My student Hannah weaves her Tnalak into a white coat
Teaching is my happy job. The classroom is a balancing mechanism for an otherwise tedious clinical practice in cancer care. (The heaviness in oncologic practice emanates from an almost daily proximity to death and dying. There are days when meeting five patients in a day feels like a lot. Some of my friends will agree with this.)
Interspersed in my otherwise packed Google Calendar are lectures, seminars, and meetings. Behind them are the quiet tasks I often do after clinic hours: preparing my lectures, crafting my evaluations, grading my students' research protocols. These academic routines activate another part of me that is separate, but somehow still related, to my day job. In a sense, clinic work is my vocation; teaching my avocation.
I've been teaching since the launch of the College of Medicine (COM—as in "see-oh-em") of the Mindanao State University - General Santos, a fact that gives me much pride and joy. I find it a privilege to interact with bright students who would otherwise not have the opportunities to become doctors if not for government support. Half of our student population are from underprivileged Muslim and indigenous communities, many of them from Mindanao. COM is my happy place: the faculty members I work with, the college's support staff, even the canteen owners who give me an extra helping of pastil.
A number of our students are scholars of the CHED Medical Scholarship and Return Service (MSRS) program, part of the provisions of the Doktor Para sa Bayan law (RA 11509). One of them is Hannah Joy Bento-Billones, one of my mentees! Dr. Popoy de Vera features her in his Philippine Star Column, Edukampyon. The article is entitled, "Weaving her T’nalak into a white coat," which you can read in full.
Here are some excerpts. Dr. de Vera writes this about Hannah:
I met Hannah Joy Bento-Billones, a bright, articulate and self-effacing medical student. A T’boli from Lake Sebu, South Cotabato, she is the first in her community to study medicine and become a doctor. I told myself her story had to be told.
He continues:
Like the T’nalak, medicine was once a distant, impossible dream. When I first told my family I wanted to pursue medicine, my father grew quiet. I sensed both fear and disappointment – not in me, but in himself, for not being able to support his daughter’s dream. His line was, “Kaya ng utak, pero hindi kaya ng bulsa.” It was beyond what we could afford. For a time, I convinced myself that maybe medicine was not meant for me – maybe it’s for my children to fulfill someday.
When MSU GenSan opened its College of Medicine, it gave me a chance to revisit a dream I had once buried. I carry the reality of being a first-generation doctor in the making – the first pure Lumad in our family to pursue this path. My education has always been supported by scholarships, from high school through college. Still, there were moments when even that was not enough. At one point, my family had to sell a portion of our land just to sustain my studies.
I am also a product of a learning environment that prioritized inclusivity. At MSU-GSC COM, opportunities were never withheld because of ethnicity, social background or life circumstances. This support, together with the MSRS program, made it possible for me to continue even in seasons when continuing felt hardest. Tey bong slamat! Thank you very much!
Today, I am one step closer to becoming a physician. I will graduate this June. This milestone is not mine alone. It reflects the impact of programs like MSRS that invest in students who are willing to return and serve. It is shared with my tribe, the T’boli, and with every Indigenous community striving to be seen and heard.
We're so proud of you and your class, Hannah!
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