So you want to go to law school?
When I first watched Bar Boys: The Musical in 2024, I was in my penultimate year of law school. At that point, I had been a working law student for four years, and I was, to put it mildly, exhausted. My Instagram story from that day, a video of the curtain call, is captioned: “Hay sige na mag-aaral na ako for midterms, seryoso na.”
I can still remember that season vividly: I was downing four cups of coffee a day, staying in cafes beyond midnight, and was in desperate need of a massage. I was tired and cranky, as I usually am during exam season, and watching Bar Boys felt like the universe speaking directly to me: This is why.
It was a much-needed reminder to me, a tired law student—and, as it turns out, even to some who are not.
Ivan Eric Salvador, a current doctorate student in public administration, isn’t a law student. At least, not yet. But thanks to Bar Boys, he’s now seriously considering taking the leap.
As a big fan of the Bar Boys film, Ivan flew from Zamboanga to Metro Manila to watch the musical. “I was a spectator,” he reflects, “but the musical made me realize: gusto ko rin ma-feel na what if I have power? The power to shape the outcomes of the reality we are experiencing?”
Ivan has been a regional information officer for the Department of Social Work and Development for over a decade, which has exposed him to the raw social realities of the country. Watching the musical, he realized that every decision made by lawyers can pave the way for true justice. “I want someone who looks after those who cannot protect themselves,” he shares, “who can help provide justice and help them with their situation.”
With many lawyer friends, Ivan knows that a legal career entails massive investment and lifestyle changes. The idea of starting a new path in his late 30s is daunting, but the encouragement from his friends, some of whom are already lawyers, continues to fuel his desire. As people would tell Ivan, “Kaya pa. Hindi pa huli ang lahat,” and Ivan holds on to this truth.
For those who have already started the journey, reality can hit hard and fast. Jerard “Je” Fable, a recent Ateneo Law School graduate, perfectly sums up the sentiment. “Law school was, at the same time, everything that I expected and nothing that I could’ve imagined in my life,” he shares. “The number of cases that you read, the commentaries... It’s really that. You dedicate a lot of time and energy and effort into studying and adjusting to both the subjects and the prof.”
Bar Boys’ portrayal of sleepless nights and back-to-back readings isn’t an exaggeration. Mary Martha “MM” Manaligod, a second-year ALS student, found the musical to be an exact representation of her life. “Every day feels like a movie,” she says. She recalls a scene “where law students were put on an exhaustive routine and countdown to a law exam—back-to-back readings, recits, sleepless nights—and law school is exactly this.”
Andria Terese Nicolas, a first-year student from the University of Santo Tomas, quickly learned the scale of the workload. “For two weeks pa lang,” she shares, “I feel like I consumed a month’s worth of materials in undergrad.” She also had her first taste of a challenging recitation early on. “My professor was so specific,” she recalls. “It was a definition of terms, but I couldn’t get it right.”
First-year ALS student Ani Andal shares a similar experience. Her first recit also felt like it was almost correct, but not quite. This moment, combined with a line of dialogue from the Bar Boys film, taught her a valuable lesson: “You have to be precise when it comes to how you represent your cause (and) legal knowledge, because law is a precise language. And it’s precise for a reason.”
So what's all this hardship for?
What keeps these students going when the pressure feels unbearable? It’s the “why” that fuels them, the purpose that grounds their struggle.
For Gari Aguilar Acolola, a fifth-year student at UP College of Law, her “why” is both concrete and humbling: the Filipino taxpayer. “People would fight to have the slot to be where I am, but they can’t—no resources, not in NCR. I’m privileged enough to reach this,” she reflects. “So every time I falter and I feel like quitting, which is often, I just remember na pera (ito) ng taumbayan.” This sense of responsibility is also rooted in her work, where she helps forward amendments to gender-related laws, working to bridge the gaps in legislation.
Similarly, for Je, it was joining the Ateneo Human Rights Center that truly nurtured his appreciation for the law and its power to “change the status quo.”
Meanwhile, Ani’s motivation is the desire to serve. After majoring in creative writing and fine arts in undergrad, she hopes to become a cultural heritage lawyer, fighting for the repatriation of stolen artifacts. “A lot of our indigenous people deserve to have access to their own culture,” she states, citing that a majority of the Philippines’ cultural objects are stored in museums abroad.
Beyond the academic and professional motivations, these students also find strength in their support systems. Law school is often portrayed as a solitary grind, but the sense of community is crucial for survival. Whether it’s study groups dissecting difficult cases or a partner who understands the late-night stress, these relationships provide an essential lifeline. As Je puts it, his community helps him with everything from “consoling through a bad day” to “celebrating.”
The journey is a constant learning process, and these students have accumulated valuable wisdom that they would share with their younger selves.
Je’s advice is to “take everything in stride—both failures and wins.” He believes you shouldn’t let your failures define you, but you also shouldn’t let your wins cloud your judgment. Gari, speaking as a graduating student, offers more blunt, yet practical, advice: Drop the fillers. Get used to talking with confidence. The way you speak and carry yourself matters.
For Ani, it’s about patience and trusting the process. After pushing herself too hard and getting sick, her new mantra is: “Girl, take it slow. A day is 24 hours. A sem is four months. You’re gonna be okay.” She realized that it’s not just about finishing the mountain of cases, but about the quality of what you retain. “It’s also about how much you can accurately shoot that bala.”
Andria’s advice is simple but profound: “Talk more.” She was shy on her first day, expecting a highly competitive environment, but was pleasantly surprised to find that her professors and blockmates were “very helpful and supportive.”
And as for me? I’d tell my first-year self to be emotionally resilient, not simply so I have the focus to finish the day-to-day tasks, but also so that I maintain my grace even if I don’t do things perfectly. And the reality is, there are more days when I feel I fall below what should be, so much so that if I had let it get to me, I would’ve quit a long time ago. But I didn’t quit, and every day I showed up. Not always perfectly, but I showed up regardless. So now I’m here: on the second of the last semester of my law school life. And I would like to think this will all be worth it.
