THERE was something disarming about the way Philippine Guidance and Counseling Association (PGCA) National President Christopher P. Hernandez opened his talk at the PGCA-Iloilo Seminar-Workshop. It wasn’t a grand declaration or a sharp critique. It was the way he named, with warmth and candor, the quiet struggles and invisible grit behind helping work.
Sitting in the ballroom of the Iloilo Grand Hotel, listening with colleagues from guidance, wellness, and allied professions, I felt an unexpected familiarity — para bang kinuwento niya yung araw-araw na hindi nasusulat sa reports. His idea of animus service — the spirit that moves us to serve even when our job descriptions end — landed in a way that was less theoretical and more like someone gently placing a hand on your shoulder: “I see what you carry.”
What struck me first was how he affirmed something many helping professionals hesitate to admit: compassion is rarely tidy. It stretches, spills, and exhausts. And yet, as Sir Chris described, it also anchors.
I remembered a student I once met — not the dramatic kind you’d see in case studies, just a quiet boy who lingered after every guidance class. He’d stay a bit longer in the room, sometimes for no clear reason. Back then I wondered if I should “do more,” “probe deeper,” or “apply a framework.” But listening to Sir Chris, I realized that sometimes the relationship is the intervention. The boy didn’t need a savior — he needed a space where silence was allowed. That small memory floated up during the talk, reminding me how often our most meaningful acts are not the heroic ones.
Sir Chris’ challenge to go “beyond the role” also made me think of the many colleagues who serve outside the spotlight. The psychometrician who explains test results to anxious parents with patience, even if it means staying late. The barangay health worker who accompanies a mother through a confusing hospital queue not because it’s mandated, but because she sensed the fear. Or the guidance aide who quietly prepares the counseling area each morning so the space feels welcoming. These gestures rarely appear in accomplishment reports, yet they carry the same spirit Sir Chris spoke of. They are not exceptional — they are everyday. And perhaps, that is what makes them important.
Still, his message did not romanticize service. Sir Chris did not paint helping work as some heroic calling. Instead, he spoke of its messiness — the exhaustion, the blurred boundaries, the weight of stories that sometimes follow us home. It was refreshing to hear a national president admit these truths without judgment.
Many nodded silently during his morning talk, including those who confessed earlier over coffee that they sometimes feel guilty for being tired. His message landed with the kind of relief that comes when someone articulates what you’ve been holding inside but could not quite name. Listening to him, the room felt less like a seminar hall and more like a group of people collectively exhaling. (To be continued)/PN
