2003 was my second year of teaching full-time in Ateneo. One of my students happened to be an editor of the GUIDON, and she asked me to contribute an essay for the “Chalk Marks” column. Rereading that essay today makes me squirm a little and chuckle a lot—mostly at my hubris and the energy with which I submitted my complaint, my “rants and raves” against my students. To be candid, I used to “Hulk-out” more often then; these days, I think I am more disposed to a serenity akin to that of Po the Kung Fu Panda (whom I supposedly resemble).

Nearly six years have passed since that essay, and I am honestly delighted to admit that, like Po, I have been brought low many times. From the high-and-mighty stance that young teachers sometimes take, the many spills I have made have been “good for my humility.” In a school that prides itself in magis, it is good to remember that this excellence is always hard-won; often, it is inspired by the ghosts of failures past.

The thing about learning from failure, though, is that it pushes us into uncharted territory. It leads us into frontiers where plans might be thrown out the window, where expectations must be reevaluated, where new rules have to be made. It is not unlike love, which is what magis is really about after all.

As some of you may know, I am heading into uncharted territory again. Leaving the school that has been home to me since 1985 (albeit temporarily) was an obvious decision, but it has also meant shifting people’s paradigms—those of my mentors, my colleagues, my students, my family, and even my own. I’ve had to rethink a lot of things in the past weeks, as I prepared for my departure.

In light of these changing perspectives, I thought it would be interesting to examine those lessons I have failed to learn over the past eight years in Ateneo. Allow me, then, to list eight:

08. I still haven’t learned how to remain impassive when students act like savages. Although I avoid “Hulking-out,” I find that the well-timed and properly-inflected “Excuse me” can bring students back to their senses.

07. I still haven’t learned how to be unmoved by the beauty of our campus. Early morning classes which allow one to witness the sun rise over Ateneo. Paths which allow for conversation and quiet reflection. December evenings when Bellarmine field is lit up for Simbanggabi. Enough said.

06. I still haven’t learned how to keep my blood pressure stable when watching Ateneo-La Salle games.

05. I still haven’t learned how to be indifferent when my students rise to the occasion and make a stand for themselves and for others. After witnessing my students discover something to live for, year after year, I still can not suppress my awe.

04. I still haven’t learned how to live with the Jesuits, nor to live without them.

03. I still haven’t learned how to accept, without surprise, that my students can become my friends.

02. I still haven’t learned how to find unremarkable the fact that I now work with mentors whom I hold in high esteem. Their presence always makes me feel like a student, in every sense of the word.

01. I still haven’t learned how to be unimpressed when my students begin to learn how to think.

If these are the things I still haven’t learned, it seems that I have a lot to work on when I return. And until I’ve learned my lessons, I guess I’ll be sticking around.

Roy Allan Berango Tolentino is a philosophy instructor in the Ateneo. By the end of August, he will be in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, to begin his Ph.D. studies at the Indonesian Consortium for Religious Studies. His research will be directed towards philosophy of religion, focusing on Islamic Philosophy.