When I first heard of your passing, I felt a tightness in my chest that no words could explain. It was a sort of gnawing feeling that something good has gone. After all, that has always been how I viewed you – a light that shone so brightly, I had no choice but to emulate; a soul filled with much kindness, I was compelled to be and do the same. And in the face of an irrefutable claim to goodness, I have grown, learned, and understood what it meant to be a thoughtful educator, a responsible scientist, and a good human being.
Working alongside you for years, I have seen your relentless pursuit of excellence – concrete and tangible, with clear results. It gave structure to my then abstract leanings to achieving the best – not only for myself, but also for – especially for – those we taught and honed. I regard these moments as the beginnings of my lifelong journey to figuring out what I should strive for with this ever so transient life.
Last we spoke, I was headed for Italy and you were on your way to recovery. I was anticipating the time when we could meet again and exchange stories like we used to. Sadly, we never got the chance. Your death is a great loss – not only for the institution, but for humanity at large. My only respite lies in the belief that you are now someplace where pain and suffering cannot touch you.
Still, I’d like to imagine that if I had one more chance to see you, I’d have shown you all the places in the West where I have roamed, and tell the intricacies of their science. If I had one more chance to speak with you, I’d say that the man I’ve become is, in so many ways, due to you. If I had one more chance to talk with you, I’d tell you that your influence is not lost – it is alive and well in me, and in countless others whose lives you’ve touched.
So while we will dearly miss you, as far as missing goes – you will live on in our hearts and in our lives. I, for one, will make sure of that – you will live on.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 5:20 PM UTC
When I first heard of your passing, I felt a tightness in my chest that no words could explain. It was a sort of gnawing feeling that something good has gone. After all, that has always been how I viewed you – a light that shone so brightly, I had no choice but to emulate; a soul filled with much kindness, I was compelled to be and do the same. And in the face of an irrefutable claim to goodness, I have grown, learned, and understood what it meant to be a thoughtful educator, a responsible scientist, and a good human being.
Working alongside you for years, I have seen your relentless pursuit of excellence – concrete and tangible, with clear results. It gave structure to my then abstract leanings to achieving the best – not only for myself, but also for – especially for – those we taught and honed. I regard these moments as the beginnings of my lifelong journey to figuring out what I should strive for with this ever so transient life.
Last we spoke, I was headed for Italy and you were on your way to recovery. I was anticipating the time when we could meet again and exchange stories like we used to. Sadly, we never got the chance. Your death is a great loss – not only for the institution, but for humanity at large. My only respite lies in the belief that you are now someplace where pain and suffering cannot touch you.
Still, I’d like to imagine that if I had one more chance to see you, I’d have shown you all the places in the West where I have roamed, and tell the intricacies of their science. If I had one more chance to speak with you, I’d say that the man I’ve become is, in so many ways, due to you. If I had one more chance to talk with you, I’d tell you that your influence is not lost – it is alive and well in me, and in countless others whose lives you’ve touched.
So while we will dearly miss you, as far as missing goes – you will live on in our hearts and in our lives. I, for one, will make sure of that – you will live on.
A tribute to my beloved Filipina mentor who passed away at the start of this year.
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