I spoke recently to the 96 members of the 2026 graduating class of the Bachelor of Science in Physical Therapy (BSPT) program of Silliman University at their presentation of graduates, which used to be referred to as a hooding ceremony, now called a bestowment of stoles.
But, as I told the graduates, the faculty, and their parents and significant others, I am not a physical therapist. I am a journalist. My job is to sit with people on their best or worst days and ask, “What happened?”
The first time I watched a PT session, I realized we do the same work. Just with different tools.
I work with words. You work with bodies. But, both of us are editing first drafts.
Every patient who walks into your clinic arrives with a first draft. It’s messy. Marked up with pain, fear, setbacks, and the quiet grief of “I can’t do what I used to do.”
The draft says: “I fell.” “I had surgery.” “I don’t know if I’ll walk again.”
Your job is not to erase that page. It’s to sit with it. Ask better questions. Test what holds. Rewrite it one step, one session, one small victory at a time.
That’s what journalists do, too. The first draft of a story is always clumsy. A source won’t call back. A timeline doesn’t add up. The angle feels flat. You don’t give up on it. You revise. You check your facts. You listen harder. You find the human detail that makes it true.
You’ll do the same, except your revisions happen in real time, in real bodies.
The patient who couldn’t lift their arm will lift it to hug their daughter.
The student who couldn’t climb stairs will climb them to get to class.
The father who couldn’t kneel will kneel again to pray.
On your charts it will read “knee flexion 90 degrees” and “gait cycle normalized.”
In their lives it will read “I’m back.”
And, here’s the part I think you’ll forget when you’re tired, when the paperwork piles up, when progress is slow: you are writing stories people thought were over.
Journalists chase deadlines. You chase movement. But, the deadline that matters is the one your patient sets for themselves: “I want to walk at my son’s wedding.” “I want to carry groceries again.” “I want to sleep without pain.”
Your tools are different from mine. I have a notebook and pen and a recorder. You have your hands, your knowledge of biomechanics, your patience when someone can’t do the exercise right the first time.
But, the craft is the same. It’s attention. It’s refusing to accept “stuck” as the ending. It’s believing that a human being is not a finished draft, even when they feel like one.
There will be days when the revisions don’t work. When a patient regresses. When you doubt if you chose the right field.
Journalists know that feeling. You publish a story and someone tells you, you got it wrong. You sit with it, correct it, and keep going.
So will you. You’ll reassess. You’ll adjust the plan. You’ll try again. Because the person in front of you isn’t a case. They’re a life. And lives deserve a second draft, a third draft, as many as it takes.
As you stand here today, ready to step into the world as physical therapists, you’re not just graduates – you’re north stars. Your north star is the commitment to heal, to empower, and to guide others towards movement and life.
Allow me to share with you a personal experience. Like most of you, Silliman University always held some kind of fascination for me as a young girl. When the time came for me to go to college, I prevailed upon my parents to allow me to come to Silliman. They agreed to my request on one condition – that I stay in the dormitory throughout my college life.
I kept good that promise to my parents because that was the right thing to do. But, a particularly unforgettable, nay, humiliating experience jolted me into realization that no two things can be equal and even if things may seem to be right on the surface, they may not always be just.
It happened on my sophomore year at Edith Carson Hall, which was called New Women’s Dormitory at that time. Since February had traditionally been the month for parties and balls, we were all invited one evening by Doltz Hall residents for a party at the Gymnasium. Naturally, all the girls were busily and excitedly preparing for the boys to pick us up. As the appointed time neared, my dormmates began to leave for the Gym. I was surprised when our desk assistant or D. A., Ate Belly Olis (who is now a public schoolteacher), called me from our floor intercom that our matron, Ate Noemi Catacutan (now Mrs. Costan who I met last August during the Founders Day), wanted to see me. So, I went down from our west wing quarters garbed in my frilly party dress, and knocked on Ate Noemi’s bedroom door, with a bright smile on my face. Ate Noemi looked apologetic as she told me calmly: “Cecile, I’m very sorry, but your Mama filled out our questionnaire and said that you are not to be allowed to go out on parties that are not sanctioned or hosted by our own dormitory.” Ate Noemi held up the filled-out questionnaire for me to see. And, indeed, written in big, bold print were the two dreaded letters in the alphabet that I did not want to see: N – O – NO!
That experience brought tears to my eyes because I was truly hurt and frustrated. Had it not been for my being a Big Sis or a student resident counselor, as how we called our Big Sisters then, I would have opted to be absent from my classes for one week as a way of coping with my humiliation.
That was some bad news, of course! I was left alone in our dormitory. I never felt so miserable in my entire life than during that evening. I forced myself to sleep early so I can pretend I was not feeling well when my roommates would come home. I certainly did not want to listen to their happy stories as I could not relate to them.
After that, I did not call home for one week. I thought it was not just and it was not right for my mother to do that to me. What had I done to deserve such a harsh rule? Was I a bad daughter that I should be punished? My grades were very good and I belonged in the Class and College Honors. If it was a right and just decision, I did not feel it.
Bad things happen, and when we look back, we realize that good things sometimes come about not just in spite of, but because of, these bad things happening.
My mother’s seemingly unreasonable and unjust act of disallowing me to go to parties organized by other dormitories may have had its merits now that I have become a mother myself and, a grandmother. What I had not experienced then, I did not miss because I did not know. In fact, I was the president of the NBSB Club, the No-Boyfriend-Since-Birth Club.
When we look back, for example, on times of personal turmoil that seem so laden with problems at the time, we can see that something good happens precisely because of these bad times. Perhaps we grew in some way, or the universe changed the positions of the constellations of our lives and took us some place we would never have discovered for ourselves.
Depending on whether you are an optimist or a pessimist, I see this as being in the right place at the right time, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as the case may be..
Based on our upbringing and spiritual background, we each have varying images of God. We may think of God as someone who is waiting to catch us when we get things wrong, or as someone who disciplines us and makes us go back to the beginning and start again when we mess up.
It isn’t just about survival; it is about growth and transformation. The new person in you that comes through the barrage of change will not be just a shadow of your former self, but truly a new you.
Through apparent disaster, you may discover skills you never knew you had. You may discover qualities that you thought you never had, such as resilience, patience, ingenuity, and empathy with others going through similar upheavals. We have seen first-hand the sense of humor of fellow Filipinos, the ability to laugh through the tears and have a sense of hope amid seeming hopelessness around them.
Think of the patients you’ll touch, the families you’ll support, and the communities you’ll strengthen. Your passion, skills, and compassion will be their guiding light in times of pain and uncertainty. Like the North Star in a stormy night, you’ll show them the way forward, one step at a time.
Your journey’s just beginning, and the path won’t always be easy. But with your north star shining bright, you’ll navigate challenges, celebrate victories, and inspire others to move forward. Let your light shine – in every touch, every word, and every treatment. The world needs your spark.
You are graduating into a profession that doesn’t get headlines. You won’t see your names in the byline. But, you will see it in the way someone stands up straighter leaving your clinic than when they walked in.
You are editors of the human body. You take what’s broken and help it become functional again. You take what’s functional and help it become free again.
So when you feel invisible, remember: the best edits are invisible. The reader only notices the story that finally flows. | NWI
