On Sundays, I served at church.
On weekdays, I worked.
On weeknights, I attended postgrad classes.
On Saturdays, I taught.
Being a part-time lecturer meant long days, short rest, and very little pause.
So when I finally had a free weekend,
I treated myself to something simple.
A nearby bakery.
Comfort bread.
A bottle of Pepsi Blue.
Quiet.
Then one of my students suddenly approached me.
Feeling familiar, he jokingly asked if I could treat him.
Slightly annoyed. But I obliged.
What’s twenty pesos, right?
Choose kindness.
This was not a fancy university.
No air-conditioned rooms.
No ergonomic chairs.
No polished hallways.
It was a state college,
where I taught as a way of giving back,
paying forward what I had learned.
Just bare walls, wooden desks, and students who showed up anyway.
Back in class, that same student was loud and lively.
He recited confidently.
Cracked jokes from the back row.
Played the class clown.
The kind people call “bibo.”
Sometimes charming.
Often distracting.
Fast forward to one afternoon.
I was heading home when he saw me and asked where I was going.
I answered politely.
Again, choose kindness.
He said he was headed the same way and asked if he could hitch a ride.
I agreed,
though I was still a little irritated.
Near a construction site, he asked to be dropped off.
I waited for a moment.
Curious.
Then I saw him walk straight inside.
Safety hat.
Vest.
Gloves.
Hollow blocks.
That noisy student.
That joker.
That “class clown.”
A 17-year-old construction worker.
Working nights.
Carrying not just cement,
but responsibility.
Pressure.
Survival.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Maybe that’s where his energy came from.
Maybe that’s why he joked so much.
Maybe that’s how he stayed awake.
Stayed hopeful.
Stayed strong.
After that day, I paid more attention.
He was a Boy Scout.
Active in volunteer work.
Quick to defend classmates being bullied.
He wasn’t trying to be funny.
He was trying to cope.
Trying to carry more than most people his age ever should.
That realization humbled me.
This was different from the world I knew.
It reminded me why I teach.
Why I give back.
Why I try to see people beyond first impressions.
Because we all carry weights the world cannot see.
Some hide them behind smiles.
Some behind jokes.
Some behind noise.
So be careful how quickly you judge.
Not every clown is carefree.
Not every jester is shallow.
Some are just doing their best
to survive
and still make others smile.