THE MAN I MET ON THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED

For having been rebellious in high school, being a college is vague to me--boring. That, however, had changed. Because of my Philosophy professor, Randy, whom I've met on the road less traveled.

I WAS SEVENTEEN years old when I started college. The summer had just ended; the rainy season started. Back-to-school sale had begun; and tuition fee-discounts was all over the ads. But I was not ready yet. The carelessness and liberty of high school was still in my mind and of my heart. Freshmen year, however, was inevitable. And only soon I had realized: it was noteworthy.

"I only have two rules in my class," said Professor Randy Nier Saladero. "First, always be smart; second, no... I repeat: no cheating." Randy was my professor on Philosophy and English. Introducing himself he said, "I was an Art's Bachelor in Philosophy graduate, from Ateneo De Manila; my hometown is the province of Iloilo; 24 years old and I'm married." As rebellious as I was, I didn't mind him. For me, he's just another teacher doing his boring job. But, honestly, I was wrong.

On the contrary, Randy was an avant-garde of a teacher. His style was that of a sage. With his astute guidance, he had let us express ourselves to the extent we could use all of the languages we know. He had listened to our blunders and let us justify them inasmuch as we wanted to. He had allowed us to present our ideologies and curiosities though they were nonsense. More so he was the first teacher that had let us use our gadgets during class time. Yet, Randy was more than a cool teacher.

He was decisive; serious with his vocation. Only at times, he was just another human being who gets tired and lazy.

Seven months had passed. On one Monday morning, Randy was absent. And our Dean had to filled in for him. "Mr. Randy is not here now because according to him, he is not feeling well, he has fever," said our Dean. Philosophy was first on my schedule and my only subject in morning. So knowing that my prof was not feeling well. I had decided, along with my friend, to pay him a visit. His house was in a short distance from our school. So walk we did. "Is Sir Randy there?" I asked his housemate. "We're his students," added I. "Oh, wait I'll just call him," replied his housemate while letting us in. Just then we saw Randy walked out his room. Yawning, for he had just woke up. Wearing only shorts. And yes. He was not sick. And we caught him. "Sir." We greeted him. "Dean said you're not feeling well. Are you really sick?" He had first responded with a noisy laugh as he made his way towards their faucet. After washing his face he finally said, "naaah, I just don't feel going to school." I smiled. I had too. I was thinking: Randy was indeed an honest guy. But at times, lazy. Generous and thoughtful as he was he had prepared meals for us. Thereafter, we became friends.

Outside our classroom, Randy was somebody who was so keen on messing with his students, us. Above all, he was always ready to listen to our weird inquiries, early-youth mischiefs, bad judgments and on our love problems so-called--after all, he was a lover of wisdom, a philosopher. Randy, however, had problems, too.

There were many instances when I and Randy had lunch together. What I had observed from him was he mostly bought the same viand--chicken curry--every day! So I asked him why. His reason: signs of aging. He told me: when a person gets older he started to get stuck with his routine, say, same shirt, same likes and same viand for that matter. Now, this was just one of his many philosophical answers.

As a man of his principle and his beliefs, he taught me to fight and stand for what I think is right. But he enshrined on my mind: the importance of being able to concede. He explained to me that I should always be ready to accept my mistakes and by that, learn. Truly, Randy was a man full of wise words. A man of wisdom. And nonetheless, just a man.

Randy is now back in his beloved hometown in Iloilo. Still upholding his voice in the academe; at the same time, pursuing his father's dream for him: to become a lawyer. And why did he choose to become an educator? "I am an activist," according to Randy. "I have great ideals for my country and I have passion for change, but rallying in the streets are no more effective. I brought my battle inside my classroom. There my voice is louder; there I feel fulfillment." "Was it really your dream," asked I. "Nothing specific but just have to be different," was his answer. "[Also] Inspired by Frost's poem: The Road Less Traveled," added he.

Though Randy now is miles away, he never fail to remind me with his profound advice. "You need to be best in your craft," was Randy's recent message to me. I replied, "...what exactly do you mean?" His thoughtful articulate: "Well that is the safest thing to say to someone who is into art....

"It can be interpreted as (1) Be the best among others--but art cannot be a competition. So (2) Be best among your previous selves."

I am twenty-one years old now. Four summers and rainy seasons had passed. But Sir Randy's Philosophies still resound in my mind; and of my heart, linger. Also still amaze I am, to have met a wise man, on his chosen path: on the road less traveled.