22/04/2026
Not all success stories start with confidence.
Some begin with fear… with doubt… with moments when you quietly question if you’re still meant for the dream you once held so tightly.
This isn’t just a speech.
It’s a real, raw story—of failing, of stepping back when things didn’t feel right, of choosing family in the middle of uncertainty, and of finding the courage to try again.
From being a retaker… to not showing up… to thinking he didn’t make it—
to becoming Top 1 of the March 2026 PLE.
It’s messy. It’s honest. It’s human.
And if you’ve ever felt left behind, not ready, or not enough—
maybe this story is exactly what you need today….
𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝑲𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒄𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒐, the 𝑻𝒐𝒑 𝟏 and previously 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒅 in the March 2026 PLE
Good morning to the members of the Professional Regulation Commission, the Philippine Medical Association, the Board of Medicine, faculty members, proud parents, and my fellow new physicians.
Hello. Yes, that's my name up there. And no, my name is not "Name Withheld."
I know there was some confusion about that. But I'm here today. Very much real. Very much grateful.
I want to share a bit of my journey, because I believe someone out there needs to hear it.
I am a retaker. Well, supposedly a third taker. But on my second attempt, I didn't even show up. I sat at home, stared at my books, and admitted: "I'm not ready."
Let me take you back to my very first take.
I was deep in sleepless nights. Coffee gone cold. Heart racing. Then came news that stopped me cold: my girlfriend, now my wonderful wife, told me she was pregnant.
It wasn't in our plan. Not at that moment. We weren't ready, or so we thought.
I was rattled. My mind couldn't focus on textbooks when my heart was already somewhere else, thinking about the future, about the little life coming, about how I could possibly be both a father and a doctor.
I failed that first take. Not because I wasn't smart enough. But because life happened. And honestly? I wouldn't trade that failure for anything. It gave me something more valuable than a license, it gave me my family.
By my second take, I had a baby on the way and a wife finding her way through motherhood. The sleepless nights were different now, less studying, more running for my wife’s cravings. I knew walking into that exam hall would have been a disservice to myself and to the dream I still wanted to honor.
So I stayed home. Held my wife. And told her: "Not yet. But soon."
That decision gave me time. To breathe, to heal, to prepare. Not just academically, but mentally and emotionally. When I finally stood at the testing center this March, I wasn't perfect. But I was ready.
After my third take, the waiting began. When the results came out, I didn't see my name. I was crying outside our house. I saw that the topnotcher was "Name Withheld" and under investigation. Sabi ko, "Siya siguro ang rason bakit hindi ako pumasa. Hindi ako pasok sa curve dahil sa kanya. Buti nga sa kanya! Under investigation siya!"
Speculations started. People talked. Some assumed the worst.
Then came the plot twist I never expected.
That "Name Withheld" I was blaming? It was me.
I was crying over my own name. Wishing ill on myself without knowing it.
When I found out I was the topnotcher, I laughed and cried at the same time. But mostly, I learned something: sometimes the biggest obstacle isn't the exam, or the PRC, or the curve. It's ourselves.
Once I got past that, I was finally free.
And that brings me to you.
I want to speak directly to those of you who have taken this exam more than once. Those who have felt the sting of a failing score. Those who have watched batchmates move on while you stayed behind.
I see you. I was you.
Ten years. That's how long it took me to become a licensed doctor. Medicine alone not including pre-med. Ten years of carrying a dream that felt heavier every time I fell short.
There were nights I cried in the dark so my wife wouldn't hear. Nights I held my child and wondered if I was failing him too. Nights I stared at my books until the words blurred and asked God, "Why can't I get this right?"
My second take, I didn't even show up. I sat at home while others walked into the exam center. I told myself I wasn't ready. But the truth? I was afraid. Afraid of failing again. Afraid of disappointing everyone who believed in me. Afraid that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't meant to be a doctor at all.
That fear almost broke me.
But here's what I learned in those ten years: you don't have to be unbreakable to be strong. You just have to keep showing up. Even when it hurts. Even when you're embarrassed. Even when you want to disappear.
I know what it's like to smile at family gatherings and pretend everything is fine. To carry the weight of "not yet" while everyone around you seems to have already arrived.
But listen carefully: you are not behind. You are not a failure. You are not your past scores.
Those years were not wasted. They were preparing you, for patience, for humility, for the kind of compassion you can only learn through your own suffering.
When you finally stand where I'm standing, and you will. You’ll understand the title "doctor" means more when you've walked through fire to earn it.
So please, don't give up. Not because it's easy, but because you're still here. And being here, still trying, still hoping, still believing is already proof that you have what it takes.
I took ten long, painful, beautiful years. And I would walk every single one of them again if it meant standing here today and telling you:
We can do it. You can do it. And when you do, it will be worth every tear.
And so .
To my parents Lodania Ang Parchaso Lito Retuya Parchasoand my siblings Karen Angcual Parchaso Niver Sumer Parchaso Joshua Angcual Parchaso Jamaica Loise, thank you for not asking too many questions when I stayed home on my second take. Thank you for the silent prayers. For the money for meals when I forget to eat. You never made me feel like a failure. You just made me feel loved. Thank you for the never ending support.
Now I need to speak to the woman who changed everything. Jael Kei,
When you told me you were pregnant during my first take, during my chaos, I was rattled. I thought, "How can I be a doctor when I don't even know how to be a dad?"
But you never doubted me. Not once.
You held me when I failed. You fed me when I forgot to eat. You took care of our child while I buried myself in books. And on the nights I wanted to quit, you looked at me and said: "pano na ung pangrap kong maging housewife."
You are the reason I'm standing here. Not just because you supported me, but because you believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself.
I love you. Thank you for the best kind of chaos.
To my child, Zackary, one day you'll hear this story. And I want you to know: everything I did, every sleepless night, every retake, every tear, I did for you.
You are my "why." I hope I make you proud. But more than that, I hope you learn that falling doesn't mean you're out. It just means you're human.
I love you, Zack.
To my university, my alma mater Lyceum-Northwestern University, thank you for shaping me long before this moment. You didn't just teach me medicine. You built my foundation. You gave me the tools, the values, and the discipline that carried me through every sleepless night and every failed attempt. I would not be standing here without the years you invested in me.
To the hospital, BGHMC Baguio, where I trained as an intern, thank you for the real-world lessons no textbook could teach. For the long hours, the difficult cases, the mentors who corrected me gently and pushed me to be better. You sharpened not just my mind, but my hands and my heart.
To my review center Wise.owl by LM Academy, thank you for sharpening my knowledge when I needed it most. For breaking down the impossible into something I could actually understand. For not giving up on me even when I took longer than most.
To Doctor Marco Francisco S. Duque, Dra. Agnes G. Dimaano, and everyone at my school who reached out when I was lost, you gave me clarity. You treated me with dignity when I felt my name had become "Withheld."
Thank you for seeing me. Not as a number. Not as a case. But as one of your own.
I hope I've made all of you proud.
To my fellow new physicians, we made it.
Whether this was your first take or your tenth. Whether you passed with flying colors or by a single point. Whether your name was withheld or published immediately. We are here. And no one can take that away from us.
I dedicate this Top 1 to all of us who made it through the hardships and to those who will still be taking the exam. Your time is coming.
The road was hard. Some of us lost sleep. Some lost hope for a while. Some had to learn that being a doctor starts long before you have a license. It starts with courage, humility, and refusing to give up on the people who need us.
So as we take our oath today, with tears or with smiles. Let us remember, we are not just passing an exam. We are answering a calling.
Go. Heal. Serve. And never forget where you came from.
Congratulations, my fellow doctors.
And finally, let me introduce myself properly.
I'm Erwin Ken Angcual Parchaso. Not withheld. Not hidden. Just here.
God bless us all.
~Source/Credit: Erwin Ken Angcual Parchaso
