President Yeung addresses the Graduating Class of 2026
The story of Ember
Good afternoon to our distinguished guests; to our commencement speaker, Mr. Joe Soberano; to the families and loved ones of our dear graduates; to my UA&P family; and, of course, to our dear graduates—the Class of 2026.
Today’s graduation coincides with the University’s 59th Foundation Day. Fifty-nine years ago, in 1967, in a garage in Malate, the Center for Research and Communication was established. CRC would go on to become the country’s leading independent think tank on economics, business, and public policy.
And today we are very much privileged to have both our founders with us: Dr. Jess Estanislao and Dr. Bernie Villegas. Dr. Jess would later become UA&P’s first president when CRC became a full-fledged university in 1995.
We are also blessed to have with us today two of UA&P’s past presidents: our third president, Dr. Jojo Mariano, who was the president when I was a college student at UA&P; and our fourth president, my predecessor, Dr. Stan Padojinog.
Today’s commencement is also especially meaningful to me because it is, in fact, my first commencement as President of this University.
And because you are the first graduating class I have the privilege of sending forth, I have prepared something special for you.
In fact, I wrote you a story. It is the story of Ember. It is a story that I hope you will remember whenever you look back on this day—the day that you graduated from UA&P. So let me begin.
In a valley surrounded by mountains lived a young dragon named Ember. Like every dragon, he had enormous wings.
While the old dragons spoke of the skies beyond the mountains, where the winds were strong, the air was clear, and the whole world could be seen at once, Ember was not aware.
He had never seen those skies because he never dared to fly. What if he fell? What if he failed?
So instead of climbing the mountains, he stayed in the valley with the chickens. He scratched the earth with them and flapped his great wings just enough to make little hops. The chickens admired him.
“What a wonderful chicken!” they clucked. And because he had never known anything else, Ember believed them.
Years passed.
Then one afternoon an old donkey wandered into the valley carrying sacks of grain. His coat was dusty, his back bent from years of faithful labor, but his eyes were bright. He watched Ember flapping his enormous wings without ever reaching the skies.
Finally he asked, “Why do you flutter about like a chicken?”
Ember looked puzzled and replied: “Because I am a chicken.”
The donkey smiled. “No. You have simply lived among chickens for so long that you have forgotten who you are.”
Ember laughed. “Everyone here says I’m a wonderful chicken.”
But the donkey replied: “A dragon, can become very good at pretending to be a chicken. But no dragon ever becomes a chicken.”
Then he pointed toward the mountains and told Ember: “Those wings were made for the sky.” Let me teach you.
Ember obliged and the next morning they began. The donkey taught Ember how to trust the wind, how to face his fear, and how to leap before fear disappeared.
Again and again Ember failed.
And Again and again the donkey simply said, “Let us begin again.” Then one morning the wind caught him. The valley fell away beneath him. The mountains no longer looked impossible. For the first time in his life, Ember soared above the clouds.
“I was made for this!” he cried. And he was right.
But slowly, he forgot why he flew. He skimmed over the sea to admire his reflection. He delighted in how small the world looked beneath him. He started loving being admired more than he loved the sky.
Then one day a great storm came. The winds that had once carried him now hurled him through the darkness. His wings failed. He fell.
Broken and ashamed, Ember dragged himself back to the valley. “I was never meant to fly,” he whispered.
One evening the old donkey found him sitting alone. Without saying a word, he sat beside him. And after a long silence he asked, “When shall we begin again?”
“Begin again? After I’ve failed?” Ember asked
The donkey smiled. “My dear dragon, falling does not prove that you were never meant to fly. It only proves that you still have more to learn.”
And so they began again. But this time the lessons were different. The donkey taught him that strength without humility becomes arrogance. That talent without love becomes vanity. And that dragons were not given wings so others will look up at them. They were given wings so they can better look after those below.
Years later, whenever storms gathered over the valley, the villagers would look toward the sky. There they would see Ember. No longer gazing at his reflection. His eyes were now fixed on the valley below. He watched over families in their homes. He guided lost travelers through the mountains. He drove marauders away before they reached the village. His strength had become a gift. His greatness had become service.
And only then did Ember discover what dragons are for.
My dear dragons, our dear children… this is also why UA&P is here.
Not merely to teach you what to do, but to help you discover who you are and what you are for. We gave you a Catholic formation because before you are professionals, you are children of God.
We gave you a liberal education because before you can lead others, you must learn to seek the truth, love what is good, and delight in what is beautiful. And we gave you your professional specializations because love deserves competence.
But all these were ordered toward something greater: that, in the spirit of St. Josemaría (founder of Opus Dei), you may sanctify your work, serve others generously, and become saints.
Yes, you are called to be saints.
And as St Josemaria would remind us: you do not need to do extraordinary things to become saints. Because more often than not, holiness is found in the ordinary things. It is found in doing your ordinary work with excellence, with love, and with the right intention.
Always thinking of others. Always pursuing a mission greater than yourself. And Always offering your very best to God. But.. if, like Ember, you should one day lose your way... If you should stumble; if you should fall; if success should tempt you to forget who you are, or failure make you doubt who you are... Remember that you can always come back home to your UA&P. And we will be here.
Your teachers, your mentors, your friends. Your old donkeys. We will remind you that you are dragons and that you were made for the skies. We will be here. Because we will never define you by your failures. And we will never measure you by your successes.
When you can no longer see the good in yourselves, we will remind you of the goodness that God placed within you. When you feel broken, we will remind you that you are still whole in His love. When guilt weighs heavily on your hearts, we will remind you of His mercy. And when you lose sight of your purpose, we will remind you once again why you were given wings.
That you are dragons, and that you were made for the skies. And together, we will say, “Come. Let us begin again.” For UA&P is not merely the place where you earned your degree. It is your home. You will always have a place here because you will always be our children.
And now, as we release to the skies to blaze your trails, we entrust you to the loving care of Our Lady. May Mary, Star of the Orient, Mother of UA&P, accompany you wherever God may lead you.
And may you, through her maternal intercession, become not only successful professionals, but faithful disciples, joyful servants, and holy men and women.
So Congratulations, Class of 2026.
And may God bless us all.