One of the key highlights of the program was the special guest speech by Dr. Roberto B. Figueroa, Jr., Dean of the Faculty of Information and Communication Studies at the University of the Philippines Open University.
Dr. Figueroa, affectionately known as “Rob-sensei,” is a passionate advocate for building a sustainable, equitable, and immersive future through educational innovation. He earned his PhD in Educational Technology from International Christian University in Tokyo and continues to strengthen academic and cultural bridges between Japan and the Philippines through research and collaboration.
His inspiring talk, titled “Ito: Language as an Invisible Thread That Weaves Hearts Across Borders,” reflected on his personal journey as a Japanese language learner and scholar. Through his message, he emphasized how language creates deep human connections and fosters meaningful relationships beyond national borders.
Rob sensei Speech
Good day everyone.
Have you ever crossed paths with someone and wondered why your lives met at that moment as if your separate threads were meant to be woven together?
There is a song that captures this beautifully:
糸 — Ito
Ito, which literally means “Thread” is of one of my favorite Japanese songs. And in that song, there is a line that always moves me:
Tate no ito ha anata
Yoko no ito wa watashi 🎶 「縦の糸はあなた 横の糸は私」
It means: I am the warp (vertically), and you are the weft (horizontally).
Different backgrounds, different stories—yet somehow, our threads cross. And when they do, something is woven.
Today, I want to share my 糸 story: how learning Nihongo became the thread that built my career, expanded my understanding of the world, and increased my family.
And as we celebrate the 70th year of friendship between Japan and the Philippines, I want to reflect on this:
Friendship between nations is not only built by governments and treaties. It is woven—quietly and patiently—through people, language, and everyday kindness.
When I was studying Nihongo at Tokyo University of Foreign Studies—TUFS, or Gaidai, I was blessed with excellent teachers.
They taught me grammar. They taught me vocabulary. They taught me kanji—those beautiful characters that sometimes feel like a puzzle designed to challenge your spirit.
But while my teachers helped me learn in class…
the place where my speaking skills were truly forged was somewhere else
Not in a classroom.
But in a small convenience store across the street, on the way to Tama Station.
The staff there were a mother and daughter tandem—an okaasan and her daughter. And I made it my daily mission to buy something—anything—and practice my Japanese.
Every day, I would say:
「すみません。日本語を勉強していますから、練習したいです。」
Sumimasen.. nihongo wo benkyoushiteimasukara, renshuushitaidesu. Excuse me… I’m studying Japanese, so I’d like to practice.
Then I would ask:
「これはなんですか？」 Korewa Nandesuka?
What is this?
And every day, they would smile—genuinely smile—and happily oblige.
They began to talk to me, not just answer me. They would ask me questions like:
「今日は何を勉強しましたか？」
Imawa nani wo benkyoushimashita ka? What did you study today?
Or, simply:
Tanki Ga Ii desu ne?
「天気がいいですね。」 The weather is nice, isn’t it?
And whenever I struggled… whenever I couldn’t understand… they would simplify the words for me.
They would slow down, repeat, and patiently guide me.
They were not my official teachers— but they became the teachers who really fueled my motivation to learn.
And to me, that is the deepest kind of learning: when someone chooses kindness and says, “Let’s try again.”
That is why another line from the song feels so personal to me:
🎶 「会うべき糸に 出会えることを」
Au beki ito ni deaeru koto wo
“To meet the thread you were meant to meet.”
I truly believe I was meant to meet them.
Because those conversations did not only train my Japanese…
they wove confidence into me.
Eventually, I completed my course at TUFS and moved forward to my PhD at ICU. No, I wasn’t hospitalized. ICU stands for International Christian University.
Then time passed. I made new friends and continued learning.
Then came the pandemic years— a time when the world felt distant, disconnected, and quiet.
At some point, I learned that the old konbini had closed, and the space was replaced by another brand.
And I was devastated.
Not because of the store—
but because I thought I lost my friends… I thought I would never see my konbini teachers again.
Fast forward…. After the pandemic restrictions were lifted, I had already graduated.
I returned to the Philippines. I was back at UP, serving in my role.
Then I was tasked to co-organize a symposium at TUFS.
And part of my duty was simple: buy snacks and drinks for the participants.
So I went to the nearest konbini.
To be honest, I didn’t want to go in. Because I didn’t want to feel the loss again.
But it was close. So I entered.
And suddenly, I heard a voice.
A voice I recognized even before my mind could process it:
「いらっしゃいませ！」
Welcome.
My heart raced. I followed the voice.
And there she was.
The okaasan.
Still there. Still smiling. Still serving.
The brand changed, but the heart remained.
I burst into tears. And I told her:
「会えてよかった。ずっと会いたかった。」 I’m so glad to see you. I’ve wanted to see you for so long.
Then I remembered one line—just one line—that captured the feeling perfectly:
(Sing softly, 1 line only) 🎶 「人は仕合わせと呼びます」
Hito wa Shiawase to Yobimasu
“People call that… happiness.”
In that moment, I realized:
I was truly happy to see them again…
Threads do not break easily when they are woven with kindness.
And this, to me, is what Nihongo has done in my life.
Every conversation, every encounter, every kindness became a thread—quietly woven together over time.
And from those threads, a fabric began to form… the fabric that carried me to where I am today.
Learning Nihongo built my career. It opened doors to research, collaboration, and teaching. But more than that…
Learning Nihongo expanded my understanding.
It taught me empathy. Politeness. Cultural nuance.
And it increased my family— because I gained friendships that became lifelong.
And that is why this year’s celebration matters. Seventy years of Japan–Philippines friendship is not only history. It is an ongoing weaving— a living fabric made of many threads.
Students learning each other’s languages. Teachers exchanging ideas. Researchers collaborating.
Everyday people choosing to connect.
And even here today, new threads are being woven— with leaders, educators, and partners who continue to nurture this friendship.
Leaders in Japan, including my colleagues and friends at JFM, and leaders here in the Philippines—including our Chancellor with us today—are part of this ongoing weaving, helping strengthen the connections between our institutions and our communities.
Because friendship between nations is not something we inherit once. It is something we continue to weave—together.
***
Now, some of you may have noticed I’m wearing smart glasses today.
These glasses are helping me with my script, so that I can make eye contact, smile, and be present.
In the same way, technology today can do live translation.
It can convert Japanese to English or Filipino in real time.
It’s impressive.
But I want to be clear:
It will never replace the joy of actually learning Nihongo.
Because translation gives you meaning… but learning gives you belonging.
Translation can tell you what someone said. But learning lets you feel how they said it—the emotion, the respect, the culture inside the words.
So yes, technology can help us.
But language connects hearts.
It tells another person:
“I am willing to meet you halfway.” And more than that—
“I want to weave my thread, my 糸 with yours.”
So for those of you who feel even the slightest curiosity today— for those who are thinking, “Maybe I want to start learning Nihongo too…”
I am very happy to share that our team at UPOU and Japan Foundation Manila are offering a free online introductory Intercultural Communication MOOC.
This course is designed especially for beginners— for those who want to understand Japanese language, culture, and communication styles in a welcoming and accessible way.
If you are looking for a first thread— a starting point— this could be yours.
Because sometimes, all it takes is one small step… one class… one conversation…
And a new thread begins.
As I close, I invite all of us to keep weaving.
Through language. Through kindness. Through courage.
Because each of us is a thread.
And together, we can create something beautiful.
ありがとうございました。
Maraming salamat po!
