What travel quietly teaches us

By Herman M. Lagon

There is a line going around online lately, often linked to celebrities: “Filipinos should travel abroad so we will realize we deserve better.” It sounds simple, even sensible. But it lands differently depending on who hears it. Not everyone can afford to leave. Still, the point is not really about travel. It is about what you begin to notice once you see how things can work.

I remember standing in a train station in Japan, watching people line up without being told and trains arrive on time as if delays were not an option. No rushing, no noise, just quiet coordination. In Singapore, it felt even sharper — clean streets, efficient systems, everything moving without friction. Years ago, as a high school student, I compared Singapore’s size with Guimaras and wondered, in a very simple way, why we could not do the same and prosper. The thought stayed. It still does.

Travel does not preach. It shows. And once you see it, it is hard to unsee. Long lines, slow services, and traffic that eats entire afternoons — these stop feeling normal and start feeling avoidable. Urban research still says the same thing: Cities built around people reduce stress and improve daily life (UN-Habitat, 2022). But you do not need the report. You feel it when things simply work.

And that is where the shift happens. You come home, and the familiar looks different. For daily commuters, though, this is not new — the waiting, the tight spaces, and the quiet exhaustion at the end of it (JICA, 2023). Travel does not create that reality. It only makes it harder to ignore.

There is also fair pushback. Not everyone can travel, and it can sound tone-deaf to suggest that awareness requires a passport. But in truth, the comparison is already here — through stories, videos, and the everyday accounts of those who have seen something else. The issue is no longer exposure. It is what we do with what we already know.

This is where the conversation often turns to discipline. Some say systems work because people follow rules. That is partly true. But people follow rules more consistently when those rules are applied fairly. When some cut in line and get away with it, and when enforcement depends on who you know, discipline weakens. It is hard to sustain habits in a system that does not sustain them in return.

And so the question deepens into governance. You see it in small, everyday moments. A broken traffic light is left unattended while enforcers improvise at the intersection. A government office where a simple document takes hours unless someone knows someone inside. A public transportation system where commuters wait longer than the ride itself. These are not grand failures. They are ordinary ones. But repeated daily, they shape how people experience dignity. Over time, people adjust. We call it resilience. But sometimes, it is just getting used to less.

And yet, travel also reminds you of what we already have. There is warmth here that no system can manufacture. People help without being asked. Conversations come easily, even with strangers. A sense of community remains, even when things fall short. Other places may run more smoothly, but they can feel distant. Here, things are messier but more human.

So the point is not to leave and admire somewhere else. It is to see more clearly. To recognize that many of the things we accept are not fixed. And at the same time, to remember that what we have is not empty. There is still something here — imperfect, yes, but worth building on. The goal of comparing is not to put ourselves down but to understand what works, what does not, and what we can still improve.

For teachers, this unfolds quietly. In the questions students begin to ask. In the stories they bring into the room. In the way they start noticing differences. Teaching becomes less about giving answers and more about helping them think. Why do some systems work better? Who is responsible? What kind of country do we want to live in?

We have long said we deserve better. What feels different now is how often it is said — and how many are starting to mean it. Travel did not create that realization. It only made it harder to ignore. The real measure is not how far we go but what we choose to fix when we come back.

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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 that employ him or with which he is affiliated.