Puti ang Baluti, Buo ang Loob: A Journey of Pure Intent and Empowerment 

Maurice Joy G. Cudal

Personal milestones and accolades are often solemn markers of success, but for me, validation comes from the appreciation and gratitude offered by other people. My professional journey started as a nurse and later a nurse educator, each step motivated by a sincere wish to help and support those around me. This journey has not only made it possible for me to realize my dreams but has also inspired so many others, especially during my professional engagements in the thriving healthcare industry in Saudi Arabia. My story, which is the story of struggles and hopes, illustrates how strongly we can impact each other’s lives and underscores the belief we should all have in ourselves.

In my earlier years, I lost my parents, which presented me with a myriad of obstacles that could have thwarted my objectives. Nevertheless, I held on to a vision—a vision where I could greatly impact other people’s lives. The vision to become a nurse leader sprang from the realization that I could help nurses better appreciate themselves, and I wanted to enable them to achieve their full potential. I sought to foster an environment where everyone could excel, boosting a culture of collaboration and support. A principle that has always been my guiding star in this journey is “Puti ang baluti, buo ang loob,” a saying from my good friend and classmate in my PhD program. This saying stays with me. This saying keeps me anchored to my purpose and shines a light in my darkest times.

During this journey, I have taken three philosophic steps which deeply impacted my practice in nursing and teaching. First, my actions and decisions are profoundly influenced by the essence of pure intent. This saying encourages us to act with integrity and reminds me of my purpose irrespective of hurdles. I make every effort to ensure that my students do not give up on their dreams which they are passionate about. Second, I adhere to the principle of ‘function over position’. In nursing and education, it’s not about what title we bear, but rather, what role we fulfill. Each and every encounter presents a chance to serve and create positive change within the community and our institutions.

The mantra of ‘make it better’ hits home for me. Improvement is a journey, and I try to motivate my students and colleagues to adopt a bottom-up approach. Each and every single day is an opportunity to cultivate a new habit and to learn something new that will help us grow. Placing myself in the company of compassionate and dependable people greatly adds to this effort because we learn and help one another.. There is so much that can be accomplished so long as there is a caring network that can help to motivate and encourage one another towards working to achieve such goals. We can do so much to lift one another work towards lifting each other to greater heights.

It is a story of resilience, of growth, and a focus on service to others. As a nurse leader, I take pride in and am grateful that I belong to a community that promotes compassion, integrity and excellence in healthcare. Let us all strive to be leaders in our own fields. Not so much because of our titles, but through the influence that we have left on other people. Together, we have the chance to light the way for generations to come. We can make certain that the future has something to be thankful for, something to hope for, and something that will transform everything.

What Remains of Me When the Applause Fades?

Marvelyn D. Ignacio, PhD

Assistant Professor III, Apayao State College

If I stripped away the medals,
And set the trophies down,
Would I still stand as tall,
Or shrink beneath the ground?

If titles lost their meaning,
And praise no longer came,
Would I still see my reflection,
Or be a face without a name?

Am I the weight of all my work,
Or something more inside?
A heart that beats for love and truth,
Not just for hollow pride.

If no one clapped, if no one cheered,
If all my wins were dust,
Would kindness still be in my hands?
Would hope remain my trust?

When silence fills the spotlight's place,

And dreams feel far away,

Will I still rise with quiet grace,
A soul that will not sway?

Even if the world forgets my name,
Or accolades grow dim,
I hope they’ll see the heart I gave,
Not just the ways I win.

I am not the heights I’ve climbed,
Nor all that I have done,
I am the warmth within my soul,
I shine without the sun.

Every afternoon, twelve-year-old Nina passed the same blue house on her way home from school.

It stood at the end of Sampaguita Street, behind a rusted gate covered with vines. Its windows were always closed, and its garden had grown wild. The neighbors called it the “silent house” because no one seemed to visit the elderly woman who lived there.

Her name was Mrs. Elena Flores.

Some said she was unfriendly. Others claimed she disliked children. According to Nina’s classmate Marco, Mrs. Flores once shouted at a delivery rider for knocking too loudly.

“She is scary,” Marco warned. “Do not go near her gate.”

Nina believed him.

Whenever she walked past the blue house, she quickened her steps.

One rainy afternoon, Nina heard a faint sound as she passed.

“Help.”

She stopped.

The rain struck her umbrella so loudly that she wondered if she had imagined it.

Then she heard it again.

“Please help me.”

The voice came from behind the gate.

Nina’s heart pounded. She remembered Marco’s warning, but she pushed the gate open.

“Mrs. Flores?” she called.

There was no answer.

She walked toward the front door and knocked.

“Mrs. Flores, are you all right?”

A weak voice replied from inside.

“I fell.”

Nina tried the door. It was unlocked.

She found Mrs. Flores lying beside the dining table. A broken glass rested near her hand.

“Do not move,” Nina said, although she was not sure whether that was the correct thing to say.

She took out her phone and called her mother. Within minutes, Nina’s mother arrived with a barangay health worker.

Mrs. Flores had injured her hip and needed to be taken to the hospital.

Before the ambulance left, the old woman reached for Nina’s hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

It was the first time Nina had seen her up close. Mrs. Flores did not look frightening. She looked tired and afraid.

For the next two weeks, the blue house remained empty.

Nina often wondered who was caring for Mrs. Flores at the hospital. She asked her mother, but no one in the neighborhood seemed to know whether the old woman had relatives.

When Mrs. Flores finally returned, she used a cane and moved slowly.

Nina decided to visit her.

She brought a container of warm soup and stood outside the gate for several minutes before gathering the courage to knock.

Mrs. Flores opened the door.

“You came back,” she said.

“My mother made soup.”

“Come in.”

Inside, the house was cleaner than Nina expected. Framed photographs covered the walls. Most showed a younger Mrs. Flores standing in classrooms, holding books, or smiling beside groups of students.

“You were a teacher?” Nina asked.

“For thirty-eight years.”

“What did you teach?”

“English and speech communication.”

Nina looked surprised.

“But people say you do not like talking to anyone.”

Mrs. Flores raised an eyebrow.

“People say many things.”

Nina immediately regretted her words.

“I am sorry.”

“It is all right,” Mrs. Flores said. “At least you said it to me instead of speaking behind my back.”

She invited Nina to sit.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Nina asked, “Why do you keep your windows closed?”

“Because loud sounds give me headaches.”

“Is that why you shouted at the delivery rider?”

Mrs. Flores frowned. “I did not shout. I asked him to stop pressing the doorbell because it was broken and would not stop ringing.”

Nina thought of Marco’s story. A simple request had somehow become proof that Mrs. Flores hated visitors.

“Why do you not talk to the neighbors?” Nina asked.

Mrs. Flores looked toward the photographs.

“My husband died three years ago. My only daughter works abroad. After my husband’s funeral, many people visited and said, ‘Call us whenever you need anything.’”

She gave a small, sad smile.

“But they stopped coming.”

“Why did you not call them?”

“I did not want to be a burden.”

Nina understood then that silence did not always mean rejection. Sometimes, it meant sadness. Sometimes, it meant fear.

She began visiting Mrs. Flores every Wednesday.

At first, their conversations were brief. Nina delivered food, asked about her medicine, and watered the plants. Over time, they talked about school, books, and the people in the neighborhood.

One afternoon, Nina complained about her classmate Marco.

“He told everyone I cheated during the quiz.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you ask why he said it?”

“No. I stopped speaking to him.”

Mrs. Flores leaned back in her chair.

“Then you know only one part of the story.”

“He embarrassed me.”

“That may be true. But refusing to communicate will not correct the misunderstanding.”

The next day, Nina confronted Marco.

“Why did you tell people I cheated?”

Marco looked confused.

“I did not say you cheated. I said the teacher thought someone copied your answers.”

“That is not what people told me.”

“I was actually defending you.”

Nina felt her face grow hot.

By the end of the conversation, they discovered that another student had overheard only part of Marco’s statement. The incomplete message had traveled through the class and changed each time it was repeated.

Nina apologized for avoiding him.

Marco apologized for discussing the issue publicly.

That evening, Nina told Mrs. Flores what had happened.

“Communication is like passing a glass of water from one person to another,” Mrs. Flores explained. “If everyone is careless, there will be little left by the time it reaches the final person.”

“What should we do?”

“Whenever possible, go directly to the source.”

Nina remembered how everyone had judged Mrs. Flores without speaking to her.

A month later, Nina’s school announced a community storytelling project. Students were asked to interview a resident and present an important life lesson they had learned.

Nina chose Mrs. Flores.

During the interview, she discovered that Mrs. Flores had once helped establish the town’s first reading program. She had trained teachers, organized public speaking contests, and created a small library for children whose families could not afford books.

“Why does no one know this?” Nina asked.

“People remember what is repeated,” Mrs. Flores answered. “When stories are not shared, they disappear.”

Nina titled her presentation “The Woman Behind the Closed Windows.”

On presentation day, she stood in front of her class and told Mrs. Flores’s story. She explained how rumors had created an image of a frightening and unfriendly woman, while the truth was far more complex.

“She was not silent because she hated people,” Nina said. “She became silent because she felt forgotten. The problem was that everyone made assumptions, but no one asked questions.”

Her teacher invited Mrs. Flores to attend.

When the old woman entered the classroom, several parents and teachers recognized her.

“Ma’am Elena?” one teacher exclaimed. “You were my speech coach!”

Another parent approached her. “You helped me prepare for my college interview.”

Soon, people gathered around Mrs. Flores, sharing memories and thanking her.

For the first time in years, she laughed loudly.

The story spread through the neighborhood, but unlike the earlier rumors, this story was accurate.

Residents began visiting the blue house. Some brought food. Others helped clean the garden. Former students donated books and transformed one room into a small community reading center.

Mrs. Flores named it The Open Window Library.

Every Saturday, children gathered there to read and practice storytelling. Mrs. Flores taught them how to speak clearly, listen carefully, and verify information before sharing it.

One afternoon, Marco approached her.

“Ma’am, is it true that you once shouted at a delivery rider?”

Mrs. Flores looked at Nina, who tried not to laugh.

“No,” she answered. “But I am glad you asked me directly.”

Years later, Nina would remember the blue house whenever she encountered conflict.

She learned that communication required more than words. It required courage to ask, patience to listen, and humility to admit that one might be wrong.

She also learned that silence should not always be interpreted as anger, and that repeated stories were not necessarily true.

Sometimes, the only way to understand another person was to walk through the gate, knock on the door, and listen to the voice on the other side.