Valedictory Address 2026
Pauline Vivar delivers this years valediction
St. Francis once said, “When you lose the capacity to dream, you lose the capacity to love.”
About ten years ago, I stood in a small gymnasium in my province to deliver my very first valedictory address. Before I stepped down from that stage, I quietly made myself a promise: “One day, I’ll do this again.” I didn’t know where that stage would be, or what it would cost. I only knew that I wanted to keep becoming someone worthy of standing on it.
Today, standing before all of you, I realize something. The dream was never really about standing on another stage. It was about becoming the kind of person the journey would require.
We were taught that blazing a trail is an invitation to become pioneers, positive changemakers, and leaders in our respective fields. But perhaps the deeper challenge of blazing a trail is not merely to be the first to walk a path. It is to have the courage to march forward, the wisdom to acknowledge those who made the journey possible, and the heart to make the way easier for those who follow.
We begin to blaze our own trails by trying hard, and by accepting that trying hard isn’t glamorous.
It looks like rehearsing every single word in your mind before raising your hand for recitation. It looks like staying up after everyone else has called it a day. It looks like showing up again and again after every setback.
As someone who still panics when suddenly asked, “What’s six times seven?”, I knew I had to spend extra hours studying for subjects that, ironically, involved the most basic mathematical operations. It would certainly make for a more inspiring speech if I could tell you that I earned flat uno’s in all of them. Sadly, I didn’t.
Because no matter how hard we try, limitations will always exist. But limitations are not hindrances, let alone excuses. They are invitations to grow. And growing often begins with the simple decision to try anyway. While other people use the term try-hard as an insult, I’ve learned to wear it as a badge of honor. Because being a try-hard means refusing to let our limitations define who we are and what we are capable of becoming.
Yet the greatest lesson I learned from trying hard is that it shapes us long before it rewards us. It teaches us to become comfortable with discomfort, to confront our weaknesses instead of hiding from them, and to go the extra mile even without the guarantee of better outcomes. It strengthens our character—and we keep going.
But no trailblazer truly walks alone.
I was fortunate to have parents who believed in me long before I learned to believe in myself—parents who allowed me to dream farther than our circumstances sometimes allowed, and who taught me the value of hard work, integrity, generosity, and faith. They taught me that while God rewards those who earnestly pursue their aspirations, He delights even more in those who choose to share and uplift others.
I was also blessed with grandparents whose prayers carried me through, and with a grandfather who taught me the meaning of sacrifice in the most tangible way. If today I stand beneath bright lights wearing a toga, it is because years ago, he stood beneath the scorching sun for hours, plowing fields so that my dad and his siblings could dream a little farther—so that I could dream a little farther.
His life reminds me that an opportunity is rarely ours alone. Someone worked for it before us. Someone cleared the trail before we arrived.
As a full merit scholar for five years, I never saw my scholarship merely as a reward for academic excellence, or even as financial assistance. I saw it as a trust this institution placed in me—a belief that my education could someday make a difference—and a responsibility to be honored and acted upon.
With all that, my motivation throughout the years sounded like this: “I can’t afford to fail, because not everyone is given the chance to try.” But over time, that mindset changed into something deeper: “I must do well so that more people can have that chance.”
I believe that the highest form of gratitude is not merely remembering who opened the door for us. It is holding that door open for someone else.
Because gratitude that ends with “thank you” is incomplete.
True gratitude asks, “Now that I have been blessed, what will I do with this blessing?” We honor the blessings we receive not by counting them, but by multiplying them.
And perhaps the true measure of success is not how many doors we open for ourselves, but how many remain open for others after we have walked through them. That, to me, is what it means to be a trailblazer.
Batch 2026, today, we celebrate a remarkable milestone. But let us remember that commencement is called commencement for a reason. It is not the end. It is the beginning.
The beginning of bigger dreams. Bigger opportunities. And bigger responsibilities—not only to ourselves, but to those who will follow the trails we choose to blaze.
The world before us is marked by both uncertainty and possibility. We will continue to navigate rapid social, political, economic, and technological change. Yet through the education and formation we have received, I trust that we possess the values, knowledge, and capacity to shape a future that honors our shared humanity.
The lessons we carry from Pearl Drive were never meant to remain within Pearl Drive.
For me, that means carrying forward the dreams of the fishermen of Dangay in Oriental Mindoro and the farmers of Tabuating in Nueva Ecija. May we never forget the communities that raised us, nor the communities we are now called to build. Whatever it is, I hope it is a place where opportunities are shared and not reserved for the fortunate, where love is measured by service, where success is admired not because it is impressive, but because it becomes transformative, and where every child believes their dream of standing on bigger stages like this deserves a chance, too.
St. Francis reminds us that “when you lose the capacity to dream, you lose the capacity to love.”
So may we continue to dream, not only for ourselves, but for those who have yet to discover that they are allowed to dream at all.
May we continue to love, not only through our words, but through lives spent in service of others.
And when another young girl stands in a small gymnasium in her province, or on a bigger stage like this, may she do so because someone before her believed in her dreams, just as someone once believed in ours.
May she find a trail that someone chose to blaze.
May she find a door that someone chose to leave open.
And may she, in turn, do the same for someone else.
Congratulations, Batch 2026.
Thank you very much, and may God bless us all.