the issue of Marcos’ ill-gotten wealth. I firmly expressed my belief that wealth unlawfully taken from the people should rightfully be returned to them. In response, the Dean asked, “What are your bases—Rappler? Inquirer? Those are not court orders; those are merely information sources that can perpetrate fake news.” Before I could fully explain my position, I was interrupted.
Yet that moment became significant for me. I realized that if I wanted to stand for what is right and just, I needed to place myself in a position where I could defend my convictions with legal knowledge, reason, and authority. The experience forced me to confront a difficult but essential truth about the law: the tension between legal positivism, the idea that the law, as written, must be obeyed, and the broader ideals of morality, equity, and justice.
It was a tension I would continue to encounter throughout my law school journey: learning how to reconcile personal convictions with statutory compliance, while understanding that the law is not merely a rigid set of rules, but a living instrument meant to serve humanity and uphold justice.
The first few weeks of law school were marked by both small victories and painful setbacks. I failed three recitations in one subject, and my professor bluntly told me to either study harder or quit law school altogether. Those words struck deeply. Doubt began to consume me, and at one point, I even started packing my belongings, convinced that perhaps this dream was beyond my reach. Yet amid those moments of discouragement came an unexpected affirmation: I scored 95 on a quiz, and the professor jokingly called me “Justice.”
In the first few weeks of law school, I failed three recitations in one subject, and my professor bluntly told me to either study harder or quit law school altogether
Law school soon became a test not only of intellect, but of endurance. I slept no more than four hours each night, spending weekends and holidays reading cases, analyzing doctrines, and struggling to fully understand the law. I missed family gatherings, celebrations, and moments I could never reclaim. There were days when we were assigned more than 30 cases for a single class discussion. Standing for hours during recitations became a routine. Through those experiences, I came to understand that law school was not merely training us to memorize provisions or recite jurisprudence. It was teaching us discipline, resilience, and responsibility. In many ways, it reflected the doctrine of diligence and competence embodied in the Code of Professional Responsibility and Accountability: that a lawyer must serve others with utmost care, preparation, and skill. Long before becoming a member of the Bar, I was already learning the weight of that obligation and the sacrifices necessary to fulfill it.
Two months in, the burden became almost unbearable, and I decided to take a pause. Yet even in my absence, guidance found its way to me. My professor called and simply said, “Magtiyaga ka lang, magiging abogado ka.” That encouragement stayed with me.
Later that year, I enrolled in a law school that offered online classes, which allowed me to continue my studies while working. Slowly, my efforts began to bear fruit. I earned high grades and even ranked among the top of my class. But the recognition was never merely personal validation; it was a constant reminder of the responsibility that comes with the path I had chosen.
Gift-giving as one of the activities in law school
Returning to my previous law school in my second year, I approached my studies with renewed confidence. Having become more familiar with legal reasoning, doctrines, and jurisprudence, I believed I was finally gaining a steady grasp of the journey ahead. Yet, despite this progress, adjustments and doubts continued to test my resolve.
The author responding to questions raised by local elected officials
At the same time, public service called. I ran for barangay chairman in our community, which demanded significant time, energy, and emotional investment. Balancing campaigning, managing constituents’ concerns, law school, and work proved overwhelming. Inevitably, my academic performance suffered, and I reached one of the lowest points in my law school journey.
I even had to take a remedial exam for a two-unit subject, passing only by a narrow margin. Yet even in that difficult moment, I came to a deeper realization: The study of law cannot be separated from lived experience in society. A lawyer is not merely a scholar of legal doctrine, but a servant of the people whose understanding of the law must be grounded in real human conditions, struggles, and responsibilities.
Class photo at the end of the semester
Thankfully, law school became bearable with the presence of friends. In moments of failed recitations or exams, these peers became pillars of support, embodying the principle of collegiality in the pursuit of justice. We encouraged one another, shared insights, and reminded ourselves of our mantra: “Magiging abogado tayong lahat!” This sense of community mirrored the doctrine of stare decisis, which binds legal professionals to rely on precedent and shared knowledge to ensure consistency and integrity in practice.
The final year of law school proved to be the most demanding chapter of my journey. Recitations often left me anxious as professors required immediate and precise application of legal principles to complex factual situations. Time and again, we were asked whether we were truly ready for the bar examinations and for the responsibilities that awaited us beyond the classroom. My professor told us, “Sure ba kayong mag-Bar na kayo this year?” That resonated within me.
The Phinma University of Pangasinan, College of Law during after the 2024 bar examinations in Baguio City
As I prepare for the bar examinations, I fully recognize the weight of the responsibility I carry. I stand on the verge of becoming the first lawyer in my family and, perhaps, the first in our barangay.
The road ahead remains difficult. The bar examinations will test not only my knowledge, but also my endurance, judgment, and character. Yet when I reflect on my journey—from the uncertainty and hardship of 2020, to rebuilding myself in 2022, to balancing online and in-person classes, public service, work, and academic struggles—I realized how much these experiences have shaped me. Along the way, I was strengthened by the guidance of mentors, the encouragement of friends, and the sacrifices of my family. Because of them, I now face the future with courage and conviction.
Law school taught me that justice is not merely an abstract concept discussed in classrooms or written in statutes. It is a daily practice cultivated through discipline, perseverance, humility, and moral courage. It is found in reading and understanding cases, applying legal doctrines fairly, drafting pleadings with care, and standing for those whose voices would otherwise remain unheard. The law is a powerful instrument, but its true purpose can only be realized when guided by people who are committed to fairness and service.
Phinma University of Pangasinan, College of Law Batch 2026. The author is third from right, front row.
In the end, my law school journey became more than an academic pursuit. It became a story of resilience, sacrifice, and personal transformation. The sleepless nights, failures, victories, disappointments, and moments of affirmation all shaped me into someone prepared not merely to enter the legal profession, but to serve within it honorably.
The law has been my teacher, my challenge, and my guide. And as I approach the bar examinations, I do so not merely to pass, but to honor the sacrifices of my family, the mentorship of my professors, and the enduring promise of justice for those who have waited far too long to be heard.
