Seeking out our paths

Humanity has long been conditioned to fear and obey the powerful. From time immemorial, obedience was often a matter of survival, with the penalty for defiance frequently being death. Consequently, the instinct to survive became adept at recognizing threats and intuitively seeking ways to thwart them. Those with greater physical power were easily perceived as saviors and protectors, as they often managed to confront and defeat these dangers.

Throughout history, countless wars have been waged between tribes and nations, with powerful leaders commanding armies of hundreds of thousands or even millions. These leaders inspired unwavering loyalty, as ordinary people were willing to fight and die for them. The sagas of great leaders with formidable armies only reinforced the belief that obedience to power was essential for survival. It helped, too, that soldiers and warriors often shared with the loot to further motivate their resolve to obey.

Yet, the masses who followed their kings and emperors into battle perished in staggering and incalculable numbers. Rarely did they grasp the true extent of their disposability. They had little influence over their circumstances, believed their individual worth to be minimal, and assumed that loyal obedience might elevate their status or, at the very least, increase their odds of survival.

However, when great minds began envisioning a life beyond these entrenched hierarchies, new and radical ideas emerged. Greek philosophers, among others, introduced concepts such as equality and freedom as real possibilities. These revolutionary thoughts took thousands of years to take root, so deeply ingrained were the old patterns of obedience and the security they seemed to offer. Even today, these ideals remain an aspiration rather than a reality for many, including Filipinos.

I find the concept of democracy sound, fair, and expansive enough to accommodate even newer ways of thinking and doing. Yet, I also recognize that democracy is intellectually demanding, especially given the reality that equality does not manifest in our physical forms. Imagine, then, how difficult it is for poor and ordinary Filipinos to understand this concept when they have never felt equal to the elite in their own communities, let alone the elite of greater society.

Believing in democracy as it was taught by the West—and inspired by its principles as envisioned by the wise thinkers of ancient times—I felt compelled to contribute to its strengthening as an ideal system of governance. I understood that democracy was alien to Philippine culture, yet it had qualities that, if presented properly, could inspire Filipinos to more fully embrace it. No longer content to be a bystander, merely watching from the sidelines, I wanted to become a participant.

My decision was not the product of careful deliberation but rather a calling from the heart and the gut. I was not only blind but also comfortable. Yet staying comfortable meant remaining on the sidelines, even if I was in the front row. Life-changing decisions are not always made with cold logic; they are often bold, perhaps even rash, but never without purpose.

From a beneficiary of the traditional system, I transformed into an activist without a clear plan. I had only a sense of direction: a drive to move forward, knowing that each step would lead me to the next as long as I stayed true to my guiding principles. I found myself deeply attuned to the environment, feeling a profound connection to nature and humanity’s place within it. I hiked through mountains, bathed in rivers, climbed rocks, and loved dancing in the rain.

I met two extraordinary mentors along the way. The first was a brilliant healer whose expertise in chemical engineering led him to explore the spiritual wisdom of the East. He taught me the importance of spirituality, always emphasizing that kindness and love for others must underpin all virtues. His passing a few years ago left me feeling profoundly abandoned.

The second mentor was a woman, a determined spiritual leader whose faith was unwavering. She led by example, loving her God above all else and dedicating herself with fervor to the motherland and the Filipino people. I have read about the great leaders of our past and witnessed statesmen and heroes in my lifetime, but none matched the depth of her leadership. Last weekend, she departed this life for the next, and once more, I felt the sting of abandonment.

Yet I know a profound lesson has been imparted to me. My mentors never tried to think for me, feel for me, or live my life for me. They empowered me with their support and wisdom but ensured that I walked my path on my own. What they sought to teach me was that their superior knowledge and character were not my saviors. Instead, it had to be my own intelligence, will, and the choices I made—along with their rewards and consequences—that would shape my destiny.

This applies not only to the greatest among us but to the least as well. Because in the eyes of democracy, or within the divine plan I accept, each of us has a unique purpose and responsibility. Poverty or wealth are simply circumstances that frame our lives; they are never excuses for abdicating our duties. In the same way, democracy and creation remind us that no one is an island. We are all interconnected, interdependent, and part of a higher collective destiny.

My mentors, who have gone ahead, accomplished far more than I have. Yet, despite all they achieved, they are gone. Their passing serves as a reminder that no matter how much we do or how well we do it, we too will eventually leave this world, which will continue to grapple with turmoil and seek an elusive perfection.

Ultimately, no matter how passionate and relentless our advocacy, no matter how noble our goals, we are not the saviors or protectors we might wish to be—not even for our families. All we can do is give our best and trust that life will be better because of our efforts.