I was seated on the center aisle seat of the B1 Auditorium that late Friday afternoon. Dean Sedfrey Candelaria was doing recitations on the concept of executive power. He was hammering on the finer points of Marcos v. Manglapus–why the president’s decision to bar the return of the Marcoses was deemed an exercise of residual executive power.

I felt my phone vibrate. I reached for my phone inside my pocket, and discreetly looked at the screen under the desk (phones weren’t allowed during the class). It was an unknown number. I ignored it, I had to focus. But then, my phone vibrated again, and I saw a slew of text messages:

“Hi Mr. Daiz, si Ate Grace ito ng OCS, pwede bang tumawag?”

“Yung medal kasi na naibigay sa ‘yo, pwedeng pakibalik?”

“Pasensya na. 😌”

“Sorry.”

It was just the second day of law school. Putang ina, ang gandang buena mano.

A little back story is perhaps in order. Earlier that day, I went to UP to claim my graduation paraphernalia–the souvenir program, the tickets and the car pass. When I went to the college secretary, these were given to me. Alongside a purported medal. The list I signed indicated that I was graduating with Latin honors, a putative magna cum laude.

I shrugged it off. At that time, I already accepted that I will not be graduating with Latin honors, despite my final CWAG reaching the cut-off, because I only enrolled for residency for a year (hence, underload, hence, disqualified from honors). But, for some reason, here is the college, handing over a medal to me. Out of nowhere!

Spooked and alarmed (and not at all amused), I sent an email to the institute, asking for the truth. And as I correctly predicted, I didn’t have an award. The office gave the medal in error. It was a social faux pas for a college who prides itself as the best producer of scientists. Whatever happened there, I neither know nor care.

I entered law school with a frame of mind that this will be a clean slate. A restart. Perhaps, an undergraduate redux. For the most part of the last year, this was true. I learned a lot about my learning styles. It was hard, no cap, but it’s a different level of satisfaction when you reach that desired level of confidence (and competence) over a subject matter.

In essence, it was the beginning of a redemption plot. The better part of college was eaten by the pandemic and lockdowns, lending credence to my unending impostor syndrome. I am not a physicist, I didn’t do it the hard way. Professors were too lenient, even admitting that expectations for the courses must be lowered because we’re doing things remotely. This isn’t the UP-tier education, the 1.00s are not really the same as a prepandemic 1.00.

I think it was arrogance, frustration, and ego that drove me to where I am now. I better stick to it. There’s no going back. At that point, I felt unstoppable. With a full scholarship at hand, the stakes weren’t high, I thought. If I fail, at least I didn’t pay a single centavo. Touché.

My first-year self should’ve known that this path isn’t for the easy-go-lucky folks. Setbacks are easy to cascade–there days of bad recitations and bad quizzes will pull your morale.

Often too, I will seek Lei and Norlyn in the library just to complain why we are doing this to ourselves. The codal, commentaries, and cases are exceedingly enormous. While there are “bootleg notes” (JSP, 2025), transcripts, and reviewers for a course, I do not risk relying on them alone. Professors, after all, tend to focus on the finer points of a case or subject, in part to weed out those who aren’t reading the Originals.

Because you cannot bullshit your way out of a recitation or an exam. They will know, believe me. And once they know, they will corner you, asking you even more difficult questions. And get a snide or two in between. These professors have a cunning way of exposing your lack of ammo. The next thing you hear, you’ve been told to sit (sometimes, without even uttering a single word–it happened to me!). Ah, the beauty of the Socratic Method.

I always tell Karen that it’s the fear of failing that keeps me going. No one wants to be shamed in front of a classroom. No one wants to disappoint a professor. Most importantly, I cannot pay the Ateneo tuition. The scholarship contract compels me to make the Dean’s List as a matter of obligation, not merely a post-hoc reward for self-validation.

I have written quite a few essays and thought pieces about the semester it was. These do not bear repetition.

Did 1L turn out the way I expected it to be? No. It was really hard. But there is grace in knowing your limits. It’s a different kind of humility to know when to ask for help and when to take a pause. There’s no point in pulling off all-nighters to study a concept you’re not wholly familiar with yet. It’s only human to not know everything. In fact, it’s impossible to do so!

It’s ironic that I started law school beaming with confidence, only to survive the first year with humility as my guiding star. Humility teaches us acceptance that we cannot know everything all at once. Humility teaches us that we’re not doing this alone. A community of people who believe in us is behind us.

As to the professors, one must learn a distinction between a professor who teaches the material, and a professor who teaches us how to study (Ingles, 2024). The latter tells us that the professor is there not to help us row our kayaks, but rather to teach us how to navigate ahead while we row our kayaks. We have to do the rowing! No more hand-holding this time.

These are the things I hope I learned in July 2024. And these have the benefit of retrospect. I’m just so thankful for the great people and institutions who carried me throughout.

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