He Chose to Speak Because It Would Benefit More Than Himself

One of the speakers during the Youth Leadership Summit held in our barangay was a college school student from a nearby town.

Even before he started speaking, I could already see that he was passionate about what he was doing.

His discussion was about protecting young people from abuse, children's rights, and encouraging the youth to become more aware of the things that could happen to them.

But somewhere during his speech, he mentioned something that immediately caught my attention.

That same weekend, August 8, he was supposed to pursue his PMA application.

But instead, he chose to attend the Youth Leadership Summit and speak in front of us.

I was like...

After his speech, I approached him and asked exactly that.

Why would you choose this speaking engagement instead of pursuing something as important as your PMA application?

His answer surprised me.

He basically told me:

Man.

That was a fucking good answer.

As we continued talking, I learned that his advocacy wasn't something he randomly chose because it sounded good.

It came from his own experience.

He shared that when he was younger, he experienced sexual abuse connected to someone within a church environment.

I don't remember all the specific details, and I don't want to write things I'm not completely sure about.

But what stayed with me was that he survived something extremely difficult and decided to turn that experience into something that could potentially protect another young person.

That's crazy to think about.

Something happened to him that could have completely destroyed the way he looked at himself, other people, institutions, faith, or life itself.

Yet here he was.

Standing in front of young people.

Talking.

Sharing.

Educating.

Trying to make sure someone else might recognize danger earlier than he did.

Trying to make young people more aware.

Trying to protect them.

I was amazed.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what happens to people after difficult experiences.

Some people become bitter.

Some become quiet.

Some carry the pain privately for years.

Some completely break down.

And some somehow manage to transform what happened to them into a reason to protect someone else.

That doesn't make what happened to them good.

Trauma doesn't magically become a blessing simply because someone eventually finds meaning from it.

What happened was still wrong.

But there is something powerful about a person eventually being able to say:

That's different.

You can't always choose what happens to you.

But sometimes, after surviving it, you can choose what you're going to do with what remains.

And this is another reason I'm grateful I randomly decided to join the YLS.

I could've stayed home.

I could've worked.

I could've done something completely different that weekend.

Instead, somehow, I ended up there.

And because of that small decision, I got to hear another person's story that I probably would've never known otherwise.

That's one of the things I love about talking with people.

You look at someone from the outside and you see:

A student.

A speaker.

A young person.

Someone confident enough to stand in front of an audience.

That's it.

Then you talk to them.

Suddenly there is an entire fucking life behind that person.

Struggles.

Decisions.

Trauma.

Dreams.

Reasons.

Things they survived that you would have never guessed just by looking at them.

And sometimes you realize that the passion you're seeing in someone today came from something extremely painful yesterday.

I've noticed this repeatedly.

There's something different about people who know why they're doing something.

You can hear it when they speak.

You can see it in how they carry themselves.

They're not simply repeating information from PowerPoint slides.

There's something underneath the words.

Experience.

Conviction.

A reason.

And that's probably what I noticed in him before I even knew his story.

He wasn't simply discussing youth protection because someone assigned him the topic.

It meant something to him.

That's why I really like meeting people like this.

People who have gone through shit and somehow still choose to become a positive influence instead of passing the pain forward.

And I'm not saying everyone who experiences something horrible has an obligation to become an advocate.

They don't.

Surviving is already enough.

But when someone voluntarily decides to use their experience to help others?

I respect that.

I also keep returning to what he told me about choosing between the PMA application and speaking at the YLS.

One opportunity could potentially benefit himself.

The other could potentially benefit many young people.

And he chose the second one.

I don't necessarily think choosing yourself is selfish. Sometimes pursuing your own opportunities eventually gives you more capacity to help people later.

But I understand what he meant.

At that particular moment, he felt that speaking was where he needed to be.

So he showed up.

Maybe one teenager in that audience listened.

Maybe someone recognized something happening in their own life.

Maybe someone learned what abuse looks like.

Maybe someone realized they could speak.

Maybe someone eventually protects another person because of something they heard that day.

You never really know how far one conversation travels.

And that's what makes it interesting.

The YLS gave me another person to add to this strange collection I'm building in my head.

People who make me hopeful.

Not perfect people.

Not superheroes.

Just people who went through something, found something they cared about, and decided to do something with it.

That's what inspires me.

I love hearing stories about people who survive difficult lives and still choose to become useful to others.

People who don't allow what happened to them to become the only definition of who they are.

And maybe that's another lesson I'm taking home from the YLS:

So listen.

Ask questions.

And when someone is passionate about something, maybe ask them why.

Sometimes the answer is much deeper than the speech.