Recently, I had the incredible privilege of returning to my alma mater, the Ateneo de Manila University School of Law, as one of the alumni speakers for the Orientation Seminar of incoming freshmen. Walking once again through those hallowed halls brought a flood of emotions — corridors echoing with memories of triumphs, trials, and the steady forging of purpose.

The nostalgia hit hard. Every corner seemed to whisper stories — of sleepless nights, soul-crushing assigned readings, and heart-stopping recitations. But the whole place also spoke of resilience. Of laughter shared over coffee-fueled study sessions. Of friendships tempered in the crucible of pressure and perseverance.

As I stood before the bright-eyed freshmen, I felt I was looking into a mirror of my past self. I remembered that swirl of feelings during my own orientation: excitement tangled with fear, a sense of wonder cut with dread.

The path ahead seemed impossible then — intimidating syllabi, “terror professors,” and that primal fear of being cold-called in class. We all remember that moment: frozen in place, heart pounding, hoping the professor’s gaze moves on. And yet, those very moments built our grit, our confidence, our voice.

I spoke, too of the silent battles we fought — through anxiety, self-doubt, and mental fatigue. Law school is a relentless grind. But it also sharpens. It molds. It reveals. And in that crucible, we discovered who we truly are — not just as aspiring lawyers, but as human beings trying to make sense of justice, equity, and truth.

The energy of the new batch impressed me. They were not only eager, but engaged — more outspoken, more socially conscious, more unafraid to ask difficult questions. It gave me hope.

I reminded them that to study the law is to hold power — and that power demands purpose.

Ateneo law students are trained not just to be brilliant legal minds, but to be “men and women for others.” And in these uncertain, often disheartening, times our country needs lawyers who are grounded in compassion, humility, and patriotism — advocates who will fight for the unseen, the unheard, the unprotected.

As I closed my talk, I asked them to reflect on what it truly means to carry the privilege of a first-rate legal education in the Philippines. This is not a path for prestige, comfort or recognition. It is a call to serve, to challenge injustice, and to uphold the dignity of every Filipino. The torch of justice was now passing into their hands — and they must carry it with strength, wisdom, and heart.

Returning to the hallowed halls of the Ateneo reminded me that law school is not just about mastering legal codes; it is about becoming catalysts for change. I left the orientation seminar recharged — hopeful that the next generation will not only rise to the occasion but redefine it.

And as they left the orientation room to begin their own journey, I silently cheered them on — because the future of justice in our country might very well have sat in that very room along those very halls.