by Jillian Velasco
Somewhere in Tomas Morato in 2024, I was just a ‘cookie’ attending her first general assembly with thebarrister. I was still a freshman who was navigating life and law at 23, mingling with people I had never met before.
Over a bowl of soup and a plate of truffle pasta, I tried to rub shoulders with people who already knew each other – whether as classmates, former schoolmates, or mutual friends. One might take this as a sign of isolation or a moment of awkwardness, but neither felt the same for me. In fact, I still remember the infamous words I blurted out over a slice of pizza that made my colleagues and editors laugh: ”Grabe! Ganito pala ang org na may budget. May takeout pa!”
Yep, I was already that comfortable throwing punchlines. Because maybe, just maybe, I am meant to be here.
Since elementary, I had already been part of my school paper. By high school, I competed in interschool writing contests. In senior high, my close friend and I revived our publication. And when I reached college, I walked out with sunflowers and a degree in journalism.
So one would think that joining thebarrister wasn’t really unusual for me. My friends would even banter, “Jill, they could never take journalism out of you.” Funny, I suppose. But little did they know that after years of doing the same routine and thereafter working in the same field, burnt out would be an understatement.
That is why joining this organization was not my topmost priority when I entered San Beda University, since I knew that law school would be my last academic pursuit.
After my first taste of readings and recitations, I was already drowning from the never-ending piles of to-dos. From then on I had accepted my fate– that the next five years would be a blur of endless studying. I thought that the pursuit of storytelling, that curiosity in me, had already died down.
But looking back, I guess it never did.
I realized I was fond of reading my thick law books not for their text, but for the author’s story. In fact, it’s easier for me to read and digest Atty. Rabuya’s nine-page life story at the back of his PFR book than to finish the assigned cases for the day. That’s when I giggled to myself, “Yes, I could never really take the journalism out of me.”
So when I became a ‘cookie’, and later a senior writer, my February Sundays were devoted to Conflicts of Law, my September midnights were allotted for the bar examinations coverage, and my random mornings and afternoons were spent on Zoom interviews or event coverages. Some people might think this is too much workload, but for me, it felt like a space to breathe.
Somewhere between the stacks of books and endless recitations was a reminder that even in the rigid world of law, there is still room for creativity. Through thebarrister, I rediscovered the joy of writing – not for network, not for recognition, but for passion of storytelling.
Now, nearly two years later, I look back at that lunch at Tomas Morato with warmth and nostalgia. I was just a ‘cookie’ then — slightly nervous, curious, hungry (literally and figuratively) – who made one of the best decisions she could in her law school journey.
THE BARRISTER 