TRANSCRIPT: Psych major honors students who survived silent battles in viral graduation speech

Taking note of her classmates who are working students, Anda said that was when she understood that the pressure she felt in school was a privilege. "Because while I locked myself in my room to study, some of my classmates were out working to pay for their own tuition," she said. "I only had to worry about exams, but they had to worry about bills, tuition, and jeepney fare to keep their dreams alive."

She recalled a classmate who cried and hugged her while walking the recessional, telling her, “I could’ve been a laude, too, if I did not have to work. Thank you, Trish. I felt seen and valued.”

Anda said it moved her to tears, all while feeling "immensely grateful."

"Maybe I was given the stage not because I was greater and above everyone," she said, "but because I was meant to hold space for voices like my working classmates to finally be seen, embraced, and celebrated."

Read the full transcript of Anda's speech below.

No one claps for the chrysalis. The world only notices the butterfly. But the chrysalis carried the pain, the growth, the silent fight, and without it, we would never fly. Our yearbook theme is Chrysalis: A Moment of Becoming—it’s the stage where a caterpillar stays hidden before becoming a butterfly. Just like how college became our place of quiet growth and big changes.

The chrysalis is quiet. And so was I. I am Tricia Ann Anda—and I grew quietly in the dark, like the chrysalis—afraid that I would enter this school and exit it… unnoticed. In third grade, I wrote 'Class Valedictorian' in my Barbie slambook—just because it sounded pretty. That dream stayed tucked away, quiet and unnoticed, like a caterpillar curling into a chrysalis. No one clapped for it. Not even me. But it was growing. Slowly. Silently. And 14 years, tears, and fears later… it took flight. Here we are—at the USLS Coliseum.

To the La Salle brothers, administrators, our commencement speaker, College Deans and Department Chairs, faculty, staff, parents, guests and fellow graduates of the Class of 2025… a pleasant afternoon.

Let me ask you something: What if the person most deserving of this medal… never got one? What if the real valedictorians aren’t the ones standing on this stage—but are quietly seated among you right now?

If I could remove this medal from my neck and give it to someone else… I would.

I would hand it to my classmate who worked online jobs and part-time shifts between classes, some with cracked phones, borrowed laptops, selling food, art, anything—just to make ends meet. To the ones who caught jeeps at dawn, who walked under the heat or in the rain, who paid their own tuition—because no one else could.

To those who showed up with tired eyes, but hearts that refused to quit. To the one who studied through tears, who cried in silence, but still made it to class with a smile.

They never complained. They never asked to be seen.

But, I saw them. Because maybe I earned the highest GPA. But they earned my deepest respect.

If I may be honest with all of you… I lived comfortably my whole life. I didn’t have to worry about tuition. I didn’t have to wake up at 4 a.m. to catch a jeep or walk to school before sunrise. I didn’t have to juggle work between classes just to pay enrollment. From pre-school to 4th year college, I was driven to school. My meals were served, my uniforms ironed. All I had to do was show up.

And that’s when I understood what a chrysalis is. It’s where strength grows quietly, in places no one applauds. That some of the strongest wings form in silence. Their strength humbled me. Their quiet resilience taught me. And though I may not have lived their story—I saw them. I admired them. And I carry their courage with me.

My fellow graduates, along the way, in the stillness of becoming, the chrysalis whispered three things to me I hope you carry with you, long after we leave this place.

One: Be kind.

As a Psychology student, I’ve studied behavior—but life taught me compassion. When we visited the Department of Health Trese Martires Drug Rehabilitation Center, I met people smiling on the outside, breaking on the inside. And I realized: Some stay in their chrysalis not because they’re weak, but because no one told them they could fly. So, if you can’t do anything else today, be kind. It might be the one thing that keeps someone going.

Two: Rest.

I once believed success meant locking myself in my room until I got everything right. Until Genetics humbled me. They’d say, “Wala na na siya naga gwa sa kwarto ya. Tuon na lang.” (She doesn't leave her room anymore; she just studies.) But life outside that room reminded me: You’re not a machine. Your worth isn’t measured by scores. Go out. Breathe. You’re allowed to be human.

Three: Trust the calling.

While finishing this speech at 3:51 a.m. on May 31st, I asked, “God, why me?” Then I scrolled through my FYP and read: “God wouldn’t place a dream so big in your heart if it wasn’t meant for you.” Maybe the chrysalis wasn’t a place of hiding, but of becoming. So if the dream still scares you—it’s probably because it’s meant to grow you.

So today, as we leave our chrysalis behind... Let us not just fly for ourselves—but become wings for others, too. And before I close, allow me to honor the many hands and hearts behind today’s moment:

To the parents and families of the graduates—thank you for the countless sacrifices and unwavering love.

To our janitors, guards, and maintenance staff—thank you for the clean rooms, safe gates, and silent service.

To the Registrar’s Office and every behind-the-scenes personnel—thank you for making this day possible.

To our professors—thank you for the hard deadlines, the tough love, and the impossible tasks that made us better. But more than that, thank you for being La Sallian educators—where compassion met challenge, and excellence never meant forgetting empathy.

Now, let me take this moment, not as a speaker, but simply as Tricia.

To my Mama, who spent years working abroad—alone, as a single mother—just so we could have more… thank you. You missed birthdays and milestones, but your love was never far. What you gave was not absence—it was love in its bravest, quietest form.

To Tita Thess and Tito Raul Belleza, who built a home for me—not of walls and ceilings, but of love and safety—because behind all this… was a child from a broken home. Because of you… I never felt broken. You both clapped the loudest, yet stayed humbly in the back—making sure I had everything I needed. You stood as my parents even if you were never required to—but you chose to. And that choice… changed my life.

To my sister, Liana, thank you for being my safe space.

To the friends who grew up with me, Debbie, Bea, Patrisha, Allyssa, and Joyce, who cried with me when I received the news. Because they always believed I could. In that instant, it felt like we all made it.

To my college friends, Coleen, Kristin, Rhenzho, Yanna, and Fely, who reminded me how beautiful life is outside the books.

To BSPS 4A, thank you for letting me serve as your class mayor. BSPS 1A, 2A, 3A, and 4A will never be the same without you all. You weren’t just classmates—you became home, a class I would choose over and over again.

To Joseph, thank you for being with me from ranking 1st in Junior High, topping the batch, and graduating as the only Highest Honors in Senior High, and now, here. You took every tired version of me, and that kind of love… is rare.

To Bustamante family, who embraced me as their own—thank you.

To St. Theresita’s Academy, thank you for being my first home. For 14 years, you nurtured not just my mind—but my character. Because of you, I didn’t enter college empty. I came prepared, with purpose.

To the University of St. La Salle, thank you for stretching us beyond our limits. You prepared us to build lives that serve. And for that, I will always carry the name “Lasallian” with pride—and with purpose.

To the One whose name I’ve whispered in every prayer—Thank You, Jesus. You carried me through it all. This victory is Yours. Indeed, there is power in the name of Jesus.

And one day, the world will ask us: “Where did you come from?” And with tears and pride, we’ll answer: “I came from La Salle—where I was not just prepared to succeed, but called to serve." Because here, we were not just trained for the finish line… we were formed for the frontlines.

The chrysalis was our training ground—quiet, messy, unseen. But now, the wings are out. And as we fly, may we carry not just ambition, but kindness, courage, purpose, and humility. Fly high, yes—but fly wisely. Fly proud. Fly Lasallian. And wherever we go from here… may we always fly toward daylight.

Thank you and congratulations, Class of 2025. ANIMO, LA SALLE!