Our journey continues, mga abyan

For the past ten months, turon somehow became part of my life at ISUFST Dumangas Campus. There were biscuits, Coke, coffee, candies, too, and, of course, plenty of chikahan. Nothing fancy. We simply tried to find time in between classes, meetings, deadlines, and whatever else was happening that day to sit down and ask one another, “Kumusta ka?”

Sometimes the answer was the usual “Okay lang, Sir.” Sometimes it really meant okay. Sometimes, after a few minutes and perhaps a piece of turon, it became something else. We talked about school, family, friendships, worries, pressure, plans, disappointments, and the things we hoped for. We talked about our whys, our mental wellness, and how we saw ourselves. We laughed a lot, too. There were days when the chikahan probably took up more time than whatever I had planned for the session. I did not mind. Those were often the moments when people began to loosen up and become themselves.

We eventually called them our Turon Kumustahan and Learning Sessions. The name sounds more organized than some of the actual gatherings were. And I mean that fondly. What mattered was that we showed up. Over time, I learned that not every silence needed to be filled and not every problem needed an immediate answer. As a counselor, the temptation is sometimes to think that you should always know what to say. But people do not always come to you looking for answers. Sometimes they just want somebody who will stay long enough to hear the whole story. Our Peer Facilitators have a simple line that I have grown very fond of: “Here to listen. Here to help.” Four words. Enough.

And we did quite a lot together. There was our two-day Pag-Amlig peer Facilittors Training Workshop, PeerKada Workshop, Candy Care Program, mental health campaigns, group sessions, monthly peer-care debriefings, and the reorganization and continuing formation of our Peer Facilitators. We worked on recruitment, peer listening and referrals, Guidance Desk assistance, office-duty schedules, committee meetings, and social media wellness posts. We had our peer shirts, posters, pin buttons, and cards. We strengthened the Peer Check-In and Guidance Desk and Recruitment and Formation Program. We partnered with the Student Council and other organizations. Not everything worked exactly as planned. There were schedules to adjust, ideas that had to wait, and activities we could probably do better the next time. That was fine. We were learning as we went.

I will probably remember the Guidance Office most. We cleaned it, moved things around, fixed the bulletin boards, decorated here and there, and tried to make sure there was something to offer when somebody dropped by. Candy. Biscuits. Coffee, when available. Small things, really. But I wanted the room to feel less like an office where a student was sent because something had gone wrong. I wanted it to be a place where you could walk in without worrying that people outside would wonder, “Ngaa nag-Guidance siya?” You could come because you had a problem, yes. But you could also come because you wanted to talk, ask something, sit for a while, or maybe just get a candy before going back to class.

Then there were the conversations nobody else will know about. Over those ten months came scores of individual and group counseling sessions, referrals, follow-ups, quick check-ins, and those unexpected conversations that started with a knock on the door or a message asking, “Sir, ara ka sa office?” Some lasted only a few minutes. Others did not. Some ended with laughter. Some were heavy enough that I carried them with me on the way home. I cannot tell those stories, and I should not. They belong to the people who trusted me with them. But they reminded me how little we sometimes know about the person sitting beside us. The student laughing loudly with friends may be hurting. The student who suddenly misses deadlines may be dealing with something far more serious than poor time management. We see behavior easily. We do not always see the story behind it.

That is one reason I became attached to our Peer Facilitators. I also kept reminding them that they were not counselors. They did not have to solve anybody’s life. They did not have to know what to say every time. They are students themselves, with exams, deadlines, family concerns, relationships, kapoy, and bad days. Their role was simpler: notice, listen, accompany, and know when it was time to refer. And because they were looking after others, I also wanted somebody to look after them. Hence the debriefings, the kumustahan, the food, and the occasional question that mattered just as much as any training module: “Ikaw ya, kumusta ka man?”

I think that is what these ten months taught me again about mental health work. Programs are important. Policies are important. Guidance counselors, referral systems, training, and professional help are important. But care also happens in between all those formal things. It happens when a teacher notices that a normally talkative student has become unusually quiet. It happens when a friend stays instead of saying, “Okay lang na.” It happens when somebody asks twice because the first “I’m fine” did not sound quite right. And it happens when entering the Guidance Office no longer feels like an announcement to the whole campus that something must be wrong with you. We can have Mental Health Month every October, but the real test is what we do with one another on an ordinary Tuesday.

I went to Dumangas as OIC Guidance Counselor thinking, naturally, that I was there to give something. Looking back, I received quite a lot myself. I learned from the students who trusted me with parts of their lives. I learned from our Peer Facilitators, including their kulit, energy, nuances, questions, suggestions, and the occasional reminder that my nice plan on paper had to compete with quizzes, requirements, organization work, and actual student life. I learned from the teachers, administrators, and staff who supported us and made room for what we were trying to do. I was supposed to accompany people. Somewhere along the way, I realized that I was being accompanied, too.

Now somebody else will be spending more time with you. Dumangas will finally have a full-time Guidance Counselor, and I am happy about that. She happens to be a fellow taga-UP, but what matters more is that she can offer something I could not always give while juggling my other responsibilities: a more regular presence. To my mga abyan, please make her feel at home. Introduce yourselves. No need for anything dramatic. Say hello. Tell her about the Peer Facilitators. Tell her what we have been doing and what you still hope to do. Give her the same patience, openness, and trust you gave me. And please, do not simply preserve what we started. Make it better. I would be happiest seeing you take it somewhere we never managed to reach.

Maybe that is why I cannot quite call this goodbye. I will still be in Dumangas from time to time. We still have our institutional Peer Facilitators Training this November. I am sure there will be another turon somewhere, another coffee, another message, and more chikahan. And yes, I remain just a text away. Someone else will now walk with you more regularly, but the journey itself does not stop. Neither should the listening, the checking in, the caring, and our effort to become better abyans to others without forgetting to be an abyan to ourselves.

On this World Mental Health Day, I find myself thinking less about what we accomplished and more about the people behind all of it. Ten months is not that long. Still, it was enough for unfamiliar faces to become people I looked forward to seeing. Enough for meetings to become kumustahan. Enough for a small office to hold stories its walls will never tell. Enough for me to arrive thinking I would help and leave realizing that I had also been helped.

So thank you, ISUFST Dumangas Campus. Thank you to the students, teachers, administrators, and staff. And to my Peer Facilitators and mga abyan, thank you for the trust, patience, kulit, laughter, stories, turon, biscuits, Coke, coffee, and candies. Thank you even for the days when all we managed was to sit around and talk.

Come to think of it, those may have been some of our best days.

No goodbye, mga abyan. See you when I see you. Our journey continues. Padayon.

***

Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.