Of shepherd boys and promdis
January 7, 2007 | 12:00am
This Week’s Winner
Henson Juan Dominguez, 24, is a second-year medical student at UERM. His interests include watching TV, basketball, cooking, solving crossword puzzles and collecting stamps. He plans to practice medicine in his home province and hopes to have a book published.
I have always felt an affinity for the book The Alchemist. It is inspiring and well loved by many. I love it because in it I see a likeness to another story: the story of my life.
My story begins in a faraway province in the south, where as a kid I ran in the fields with my younger sister and brother. My most vivid memories of my childhood are taking a bath in the river and climbing up a mango tree. Just as the shepherd boy in The Alchemist was happy, I was happy too, and content.
I grew up aspiring to be a doctor, having been inspired by the sole doctor in the barrio. Upon hearing of my dream, my father, Tatang, was delighted. After all, we do not have a doctor in the family, or any professional for that matter.
A simple man who worked his way up from poverty, my father wanted nothing more than to see his children get a proper education, something he was never able to avail of himself. Upon finishing high school, I was sent off to Manila to study. It was a memorable time for me, reminiscent of that scene where the shepherd steps into Africa for the very first time, in search of his treasure. I, too, was in search of my treasure. Manila is only a city, but for a simple province boy, it was akin to seeing the world.
As the boy discovered when he was robbed, I also discovered that the path to one’s destiny is not as easy as I had expected or hoped. I spent the first few months being homesick. Amazement turned to intimidation as I discovered just how big the city was, how different things were from the simple barrio or even the provincial capitol I was used to all my life. I struggled academically, too.
As the valedictorian of our high school, and having passed a highly competitive college entrance exam, I thought I could slug it out with the best of the country. But as I discovered, I was but a big fish in a small pond. And now that I was in the ocean, where even bigger fishes abounded, I had to put in extra study hours just to pass my exams. To do research work I had to study how to use the Internet, something – I discovered to my embarrassment – my Manila-raised classmates had been able to do since they were in grade school. I had a great time, but it was a very humbling experience, too.
Just as the shepherd somehow got used to life with the glass merchant and in the oasis, I eventually adjusted too. In time I was finally able to keep up with my classmates academically and make new friends. The city embraced me as I embraced it. I began to frequent the movies, parties and clubs. I lived the city life, I breathed it, and loved it. Even as I adjusted to the academic clime, I began taking lighter loads so that I could spend more time with my friends. Money never occurred to me to be a problem – for all I knew, business was doing well.
Whenever I ran short of money I would just call home and ask for more. Sometimes I’d even miss going home during breaks on the pretense that I still had things to do. When my fourth year came to a close I came up with reasons(invented ones mostly) why I wouldn’t be able to graduate. My parents thought that I was struggling, and ever supportive, no longer questioned my extended stay.
The big news arrived in my fifth year: Tatang died. I can still recall my sister’s quivering voice as she called and broke the news to me. I rushed home and the illusion was forever shattered. Father had been sick all the while – his illness discovered three years before. But not wanting to burden me with worries the family kept it from me until he unexpectedly passed away. The family business was in no better shape: with Father sick it had been on a steady decline. Once again fearing worrying about it would affect my studies, my family also kept it from me. Just so my needs could be satisfied the family had to struggle to make ends meet, at one time even having to sell a carabao.
I was devastated and angry, angry at myself for being so foolish and selfish. I told my family everything I had done, just to get things off my chest, and to ease the guilt. I would have accepted any punishment, but my mother simply hugged me and, for the first time in years, I cried. For the first time since I got to college, I was truly home again. At this point, I felt more like the Prodigal Son in the Bible than the shepherd boy – with the sad twist that, unlike the Prodigal Son, my father was no longer there to welcome me home.
I returned to the city, a renewed man. Just as the shepherd boy moved on from the oasis and continued on his search, I was back on track, too.
I am now in my second year at medicine school. Unlike the shepherd, I have yet to find the treasure I originally set out for: a doctorate. But I found another treasure, something more important than what I originally wanted. Like the shepherd I found it where I began. It has always been there but, somehow, in my eyes it had always gone unnoticed, and thus unappreciated – my family, who had sacrificed, stood up for me and forgave me.
In the pages of The Alchemist, I see my story mirrored, and it has always served as an inspiration and a reminder that one should set out living life with courage, unyielding determination and boundless optimism. A reminder that no matter what befalls one in life, no matter what mistakes one may commit, there is only one way to go: forward.
Henson Juan Dominguez, 24, is a second-year medical student at UERM. His interests include watching TV, basketball, cooking, solving crossword puzzles and collecting stamps. He plans to practice medicine in his home province and hopes to have a book published.
I have always felt an affinity for the book The Alchemist. It is inspiring and well loved by many. I love it because in it I see a likeness to another story: the story of my life.
My story begins in a faraway province in the south, where as a kid I ran in the fields with my younger sister and brother. My most vivid memories of my childhood are taking a bath in the river and climbing up a mango tree. Just as the shepherd boy in The Alchemist was happy, I was happy too, and content.
I grew up aspiring to be a doctor, having been inspired by the sole doctor in the barrio. Upon hearing of my dream, my father, Tatang, was delighted. After all, we do not have a doctor in the family, or any professional for that matter.
A simple man who worked his way up from poverty, my father wanted nothing more than to see his children get a proper education, something he was never able to avail of himself. Upon finishing high school, I was sent off to Manila to study. It was a memorable time for me, reminiscent of that scene where the shepherd steps into Africa for the very first time, in search of his treasure. I, too, was in search of my treasure. Manila is only a city, but for a simple province boy, it was akin to seeing the world.
As the boy discovered when he was robbed, I also discovered that the path to one’s destiny is not as easy as I had expected or hoped. I spent the first few months being homesick. Amazement turned to intimidation as I discovered just how big the city was, how different things were from the simple barrio or even the provincial capitol I was used to all my life. I struggled academically, too.
As the valedictorian of our high school, and having passed a highly competitive college entrance exam, I thought I could slug it out with the best of the country. But as I discovered, I was but a big fish in a small pond. And now that I was in the ocean, where even bigger fishes abounded, I had to put in extra study hours just to pass my exams. To do research work I had to study how to use the Internet, something – I discovered to my embarrassment – my Manila-raised classmates had been able to do since they were in grade school. I had a great time, but it was a very humbling experience, too.
Just as the shepherd somehow got used to life with the glass merchant and in the oasis, I eventually adjusted too. In time I was finally able to keep up with my classmates academically and make new friends. The city embraced me as I embraced it. I began to frequent the movies, parties and clubs. I lived the city life, I breathed it, and loved it. Even as I adjusted to the academic clime, I began taking lighter loads so that I could spend more time with my friends. Money never occurred to me to be a problem – for all I knew, business was doing well.
Whenever I ran short of money I would just call home and ask for more. Sometimes I’d even miss going home during breaks on the pretense that I still had things to do. When my fourth year came to a close I came up with reasons(invented ones mostly) why I wouldn’t be able to graduate. My parents thought that I was struggling, and ever supportive, no longer questioned my extended stay.
The big news arrived in my fifth year: Tatang died. I can still recall my sister’s quivering voice as she called and broke the news to me. I rushed home and the illusion was forever shattered. Father had been sick all the while – his illness discovered three years before. But not wanting to burden me with worries the family kept it from me until he unexpectedly passed away. The family business was in no better shape: with Father sick it had been on a steady decline. Once again fearing worrying about it would affect my studies, my family also kept it from me. Just so my needs could be satisfied the family had to struggle to make ends meet, at one time even having to sell a carabao.
I was devastated and angry, angry at myself for being so foolish and selfish. I told my family everything I had done, just to get things off my chest, and to ease the guilt. I would have accepted any punishment, but my mother simply hugged me and, for the first time in years, I cried. For the first time since I got to college, I was truly home again. At this point, I felt more like the Prodigal Son in the Bible than the shepherd boy – with the sad twist that, unlike the Prodigal Son, my father was no longer there to welcome me home.
I returned to the city, a renewed man. Just as the shepherd boy moved on from the oasis and continued on his search, I was back on track, too.
I am now in my second year at medicine school. Unlike the shepherd, I have yet to find the treasure I originally set out for: a doctorate. But I found another treasure, something more important than what I originally wanted. Like the shepherd I found it where I began. It has always been there but, somehow, in my eyes it had always gone unnoticed, and thus unappreciated – my family, who had sacrificed, stood up for me and forgave me.
In the pages of The Alchemist, I see my story mirrored, and it has always served as an inspiration and a reminder that one should set out living life with courage, unyielding determination and boundless optimism. A reminder that no matter what befalls one in life, no matter what mistakes one may commit, there is only one way to go: forward.
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