14/06/2025
Lately, I’ve been seeing clips of Tricia Ann Anda’s valedictory speech all over my feed. The words are powerful, no doubt—but they’re just fragments of something much more moving. I watched the full version last night, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. It made me admire her even more.
She stood on that stage and admitted something most people would shy away from: that she lived a comfortable life. But instead of letting her privilege blind her, she used it to see others more clearly. She used it to honor the people whose efforts often go unseen.
She said, “Because while I locked myself in my room to study, some of my classmates were out working to pay for their own tuition. I only had to worry about exams, but they had to worry about bills, tuition, and jeepney fare to keep their dreams alive.”
I teared up when I heard that—because I felt that.
I rode the jeepney my entire student life. Rain or shine, loaded with books, sometimes without enough coins for the ride home. I studied between sidelines, took on small gigs, sold what I could—just to stay afloat, just to keep chasing a dream that felt so far away.
And never in those years did I expect someone to see that kind of struggle. But she did.
That moment didn’t feel like a speech anymore. It felt like a quiet embrace to every student who’s ever carried the weight of survival while trying to thrive. It felt like someone finally said, “You deserve to be recognized too.”
It takes a rare kind of heart to shine that bright and still point the light toward others. Thank you, Tricia, for being that heart. For speaking not just with brilliance, but with soul.
You reminded me that even in the hardest chapters of our journey, we are not invisible.
Credits to: University of St. La Salle - Bacolod 💚
