The lights may dim, but the calling endures

At the 2nd SineBohol Film Festival, I sat as a jury and was struck by the power of stories crafted by filmmakers young enough to be my students --or even grandchildren. Talent does not wait for age, position, or permission; it emerges through a camera held by an inexperienced hand, a script written after classes, or a scene captured in the corners of a community. What matters is our willingness to look beyond imperfections and recognize imagination, courage, and truth struggling to reach the screen.

Judging films at the 2nd SineBohol Festival was never about trophies --it was about encountering young minds interpreting the world around them. Each entry asked: what story deserves to be told, whose voice deserves to be heard, and what emotions should linger after the screen goes dark? As a retired professor, I found it refreshing to witness creativity outside the classroom, a reminder that true education happens wherever curiosity meets opportunity.

Retirement, I have come to realize, is not a command to withdraw from the life of the mind. One may leave a university post, surrender an office, and enjoy the freedom of a less-demanding schedule. But should one also retire from sharing what experience has taught? I do not think so. If years in academe have given me anything valuable, it is the responsibility to pass on whatever wisdom I have gathered. Serving as a judge in Bohol was one such opportunity --not to impose an older generation’s standards, but to help the young recognize what they already possess and what they might yet become.

Bohol itself offers a meaningful setting for such encounters. Its landscapes, heritage, and everyday lives are rich sources of stories waiting to be documented and re-imagined. Young filmmakers need not travel to Manila or seek expensive equipment before creating something significant. A compelling story can begin in a coastal village, a crowded market, a family kitchen, or a community confronting change. The challenge is to look closely, listen honestly, and understand that ordinary Filipino lives can reveal extraordinary truths.

We have seen similar possibilities elsewhere. Cinemalaya has brought independent voices into national conversation. In Negros, filmmakers have drawn on local histories and identities to craft stories that resonate beyond their communities. In Mindanao, films have explored questions of conflict, belonging, and peace --perspectives often missing from mainstream screens. Philippine cinema becomes richer when creative opportunities extend beyond traditional centers of production.

Of course, encouragement must not become empty praise. Young filmmakers deserve honest criticism. A promising idea needs discipline; an emotional story needs structure; a beautiful image must serve a purpose. Our task as mentors and judges is to offer criticism that sharpens rather than silences, corrects without humiliating, and challenges without discouraging. A trophy may celebrate achievement, but thoughtful guidance can shape an entire creative journey.

As I reflect on Bohol, I am less concerned with who received awards than with what happens afterward. Will these young storytellers continue making films? Will they dare to tackle difficult subjects, listen to unheard communities, and refine their craft with patience and integrity?

The lights in a screening room eventually dim, and a judge’s name fades from the program. But if a word of encouragement helps a young filmmaker believe a story is worth telling, then something enduring has begun. The greatest reward of a lifetime in education is not the number of students taught, but the number of young minds helped to find the courage to create. That calling, for me, never ends.