I was homeless for 3 years.

I came from a poor province in the Philippines. During my time, it was normal for my generation to risk being in the capital of my country, Manila, to seek the proverbial greener pasture. I was 19. 

My family in a capsule: my mother, a teacher, died when I was 6, and my father, also a teacher, never remarried. Concerned, perhaps (I heard from my neighbors that my father was afraid that the next wife might not treat his children well) or he just got tired. Regardless, I left him eventually for Manila and stayed at my sister's rented, box-like place. 

Many predicted I wouldn't make it. The signs, they said, were evident as the sky in a fogless night. 

Just like most provincial boys, I wasn't "presentable." I couldn't find a job because my English accent wasn't "cosmopolitan" enough. How could it be? English was my third language. Waray first (a dialect, really), Tagalog, second, and third, my thickly accented English. I looked uncool, timid, and shy. I was scammed many times applying for jobs, unable to differentiate the authentic from the fake. 

I left my sister's house because, one, I felt that I burdened her enough and, two, I was young, proud, and unthinking. I didn't tell her. I just ran away. Understandably, she was frantic. She looked hard, but I didn't want to be found. 

(To my sister, I am sorry for those years that I made you worry. Big time.) 

I was homeless for 3 years. Did odd jobs in wet markets in the morning and applied for professional jobs in the afternoon, slept in Luneta, took baths in public places and gyms, got drugged by a teenager who took away my bag, watch, and little money, got physically kicked, bruised, and received hurtful words from people. I knew how it felt to be invisible in front of busy people who chose nether to look nor to see because the sight of me is a nuisance. I made them uncomfortable, and they didn't want that added burden to their already burdened world. 

Oddly enough, I don't remember crying. I had my bouts of exhaustion, but I was not one to panic quickly. Despite experiencing the most uneven and jaggy edges of life, I noticed that I was becoming more resilient, reflective, and grittier. I kept myself in check not to give in to depression by being thankful in every way I could. I was mind-setting. My heart and my mind were working together full time to go beyond the weariness of my body. I became more trusting in God. I would always find the light in the darkest tunnel not because there was indeed one, but because HOPE tells me there is one. I realized that it wasn't the pain that shaped me. It's hope. 

My being homeless ended when a friend introduced me to a family as a tutor to their children. They sort of adopted me. I found myself becoming more religious. The deepening of that faith led me to the mountains of Bukidnon as a monk. I toiled, meditated, prayed, and stripped myself of the material concerns in a monastery. It was a Fuga Mundi. A flight from the world. 

My experience in Manila stripped me of my material concerns. My experience in the monastery stripped me of my pride. But God had other plans, as the monastery's father discovered I had a gift for teaching. He asked me to go back to Manila and teach. I did. With the support of the monks, I honed myself. Difficult, but this time, every experience - fear, joy, pain, abuse, exhaustion - served as individual dots that were suddenly being connected by faith: revealing a heart so wounded it empathizes. It tries to heal others.

10 years ago. I came to Dubai, alone, with one mission: make a difference as a teacher to the lives of generations of students. How? By teaching well. No other reason but to teach well. I labored hard, undistracted by the affairs unrelated to my vision. 

I am still struggling and being hunted by my personal demons, weak as I am. Still, if there is one crucial lesson the poverty of my youth taught me, it is of finding ways to be grateful, for there is no lack, and to be always hopeful, as everyone should be.

Two PhDs later, numerous awards and recognitions, interviews and talks, and hundreds of thank yous from thousands of students... and people say I made it. 

I say, I haven't done enough.

I am just glad I proved the prediction wrong that I won't make it, and that I am now able to speak English. Rather well.