12/10/2026
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝; 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐲
By the time Prof. Winstone D. Carrera learned that he had passed the Psychologist Licensure Examination (PsLE), he had already spent weeks learning how to live with a loss.
The news found him at the dinner table.
His phone was in the bedroom that Tuesday evening, out of sight and away from his hands as he ate with his family. The examination results had been released online, but Carrera had yet to check them, occupied with the meal before him. A relative, who had also taken the Psychometrician Licensure Examination, called one of his daughters, looking for him, and told her the news instead.
He had passed.
Carrera did not believe it at first. He ran to his wife and held her tightly, as though the embrace could hold everything they had been through. Then he thanked his daughter, Jhanna, who had been gone for weeks by the time the results arrived.
The examination was originally scheduled for August 17 and 18. Two days before it was set to begin, however, Carrera lost his daughter. The following days were marked by grief. While his family was still mourning her, he left home to prepare for an examination he was no longer certain he could take.
The examination was later postponed to September 1, giving Carrera more time to stay with his family through the final days of his daughter's wake and steel himself for the challenge ahead.
Amid the grief, however, Carrera had already made up his mind. He held on to one resolve: “Kahit anong mangyayari, sabi ko, I will pursue the exam this year.”
As the days blurred into one another, Carrera eventually sat for the examination. For six hours, he faced a computer screen and navigated questions drawn from a field he had spent years teaching and studying. Psychological assessment, however, proved particularly difficult. Even some well-prepared examinees were surprised by the questions.
“No’ng time na ‘yon, kinabahan ako, kasi kung ‘yong mga matatalino kinabahan, eh paano na ako, ‘di ba?” he shared.
In those moments, he remembered the words of a friend at the review center: “Manong, kayam dayta.” His co-teachers offered the same reassurance: “Kaya mo ‘yan, Sir.”
“Sila naniniwala sa akin pero ako hindi,” Carrera recalled.
Others believed in him, even when he could not quite believe in himself.
Yet the path that brought him to that examination was one he had never planned to take.
Psychology, after all, was never his first choice.
Carrera wanted to become a lawyer. He had hoped to take Political Science, but his family could not afford to send him to a school offering the program. At DMMMSU-SLUC in Agoo, he instead considered the courses his friends were taking. Mathematics did not interest him. Neither did Education. Biology was not for him, either. Then there was Psychology.
“It seems like a very interesting word,” he remembers thinking.
So he enrolled.
He graduated in 1996, carrying with him a degree in a field he had entered almost by chance. Over time, it became a profession he grew into. He became a registered teacher and, later, a registered psychometrician in 2016. For 14 years, he has taught at DMMMSU-MLUC.
Becoming a registered psychologist became another goal to pursue.
He was supposed to take the examination the previous year, but a severe knee problem landed him in the hospital after he ate pinapaitan, forcing him to postpone his attempt. This year, work had kept him busy, and he did not feel fully prepared.
Then came the examination.
He was 60. He was grieving. He was uncertain about what the results would bring.
For Carrera, however, the license did not mark the end of what he had set out to do. Instead, it came with another responsibility to shoulder.
“Para sa bayan din naman ito.”
Carrera wants to use what he has learned beyond the classroom, particularly in communities where mental health is often discussed only after someone is already struggling. He believes it should also be part of everyday life: paying attention to the pressures students carry, the stress that accumulates, and the importance of caring for mental health before problems reach a crisis.
For him, becoming a psychologist does not mean he has finished learning. He recently attended conventions and seminars to keep pace with developments in the field, hoping to bring what he learns back to his students and into the classroom. He is also pursuing a PhD in Psychology at Saint Louis University.
“Aral lang nang aral,” he says.
“Paano ka magtuturo kung luma na iyong mga alam mo?” he explains.
At the edge of 60, life gave him two things at once: a loss he could never celebrate, and a triumph he could never celebrate without remembering what he had lost.
The titles came along the way.
He has spent years in taekwondo as a coach, provincial head coach in La Union, and member of the sport's regional management. At the university, he has spent 14 years teaching. He speaks of his students' achievements with the same sense of ownership he brings to his own work: when they succeed, something of the teacher succeeds with them.
But his life has rarely followed the plan he first imagined.
The boy who wanted to study Political Science became a Psychology graduate. The aspiring lawyer became a teacher. The psychometrician became a psychologist. The man preparing for a licensure examination found himself facing it while his daughter was being mourned.
Asked to describe his journey in one word, Carrera answers simply.
“Surprising.”
He had doubted himself. He had little time to prepare. He had just lost his daughter. Even after years in Psychology, he was not certain that six hours in front of a computer would end with his name among those who passed.
But the results came. And when they did, he thanked, most of all, his daughter.
The license could not change what had happened before it. It could only become part of what came after.
“Kaya ko pang i-achieve yung dreams ko even at this age. Marami pang kailangang i-achieve. Laban lang hanggang kaya,” he shared.
He is still pursuing his PhD. He is still teaching. Psychology continues to evolve, and so does the work that comes with it. There are still students who will enter his classroom, lessons to prepare, and things he has yet to learn.
At 60, he is still looking ahead.
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝; 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.
It is easy to think of life as a series of arrivals: the degree, the license, the next title waiting somewhere ahead. But Carrera's life tells a quieter story. The years we think we have lost may be the very years that teach us how to arrive.
He was not late to Psychology. He was simply taking a road he did not know was his. And at 60, he was not late, either. He had arrived at a point in his life he could not have imagined when he first enrolled in Psychology.
For him, there are still dreams ahead. A PhD to finish. Students to teach. Lessons to learn. A life that, despite everything it has taken, continues to unfold.
Perhaps there is no such thing as being late to a life that is still being lived.
In his words, life is not a race. You are not late, nor are you behind. You will arrive just in time, just as you are meant to, somewhere along the way. #
***
Words by: John Reyman P. Rillo
From The Anchor and the studentry of the College of Arts and Sciences, congratulations, Prof. Carrera. You arrived just in time.
