Author Archives: M.A.D. LIGAYA
Ang Hamon Ng Salamin
(A Personal Essay in Filipino)
Habang ang bayan natin ay nilulunod ng tubig-bahang tila ayaw nang humupa at ng walang katapusang bangayan sa pulitika, sisinghap-singhap akong humarap sa salamin at napatanong:
“Kailan kaya magbabago ang bansang ito?”
Habang tinititigan ko ang aking sarili sa salamin at pinagninilayan ang katanungang iyon, bigla kong naalala ang isang bahagi ng kanta ni Michael Jackson na Man in the Mirror.
At muli kong binalikan ang katanungang iyon.
May magbabago pa nga ba? May pagbabago bang ihahatid ang halalan sa 2028?
Pumikit ako.
At muli na namang umalingawngaw sa aking isip ang bahaging iyon ng kanta ni Michael Jackson.
At kapagdaka’y napagtanto kong mali ang tanong ko.
Ang pagbabagong kailangan ng ating bansa ay hindi magsisimula sa halalan sa 2028.
Magsisimula ito sa akin—hindi sa balota, hindi sa 2028, kundi ngayon.
Napakadaling tumingin sa mga pulitiko, sa mga institusyon, at sa sistema at sabihin kung ano ang mali sa kanila. Ngunit may isang simpleng katotohanan akong napagtanto. Sabihin ko man kung ano ang mali sa kanila, ipagsigawan ko man ito sa kanilang mukha hanggang malagot ang lahat ng litid ko sa leeg, wala pa ring katiyakang magbabago sila.
Hindi ko kayang baguhin nang mag-isa ang Pilipinas. Hindi ko kayang baguhin nang mag-isa ang sistema. At lalong hindi ko kayang pilitin ang aking kapwa Pilipino na magbago.
Pero kaya kong baguhin ang sarili ko.
Hindi nito inaalis ang pananagutan ng mga politikong nangungulimbat sa kaban ng bayan. Hindi rin ibig sabihin nito na dapat akong tumigil sa paghingi ng katapatan, kakayahan, at pananagutan mula sa mga namumuno.
Managot ang dapat managot.
Pero may pananagutan din ako, eh. Dapat din akong managot. Hindi ako puwedeng magmalinis.
Bakit?
Ibinoto ko sila.
Paulit-ulit.
At aaminin kong pati mga tatay, nanay, ate, kuya—at kung sinu-sino pang kadugo nila—ay naiboto ko rin.
Noong una, nagpaloko ako. Nang kalaunan ay nakikita ko na ang panlilinlang, nagbulag-bulagan naman ako. Mas masahol pa, kung minsan ay ipinagtanggol ko pa sila.
Nakipag-away pa nga ako dahil sa kanila.
Pero ano ang napala ko?
Umunlad ba ang buhay ko? Nadagdagan ba kahit singkong kusing ang kinikita ko? Sumarap ba ang pang-ulam na kinakain ko?
Nangyari na ang nangyari. Hindi ko na mababago ang nakaraan. At lalong hindi ko kayang baguhin nang sapilitan ang mga lider kuno na hinayaan kong paulit-ulit na nakawan ang kaban ng bayan at paikot-ikutin akong parang trumpo.
At marahil, doon dapat magsimula ang aking pananagutan—hindi sa pagsisikap na baguhin ang mga politiko o ang ibang tao, kundi sa pagbabago ng aking sarili.
Mahirap nang baguhin ang sarili ko. Bakit ko pa uubusin ang aking lakas sa pagsisikap na baguhin ang mga taong wala naman akong kapangyarihang kontrolin?
Maaari kong tuligsain nang tuligsain ang sistema ngunit manatili pa rin akong katulad ng dati. Maaari akong magreklamo tungkol sa katiwalian ngunit palampasin ang maliliit na pandaraya at kasinungalingan sa sarili kong buhay. Maaari akong humingi ng disiplina sa mga opisyal ng pamahalaan habang ako mismo ay kulang sa disiplina. Maaari akong humingi ng responsableng pamumuno habang ayaw kong akuin ang pananagutan sa sarili kong mga pasya.
Kaya napagpasyahan kong magsimula kung saan mayroon talaga akong kapangyarihan.
Sa sarili ko.
Kung magsisimula ako sa sarili, unti-unti akong magiging mas mabuting bersyon ng kung sino ako ngayon. At sa pagiging mas mabuting tao, mas malaki ang pagkakataon kong magkaroon—kasama ang aking pamilya—ng mas mabuting buhay.
At paano kung mas marami pang Pilipino ang gumawa ng ganito ring pasya?
Hindi naghihintay ng halalan.
Hindi naghihintay ng bagong pangulo.
Hindi naghihintay ng isang malaking pangyayaring biglang babago sa buong bansa.
Kundi nagsisimula sa sarili.
Isipin natin ang milyun-milyong Pilipinong nagsisikap maging mas responsable, mas disiplinado, mas matapat, mas mahabagin, mas mahusay, at mas handang managot sa kanilang mga ginagawa.
Isipin natin ang mga pamilyang mahuhubog ng ganitong mga tao, ang mga lugar ng trabahong maiimpluwensiyahan nila, ang mga pamayanang mapauunlad nila, at kalaunan, ang mga institusyong pamumunuan nila.
Marahil, ang isang mas mabuting bansa ay hindi nagsisimula sa Malacañang.
Marahil, nagsisimula ito sa ating mga tahanan, sa ating mga pinagtatrabahuhan, sa ating mga silid-aralan, at sa maliliit na pasyang ginagawa natin araw-araw.
Marahil, ang pagbabago ng Pilipinas ay hindi lamang nakasalalay sa paghahanap natin ng mas mabubuting pinuno.
Marahil, nakasalalay rin ito sa pagiging mas mabubuting mamamayan natin.
Hindi ko kayang baguhin nang mag-isa ang Pilipinas.
Pero kaya kong baguhin ang sarili ko.
At biglang naging mas makahulugan sa akin ang mensahe ng Man in the Mirror:
“If you want to make this world a better place, tak a look at yourself then make a change.”
Kung tunay kong nais na maging mas mabuti ang mundong ginagalawan ko, marahil ang unang taong dapat kong hamuning magbago ay ang taong nakatitig sa akin mula sa salamin.
Kaya sa halip na itanong ko,
“Kailan kaya magbabago ang bansang ito?”
marahil ay panahon nang ibaling ko sa aking sarili ang tanong.
“Kailan ako magsisimulang magbago?”
Better Self… Better Life… Better Nation.
Conquering Self-Doubt
Self-doubt is the capstone challenge of the Competence Framework—the one that determines whether
all our other abilities are ever fully used.
What if self-doubt belongs on the list of deadly sins?
Perhaps that question goes too far. Ordinary self-doubt is neither evil nor necessarily harmful. Sometimes it protects us from arrogance. It makes us examine our preparation, recognize our limitations, and seek the help or training we genuinely need.
But self-doubt becomes destructive when it continues speaking even after the evidence has answered it.
It whispers that you are not intelligent enough, capable enough, or worthy enough to succeed. It dismisses every accomplishment as luck, every compliment as politeness, and every opportunity as something intended for somebody better. Given enough authority, it does more than make you uncomfortable—it prevents you from using the abilities you already possess.
I know that voice.
It has asked me who I thought I was to teach abroad, present research, write books, and advocate self-improvement. It did not disappear when I earned another degree, accumulated years of teaching experience, published my work, or stood before international students. Whenever I attempted something larger, the same question returned in a different form:
Who do you think you are?
Eventually, I learned to answer it with evidence.
I am someone who has faced unfamiliar situations and learned. I am someone who has been rejected and continued. I am someone who has completed difficult work before. None of this guarantees that everything I attempt will succeed. It simply proves that self-doubt is not qualified to declare what I cannot do.
Conquering self-doubt does not mean silencing it forever. Even accomplished people occasionally question themselves. The goal is not to become so confident that we ignore our weaknesses or assume that we cannot fail. That is not confidence; it is carelessness.
The goal is to place self-doubt in its proper position. Let it ask questions, but do not let it deliver the final judgment. Examine what it says. If it identifies a real deficiency, improve. If it merely repeats an old fear that contradicts the evidence, proceed despite it.
This is why conquering self-doubt completes the Competence Framework. You may manage your time efficiently, remain focused, think before acting, make purposeful decisions, communicate effectively, and maintain balance. But if you continually doubt your right or ability to use those skills, much of your potential will remain untouched.
You do not need absolute certainty before taking the next step. You need sufficient preparation, honest evidence, and the courage to act while a little uncertainty remains.
Self-doubt may accompany you.
It simply must not lead you.
Pause and Reflect
What opportunity have you avoided because you doubted yourself?
What evidence from your own life challenges that doubt?
One Step Forward
Write one sentence naming a capability you genuinely possess. Beneath it, list three experiences or accomplishments that provide concrete evidence for it.
Explored more fully in Chapter 14 — “Conquering Self-Doubt” of A Holistic Approach to Self-Improvement.
Better Self… Better Life… Better Nation.
Striking Work-Life Balance
Presence isn’t optional — being physically there with the people you love means little
if your mind never actually left work.
Jim Rohn once took his family to the beach. He brought his briefcase.
Striking a balance between personal undertakings and professional endeavors is easier said than done. Yet few things matter more to the quality of our lives than getting this balance right. A life tilted too far toward work may make us productive while leaving us personally impoverished. But neglecting meaningful work and responsibility can also deprive us of the sense of purpose and accomplishment they provide.
Work-life balance is not simply a matter of dividing our hours equally between work and home. It depends not only on the time we spend physically at work, but also on the energy, focus, and attention that work continues to demand after we leave.
You can leave the office and still be psychologically at work — replaying problems, answering messages, planning tomorrow, or worrying about what remains unfinished. True balance therefore requires something more difficult than simply going home: learning to mentally disengage from work when work is done.
Jim Rohn illustrated this lesson with a simple story. He recalled taking his family to the beach while bringing his briefcase along. His family was not pleased. The lesson was unmistakable: being physically present with the people you love is not enough if your attention remains somewhere else.
Presence isn’t optional.
When you’re with your family, be with your family. When you’re resting, allow yourself to rest. When you’re working, give your work the attention it deserves. Balance comes not from giving everything equal time, but from giving each part of life the attention it deserves when its time comes.
Arianna Huffington learned a similar lesson far more painfully. After collapsing from exhaustion and injuring herself, she began questioning conventional definitions of success built primarily around money and power. Her experience eventually helped shape her advocacy for a broader measure of success—one that includes well-being, wisdom, wonder, and our capacity to live fully.
My own experience teaching at a university in South Korea has given me something I have learned not to take for granted: protected time outside work. My teaching schedule and semester breaks have allowed me time to write, connect with family, pursue personal projects, and simply rest.
That experience has taught me that time away from work is not necessarily time taken from productivity. Properly used, it can replenish the very energy, creativity, and perspective that make productive work possible.
Work is an important part of life.
But work is not life itself.
The goal is not to work less simply for the sake of working less. Nor is it to divide every day neatly into equal portions. The goal is to build a life in which professional accomplishment does not require sacrificing the people, experiences, health, and moments that make accomplishment worth having.
Pause and Reflect
When you’re with the people you love, are you truly present — or is work still occupying your mind?
One Step Forward
Choose a specific time after which you won’t check work messages tonight. Hold that line, even if it feels uncomfortable.
Explored in full in Chapter 13 — Work-Life Balance of A Holistic Approach to Self-Improvement.
Better Self… Better Life… Better Nation.
Effective Communication
The most powerful communicators are rarely those who speak the most — they’re the ones who listen the most deeply.
Nelson Mandela’s greatest communication skill wasn’t his speeches. It was his listening.
Of all the skills in the Competence Framework, effective communication may be the most universally required. Every relationship you build, every idea you want to share, every conflict you hope to resolve depends on your ability to communicate clearly, honestly, and with genuine attention to the person on the other side of the conversation.
At its simplest, communication is the exchange of information. But effective communication is more specific: it’s communication that achieves its intended purpose — the message sent is the message received, understood, and responded to appropriately. That requires five elements working together: sender, message, channel, receiver, and feedback, all shaped by context and threatened by noise.
Nelson Mandela, who appears in several chapters of this book for good reason, was one of the most powerful communicators of the 20th century. What made him extraordinary wasn’t rhetorical brilliance alone, but the quality of his listening. He studied his opponents carefully, understood their perspectives before engaging them, and found language that could reach across divides rather than deepen them.
Oprah Winfrey built one of the most successful media empires in history largely on her capacity for active listening. In her interviews, she was famous for making her subjects feel genuinely heard, which led them to share more openly and authentically than they had with almost anyone else. She understood that the most powerful communicators are often not those who speak the most, but those who listen the most deeply.
Active listening means giving the speaker your full, undivided attention: no phone, no mental composing of your response while they’re still talking. After someone speaks, reflect back what you heard: ‘So what I’m hearing is…’ This simple practice dramatically reduces misunderstandings and signals that the other person has genuinely been heard — the precondition for any productive exchange.
Pause and Reflect
What is the biggest barrier to effective communication in your own life — and what would change if you removed it?
One Step Forward
In your next conversation, practice reflecting back what you heard before responding. Notice how it changes the exchange.
Explored in full in Chapter x — Effective Communication of A Holistic Approach to Self-Improvement.
Better Self… Better Life… Better Nation.
Purposeful Decision-Making
Purposeful decision-making is the difference between reacting to life and authoring it —
every significant choice is an act of self-authorship.
Are you where you are by design, or by default?
Your life is the product of the chain of decisions you’ve made since you began taking control of it. Every choice, from the inconsequential to the life-altering, has shaped the person you are today. And every decision from this moment forward will continue shaping who you become.
Purposeful decision-making is the practice of making choices consciously aligned with your values, goals, and long-term vision, rather than choices driven by habit, fear, or the path of least resistance. It is the difference between reacting to life and authoring it. Pause and look honestly at where you are. Are you there by design, or by default?
In the year before I decided to leave the Philippines to teach ESL in South Korea, I found myself in what I can only describe as my own version of Chuck Noland’s deserted island in Cast Away — stranded in positions that, despite their prestige, were draining rather than fulfilling. I had served as a school principal and a dean. I chose not to stay, because I had no peace of mind and knew I would not grow.
My loved ones considered it reckless. I had a good position, a decent salary, other income. Some cited an upcoming government post with job security. But I applied for ESL positions abroad anyway, faced rejection from three Middle East universities, learned what I was missing, obtained a TESOL certificate, and was eventually hired in South Korea. That single decision, made in early spring of 2013, reshaped everything.
It was not an impulsive leap. It was a calculated risk, made with full awareness of what I was putting on the line and faith in my preparation and values. Mel Robbins was right: I was one decision away from a completely different life. And I made that decision on purpose. As the character Socrates says in Peaceful Warrior: ‘Life is a choice. You can choose to be a victim or anything else you would like to be.’ I chose. And I have no regrets.
Pause and Reflect
Is there a decision you’ve been avoiding that you know, deep down, needs to be made? What’s holding you back?
One Step Forward
Write down one decision you’ve been putting off. List what you’re afraid of, and one small first step you could take this week regardless.
Explored in full in Chapter 12 — Purposeful Decision-Making of A Holistic Approach to Self-Improvement.
Better Self… Better Life… Better Nation.
The Hardest Choice
(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 7)
Two days later, Kath asked that we not speak over the weekend. Her church had an important Sunday activity, and she needed time alone to think.
I gave her the silence she asked for, but filled it with visions of the life I believed we would finally claim. By then, I understood that Jay was not the greatest obstacle between us. Something far more powerful had already begun calling her back.
Kath called on Sunday night. Her eyes were swollen.
Her laptop was on the study table again, not on the bed. The change was small but deliberate. She had moved our conversation away from the place where we had surrendered to desire, as though furniture and distance could help her recover the boundary we had erased.
“I’m not all right,” she said. “The sermon struck me again.”
She told me that every service since our affair became serious had felt directed at her. Every time we undressed for each other, every time she chose my call over Jay’s, she felt the distance between her desire and her faith widening.
Her Christianity was not a convenient device she discovered at the end of our affair. It had shaped the marriage she chose to repair, the community in which she served, and the understanding of herself she wanted to preserve. Loving me had not erased those commitments. It had divided her against them.
“Doesn’t what we’re doing trouble you?” she asked.
I believed in God, though I was not devout in the way she was. I had asked for forgiveness and understanding, but desire had thrown my conscience aside. All I wanted was Kath.
“We love each other,” I said. “That is what matters.”
“Stop using love to make this right. It isn’t right. Are we supposed to live permanently in sin?”
“Would it be less sinful to remain with people we do not love?”
Kath wiped her eyes. “You keep speaking as if Anna and Jay are merely mistakes standing between two rightful lovers. They are people, Marco. We made promises to them. Our children did not choose this. Love does not make them disappear.”
I had no answer that did not return to what I wanted.
Even as I said it, I heard the convenience in my reasoning.
“It has to end,” she said. “Before Jay, Anna, or anyone else discovers us.”
“Kath—”
“I am not choosing between you and Jay. I am choosing between what is right and what is wrong.”
The sentence was not a denial of her feelings. That was why it hurt. If she had stopped loving me, I could have blamed time or distance. Instead, she was refusing precisely because the love remained powerful enough to destroy what she believed she was called to protect.
There it was: the rival I could not charm, outwait, or defeat.
“We can still be friends,” she continued. “We can exchange messages occasionally, but no more calls.”
“Let me call sometimes.”
“We both know what will happen. If you call, I will block you. If you use your phone, I will block your number. Please help me do this. I have grown used to your presence, and you know how weak I am when it comes to you.”
I had pushed against every boundary she had drawn because I believed persistence was proof of love. Now the only loving act left to me was the one I least wanted to perform: allow the boundary to remain.
“Jay will call soon,” she said. “I asked him to. Instead of talking to you, I should be talking to my husband.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
“Is there anything else you want to say?”
I shook my head.
“Then let me say this one last time. I love you, Marco. But I have to learn to forget you. I hope you understand why.”
“I love you too, Kath.”
“Goodbye. Please try to love Anna. I wish both of you well.”
The screen went dark.
For several minutes, my own reflection remained on the screen. The apartment was unchanged: the cup beside me, the winter lights outside, the empty room waiting for another film or another sleepless night. Yet the space felt altered because I had allowed Kath’s presence to occupy it so completely.
I thought of Anna, who had forgiven betrayals I would have struggled to forgive and still remembered to ask whether I had eaten. I thought of Kenneth, whose failure to answer my call I had dismissed so easily, without considering how much of his life I had already missed. I thought of Jay at sea, trusting that his wife would be there when he called. For the first time since Kath’s birthday, I understood that what we had called our private story had never belonged only to us. We had made it private by pushing everyone else beyond its borders, even though they would have borne the consequences of every choice we made.
I had spent all that time thinking of Jay as my rival. But I had not lost Kath to him. In the end, she had not chosen one man over another.
She had chosen her faith—and the person she still wanted to be.
It was difficult to compete with God.
Against Him, I never had a chance.
Perhaps Kath had been right all along.
Perhaps we were never meant to be.
— END —
If you could relive one year of your life, which one would it be?
If I could relive one year of my life, I would choose not a calendar year but a twelve-month period: March 2012 to March 2013. Those months were among the most difficult, uncertain, and ultimately transformative of my life.
In March 2012, I resigned from my position at a public tertiary institution because of irreconcilable differences with my fellow school administrators. My resignation took effect in May. Until then, I had planned to spend the remainder of my career in my country’s public school system. The position was good, and the long-term security it offered was difficult to surrender, but the working environment had become too toxic for me to remain.
Even so, I did not leave the public institution without making a meaningful contribution. While concurrently serving as dean of the college and chair of its Education program, I spearheaded the effort to secure from the Commission on Higher Education (CHED) the permit required to offer Mathematics as a major in the program.
My wife was deeply unhappy with my decision, and her reaction was rooted in our previous experience. Before joining the public institution, I had spent nine years as an administrator at a private college. The school deducted a monthly contribution from our salaries for its retirement fund. Employees who left before completing ten years of service could recover only the amounts deducted from their own salaries; completing ten years would have entitled me to receive the institution’s share as well. My wife therefore urged me to remain for one more year. Financially, she was right. However, I had already become deeply unhappy because of my disagreement with the college president over how she managed the school and treated the people within the organization. Another year felt like a price I was no longer willing to pay, so I resigned and forfeited the institution’s contribution.
Understandably, when I decided to leave the public institution after serving there for only about a year, my wife feared that I was repeating the same pattern—walking away from another stable position without knowing what would come next. Her fears were eased on June 1, the first day I was officially unemployed, when I received a call from a representative of a Pakistan-based international school system that had acquired an existing basic education school in the Philippines. They offered me the position of school principal, with a salary considerably higher than what I had previously earned. The workload was also lighter because my duties were primarily supervisory and carried no required teaching load. However, after spending so many years in education, I could not divorce myself entirely from the classroom. I therefore accepted a part-time teaching position at a tertiary institution in a nearby locality.
Despite that apparent good fortune, I was unhappy.
Some longtime employees had hoped that the school’s new owners would appoint one of them as principal. They had served the institution for years, while I was a newcomer. Their unspoken question was understandable: Why him? As a result, I encountered doubt, indifference, and resistance. At the same time, years of professional turbulence finally caught up with me, and burnout set in. It did not help that I was also struggling with personal demons of my own making.
One day, I realized that I had fallen into depression.
Still, I resolved not to be defeated. I stood my ground, confronted what was draining me professionally, and began dealing with the personal problems I had helped create. More importantly, I searched for a way to begin again. That search led me to apply for a teaching position in South Korea.
There was one complication: accepting the position in South Korea meant leaving the school approximately one month before its graduation ceremonies. The foreign representatives of the Pakistan-based international school system tried to persuade me to stay. However, I had never signed an employment contract—not because the organization intended to withhold one, but because the person responsible for preparing and sending it repeatedly forgot to do so despite my constant reminders. The absence of a binding agreement allowed me to leave without fear of legal repercussions for breaching a contract.
Still, the decision was painful. I had grown attached to my students, and it saddened me to leave without seeing the Grade 6 and fourth-year students graduate. In the end, however, I had to choose between sentiment and my well-being. I could feel my depression worsening, and I knew that remaining merely to participate in the graduation ceremonies could cost me the opportunity to begin again.
On March 2, 2013, I flew to South Korea and began working as an ESL teacher.
Fourteen years later, I am still here in the Land of the Morning Calm. Coming to South Korea was one of the best—if not the best—decisions I have ever made. The country has had a genuinely calming effect on me. In many ways, it tamed my spirit—not by extinguishing the fire within me, but by teaching me where and how to direct it.
I arrived strong-willed, restless, and accustomed to resisting environments that I believed were unhealthy or unjust. South Korea gave me something I had long needed: stability, order, and enough quiet space to breathe, reflect, and rebuild myself. Here, I learned that strength does not always have to announce itself through confrontation. I could disagree without being disagreeable, remain ambitious without being consumed by ambition, and enjoy solitude without feeling isolated. The same intensity that once left me exhausted gradually found more constructive outlets—in teaching, research, writing, physical well-being, and continuous self-improvement.
This country has given me opportunities for tremendous personal and professional growth. It allowed me to rediscover myself not merely as an administrator, but as a teacher, researcher, writer, and lifelong learner. South Korea did not change the essential person I was; it helped me become a calmer, more disciplined, and more purposeful version of him.
I am reminded of something that happened when the school where I served as principal underwent FAPE recertification. Securing that recertification was important because the school needed it to remain eligible for the government assistance administered through the program. During the evaluation, one of the accreditors asked why, after spending nine years at one college, I had transferred to a public institution only to leave after about a year. She also noticed that I had previously worked at three other schools.
One of her fellow accreditors remarked, “Perhaps he has not yet found his niche under the sun.”
Perhaps she was right.
If I could relive those twelve months, I would not return because they were happy, nor would I return to change what happened. I would relive them so that, amid the uncertainty, pain, and apparent failures, I could recognize that they were leading me toward the place where I truly belonged.
Now I have found my niche under the sun.
It is South Korea.
M.A.D. LIGAYA
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 