When Friendship Meets Leadership

In my years of handling corporate clients, there are a few training needs that consistently come up. One of them is helping managers learn how to lead, delegate, and get their subordinates to work toward their objectives. This is not exclusive to local companies. Even multinational companies have raised the same concern.

Whenever a client requests this kind of training, there is one question I would ask:

“Are these newly promoted managers now handling people who used to be their friends?”

The answer is almost always yes.

In other words, these are employees who have been promoted and are now expected to manage the same people they used to work alongside as peers.

I ask this question because pakikisama is a big part of Filipino culture. We value relationships, getting along with others, and maintaining harmony within a group. I cannot simply dismiss these cultural realities and call these managers unprofessional because they find it difficult to manage their friends. I want to understand what makes the transition difficult.

Sometime in 2013, I conducted training for newly promoted managers and supervisors. When I asked them about their difficulties in managing their friends, many shared a similar experience. Their friends would tease them and say, “Hindi ka na ma-reach” or “Nag-iba ka na.”

Think about what happens in this situation. A person gets promoted, and with the promotion comes the responsibility to give instructions, correct mistakes, and hold people accountable. But the people they now supervise are the same people they used to joke around with, eat lunch with, and share stories with.

How do you exercise authority without making your friends feel that you have changed?

On the other hand, I have also observed companies where friendship works in favor of newly promoted managers. Their friends cooperate, accept their direction, and support them in their new roles.

This tells me that friendship itself is not necessarily the problem. The same relationship that makes it difficult for one manager to exercise authority can help another manager lead a team effectively.

The difference may lie in how the manager and the team understand their relationship now that their roles have changed.

A manager does not have to stop being a friend. But friendship cannot be the reason for avoiding a difficult conversation, tolerating poor performance, or refusing to make a decision. At some point, the responsibility of the position must take precedence over the desire to keep everyone comfortable.

This is one of the challenges of moving from being a team member to becoming a manager. The promotion changes the position, but it does not automatically change how a person relates to others.

The Difficulty of Speaking Up

Another training request that frequently comes up is helping managers learn to speak up.

Clients would often tell me that their managers are talkative during breaks, lunch, or informal gatherings but become quiet during meetings. They have ideas, but they do not share them. They may see a problem or have a suggestion, but they hesitate to bring it up.

When I ask these managers about it, I often hear that they are shy or afraid they might not be able to defend their ideas when questioned.

Again, I notice something familiar in our culture: pagkamahiyain.

There is nothing inherently wrong with being shy or reserved. Not everyone has to be outspoken, and being quiet does not mean a person has nothing valuable to contribute. But when a manager cannot express an idea because of the fear of being questioned, the organization loses an opportunity to benefit from that person’s knowledge and experience.

Part of being a manager is communicating decisions, raising concerns, sharing ideas, and sometimes disagreeing with people who may be more senior. A manager does not have to win every argument, but should be willing to explain the reasoning behind a recommendation and consider a different point of view.

The question, then, is not whether a manager is naturally shy. It is whether that person can learn to speak when the responsibility of the role requires it.

The Real Challenge of Management Development

Looking at these experiences, I see a common thread. Some managers hesitate to exercise authority because they want to maintain good relationships. Others hesitate to speak because they are afraid of being questioned or embarrassed.

In both cases, the manager’s behavior is influenced by the desire to avoid an uncomfortable situation.

Of course, this does not mean that pakikisama and pagkamahiyain are the only reasons managers struggle. Some may lack experience, communication skills, or confidence. Others may be working in organizations where questioning a superior is discouraged. These factors also matter.

But my point is that we cannot develop managers simply by teaching them techniques for delegation, communication, or leadership. We also need to help them understand why they hesitate to use those techniques in the first place.

Knowing how to delegate is different from being willing to delegate. Knowing how to give feedback is different from having the courage to correct a friend. Knowing how to present an idea is different from being willing to defend it when someone disagrees.

The gap between knowing what to do and actually doing it is where much of management development happens.

A newly promoted manager may understand the principles of leadership during training but return to the workplace and fall back into familiar habits. The first time a friend complains about being corrected, the manager may hesitate. The first time a senior executive challenges an idea, the manager may choose to remain silent.

This is why I believe that developing managers requires more than a training session.

Training can introduce concepts, challenge assumptions, and provide opportunities to practice. But the real test comes when managers apply what they have learned in actual workplace situations. They need opportunities to practice, receive feedback, make mistakes, and try again.

Management must also do its part. Companies cannot expect managers to exercise authority if they do not give them the necessary support. Nor can they expect people to speak up if the workplace makes disagreement uncomfortable or risky.

Developing managers is a shared responsibility. Managers must be willing to change their habits, while organizations must provide the environment and support that allow them to grow.

After all, promotion gives a person a new position, but it does not automatically provide the judgment, confidence, and discipline required to lead.

The real work begins when managers learn to act on what they know, even when doing so is uncomfortable.

That may mean correcting a friend, defending an idea, or making a decision that not everyone will like. These are not necessarily signs that a manager has become arrogant or difficult to approach. They may simply be signs that the person is learning to take the responsibilities of the position seriously.

The goal is not to make managers abandon pakikisama or change their personalities. It is to help them understand when to preserve harmony, when to speak up, and when their responsibilities require them to make a difficult decision.

That kind of judgment does not develop overnight. It takes practice, experience, and commitment from both the manager and the organization.

Mood Swings

I heard in the barangay hall, “Magpakabait kayo, mainit ang ulo ni OIC.” This isn’t the first time I heard this. I’ve heard something similar in private organizations too.

This reveals something about leadership: people tend to respond to mood instead of the day’s tasks and bigger company objectives. Just imagine the impact if all our organizations were like this.

As leaders, this information should tell us how our mood impacts efficiency, but it should not be the driver of productivity. It also doesn’t mean that leaders should always be in a bad mood just to hit targets.

I ask one question: Do people understand the importance of what they’re doing, or are they simply managing the leader’s mood? For leaders, perhaps the question is even simpler: Are people responding to the work, or to my mood?

Leadership is not just about what is effective or productive. It is also about helping people understand why their work matters, so that they can do what needs to be done even when the leader isn’t around, isn’t happy, or isn’t having a good day.

A healthy organization should not depend on the emotional temperature of one person. It should be guided by shared purpose, clear expectations, and people who have learned to take responsibility for the work.

Temperance is Freedom

Raise your hands if you scroll on your social media before going to sleep? I do. Often I would catch myself scrolling for an hour to over an hour then I would feel bad for wasting my time that could have gone to reading or doing other chores.

Raise your hands if you have been to a buffet then ate more than your limit so you get your money’s worth. I do as well.

How about gossiping? Raise your hands if you promised yourself not to tell your friend’s secret yet you could not help yourself but tell other people.

I would ask the same thing for anger. Raise your hands if at one point, you were so made that you could not control your emotions anymore.

Why, what is wrong with over eating, doom scrolling, or gossiping about friends to other friends?

It is not a question whether your actions are good or bad but rather am I being enslaved by my emotions, or am I still in control of my actions?

I would like to introduce you to temperance. Temperance is the virtue that moderates our attraction to human wants or desires and helps us maintain a balanced use of created goods. Temperance doesn’t say, ‘desire is bad.’ It says, ‘desire is human but it must have its proper place.

Temptation doesn’t always begin with evil. It begins with something good that becomes excessive or disordered. Here are some examples.

Food is good. But eating because you are bored is different.

Rest is good. But avoiding responsibility because you want comfort is different.

Friendship is good. But needing everyone’s approval is different.

Technology is useful. But being unable to put your phone down is different. 

The devil doesn’t always have to make us desire evil. Sometimes he only has to make us desire a good thing in the wrong way, at the wrong time, or in the wrong amount.

Can you say no to something you really want? If the answer is no, then despite having the freedom to choose, you aren’t really free in that area. 

“If I can eat chocolate, that’s freedom.

If I can eat chocolate but can also say, ‘No, I don’t need it,’ that’s greater freedom.

But if I cannot say no, then chocolate has begun to exercise control over me.” 

So, temperance makes desire obey reason rather than making reason obey desire. 

Christian temperance isn’t simply about becoming disciplined people. It is about making room for something greater. 

Christ doesn’t ask us to become people who don’t enjoy life.

He asks us to become people who are free to love, because a heart constantly distracted by appetite, pleasure, approval, or entertainment has difficulty seeing what truly matters. 

Temperance is not saying no to desire because desire is bad. Temperance is learning to say yes to what is truly good.

Because the person who cannot say no to himself is not truly free.

And Christianity is not ultimately about having fewer desires. It is about having desires ordered toward something greater: toward truth, toward love, and ultimately toward God.

The seed

Gabay Bayan Outreach 2007

I got goosebumps when I saw online the long lines of people along the highway, from Isabela all the way to Quirino, waiting for one last glimpse of Dax’s coffin. I was moved by the countless testimonies on social media of his kindness, and by the stories of provincial projects that have touched lives and will continue to benefit generations to come.

Together, they are a testament to the kind of person and public servant Dax was.

I have read many posts asking life’s most painful question: Why, of all people, someone like him?

It is a question born of hurt, disbelief, and panghihinayang, for all the things that will now remain unfinished, and for all the things we imagined he would still do.

His loss is profound, not only for his family, but for Quirino and for the country he served.

And yet, perhaps Dax’s story was never meant to end with his death.

His life has simply taken another form.

His passing made people curious. They searched for who he was, and what they found was not merely a politician’s biography, but the traces of a life spent serving: projects that endure, work done with discipline, and countless stories of kindness and love for people.

And perhaps this is where grief begins to make room for hope.

Because what Dax left behind are not merely memories. They are seeds.

Seeds he planted quietly over 25 years of service, through people he helped, communities he strengthened, projects he built, and lives he touched.

We mourn the one who was lost.
But from the seeds he planted, many more can grow.

That, perhaps, is the mystery of a life lived well: when the person is gone, the good does not disappear with him. It is carried by others. It takes root in places he may never see. It continues in people who were inspired by his example and in communities that will benefit from work he began.

For 25 years, Dax served with integrity. And through that integrity, he brought dignity to Quirino and its people.

Now those seeds belong to all of us.

May they grow in the people he inspired. May they take root in those who still believe that public service can be an act of love. And may his life remind us that doing what is right, even when no one is watching, is never wasted.

Dax’s story continues not because we refuse to let go, but because the good he planted remains.

Perhaps this is one small answer to the painful question of “Why him?”

We may never understand why his life had to end when it did. But we can choose what his life will mean after it ends.

We can carry the seeds forward.

Quirino is no longer just a name on a map. Through Dax’s life and service, it has found a place in the hearts and minds of Filipinos who may never have known the province before.

May you honor him by continuing the good he began.

May you carry forward the vision he had for the province he loved.

And may Dax’s life remind us that one person, serving with truth and putting others first, can plant something that outlives him, something that, in time, may grow far beyond what he could ever have imagined.

A Tribute to Dax, my beloved cousin.

I held him for the last time and said, “Dax, I love you. I will miss you.” Those were the only words I could utter after his last breath. Even my tears could not give justice to the sadness I felt at that moment.

He was six months older than me, and that small gap gave us a natural closeness. We practically grew up together.

How close?

When we were kids, we joined art and computer classes together. We played the whole day during family reunions. We played Family Computer in Greenhills for entire afternoons. We played whenever we were at our family’s office there.

But our relationship went beyond simply doing things together. We became confidants. We shared things with each other that we didn’t necessarily share with others. And that is one of the things I will miss most about him.

Love was one of the topics we would often talk about. But, of course, I want to honor him by not spilling the beans.

Some of those conversations happened under the falling stars of Puerto Azul. Others happened over a bottle of beer, quiet moments when we shared stories, dreams, and things that were meant to stay between us.

The last time we had a long conversation was on a cruise in 2023. We talked well into the night until the crew eventually had to send us back to our room at 2 a.m.

That was Dax.

He could be poetic, playful, and even philosophical, but there was always something deeper underneath. He had a mind that was constantly imagining possibilities.

One time, on the way to Quirino, we talked for many hours about his many what ifs, how to make the lives of constituents better, what farming machines could be invented, and all sorts of possibilities.

But before he became that person, there was the Dax I knew as a kid—the pilyo one.

Kapag natutulog ako sa bahay nila, kapag dumarating si Tito Junie, sasabihin sa akin ni Dax:

“Wag kang maingay. Papagalitan ka ni dad. Papaluin ka niya.”

Ako naman, takot na takot.

Kaya nung gabi na dinala kami ni Tito Junie sa Pizza Hut sa Greenhills, hindi ako nagsalita buong gabi sa restaurant. Hindi rin ako kumain ng pizza sa takot.

Tapos si Dax, mahilig mangiliti.
Wala siyang ginawa kundi kilitiin ako nang kilitiin.

At kapag picture-taking, pupunta siya sa harapan ko at haharangan ako.

One time, nag-bump car kami sa SM North EDSA. May batang lokoloko na panay ang bangga sa amin, pinag-initan kami ni Dax.

Afterward, nag-usap kami.

“Tara, bili tayo ng tokens. Balikan natin.” we bumped him till the end of the run.

Nung teenager na kami, hindi alam ng mga magulang namin, nagkakarera kami. Walang masama kung sa racetrack, pero ang problema, ginagawa namin sa loob ng subdivision nila, mula basketball court hanggang bahay nila.

The funny thing is, that pilyo side of Dax never really disappeared.

Dinala niya hanggang pagtanda.

Pag may party, Sasabihin niya kay Ingrid, my wife:

“Ingrid, hiniram mo ba kay Mickey Mouse ’yang suot mo?”

But Dax wasn’t just my playmate or my co-conspirator. He was also thoughtful.

I will never forget that, at the height of a law that he needed to pass, he took the time to visit me in the hospital and said he offered a decade of the Rosary for me.

His thoughtfulness was something he also showed his family.

We were in Baguio once, and we went to SM. He went into a store and started buying things for his family. I remember him asking my wife:

“Okay ba ito kay Joy? Kay Diwat? Kay Portia?”

And perhaps that is why what happened in the last few weeks was difficult for me to understand.

Common friends had been asking me about his condition. I had a hunch, but I did not ask him directly.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I knew Dax.

If it was something he thought he could overcome, he probably wouldn’t bother telling me.

This Holy Week, he messaged me about our Cua genealogy and that Rizal was a Cua. I told him that the repository of records was just a few minutes away from us. He said he wanted us to go and do some research after the holiday.

I had a feeling he wanted to tell me about his condition that bothered him.

Dax was like that. He wouldn’t always tell you things straight.

April 7 came, and I never received a confirmation.

I knew there was a problem, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him directly either.

So I just texted him:

“Dax, sige, next time na lang. I’m sure busy, maraming gawa.”

“Yes, next time,” he said.

Kaya nung nalaman ko ang tungkol sa kanya, I told my wife that I wanted to visit him, even though I wasn’t supposed to know.

Sabi niya:

“Maiintindihan ni Dax ’yun. Kaya puntahan mo na.”

So we went, but I had to muster enough courage to open the hospital door for fear of what he and I would feel when we see each other.

I was sad when I saw him but I didn’t want him to feel my sadness so I kept a straight face. He raised his hand slowly and that was enough for me to have hope that he will get well.

Moments after I handed Dax the first-class relic of Padre Pio.

He held it tightly and sought his intercession.

Then I pulled a prayer card, and started reading the first line. My voice cracked, my tears about to fall. I stopped and took a deep breath before reading again.

That moment will stay with me.

And now, when I look back at everything we shared, the games, the jokes, the adventures, the conversations, the secrets, even the mischief, I realize that these were not just memories of growing up.

They were the ordinary ways God gave me a brother.

I will miss the cousin who was almost my twin in age.

My playmate.

My co-conspirator.

My confidant.

And, in many ways, my brother.

Dax, I love you, and I will miss you because I will no longer see you.