Schools in the Philippines make you take Biology at some point, usually as part of your science subjects in high school. But the version you get there is just a taste—cell diagrams, frog dissections, memorizing plant parts. It’s not until college that the subject starts to feel like its own world.
I didn’t even start in that world.
When I first entered university, I was a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration major in Marketing student. A “safe” course. The kind that sounded good when relatives asked, “So, what are you taking?” I could answer confidently without having to explain too much.
But there was this nagging thought. A quiet pull toward something else.
I kept wondering—what if I became a doctor?
The more I sat in business classes, the more that question grew louder. It wasn’t a lightning bolt moment, more like a slow drip. And when I finally considered shifting, Biology seemed like the natural step. Partly because it’s a common pre-med choice, and partly because it was my mother’s pre-dentistry course. A sentimental echo.
I didn’t do a deep analysis of career outcomes or weigh pros and cons like a good business major should. I just thought: If I’m going for medicine, this is the way in.
So I shifted.
Early Fascination
My relationship with Biology actually started long before college.
I remember being in elementary and doing my first dissection—a live toad. That might sound cruel now, but at the time, I was fascinated. While some of my classmates were grimacing or holding their breath, I was leaning closer, eyes wide, watching the way life was arranged inside a body.
It was one of the few times I felt like I was doing something real in school. Not just reading about processes in a book, but actually seeing them.
That early fascination carried over into high school, where Biology was one of my favorite subjects. I liked the balance of memorization and understanding, of facts and patterns. You could study a system, learn its parts, and understand how they interacted. There was a logic to it.
I thought that logic would make Biology as a degree manageable.
I was wrong.
The Reality of the Course
Biology in college was a different beast entirely.
Sure, some subjects felt familiar at first—basic botany, introductory zoology—but they quickly evolved into something much more technical. Comparative Anatomy demanded hours of memorization. Cell Biology felt like diving into a microscopic ocean where every molecule had a story. Genetics challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. Histology made me doubt my own eyes.
Then there were the rotating exams, where you had seconds to identify a specimen, a structure, or a process before moving to the next station. It was a kind of academic pressure that felt like a trap—either you knew it in an instant or you didn’t.
Some days, I’d walk out of a lab feeling confident. Other days, I’d feel embarrassed, especially when I blanked on something I’d studied the night before. In those moments, you start questioning why you’re even there.
And yet, the professors kept me anchored.
Professors Who Loved the Subject
I was lucky to have teachers who treated Biology not just as a pre-medicine stepping stone but as a field worth dedicating a life to. They spoke about ecosystems, evolutionary processes, and research like these were treasures to be preserved, not just topics to be passed in an exam.
That passion rubbed off on me, even if I was more focused on medicine. I could see in them what it meant to truly belong to the discipline.
Still, passion alone doesn’t make you immune to doubt.
The Trap Feeling
There were times I felt like Biology was a trap. That if I didn’t get into medical school, I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything else. It was a narrow kind of ambition—doctor or nothing. And that made the stakes feel higher than they needed to be.
I had classmates who were natural achievers. Many of them treated grades like currency and research projects like personal milestones. I wasn’t competing with them. In my circle, we built community instead—helping each other, sharing notes, laughing off the stress when we could. It made the long semesters feel bearable.
I did join our official Biology organization, Microbia, but my real extracurricular commitment was outside strict science. I became active in our university student paper, Forum-Dimensions, eventually becoming its chief editor. Writing gave me a break from lab reports and practical exams. It was another way of studying life, but through people and stories rather than specimens.
Surviving the Coursework
People assume that because Biology isn’t as specialized as Nursing or as clinically focused as Medical Technology, it must be easier.
That’s not true.
All our Biology and Chemistry courses were demanding in their own way. They didn’t require the same kind of hospital exposure, but they drained you with sheer volume and precision. Hours in the lab. Mountains of readings. Plates that had to be labeled perfectly. Experiments that could fail simply because the weather wasn’t cooperating or because the equipment was older than some of us.
And then there were the “minor” subjects.
Teachers liked to say we took minors in other fields because we were expected to do well in them, too. As if our schedule wasn’t already stacked. History, literature, physical education—they were meant to balance us out, but sometimes they just added more pressure. I don’t even know how I survived them while juggling all the major courses.
There were nights I thought about quitting.
Not because I didn’t like Biology anymore, but because I was worried it was all or nothing. If I didn’t become a doctor, what was I going to do? Teach? Go into research? Neither felt like my dream at the time.
The NMAT and the Leap to Medicine
When NMAT season came, I didn’t prepare as hard as others. Some of my classmates enrolled in review centers, armed with thick binders of practice tests. I had… a reviewer. Just one.
I didn’t feel prepared, but strangely, I wasn’t too nervous either. Maybe because I had this quiet hope that all the years of studying life sciences would at least give me a fighting chance.
And in a way, it did.
Biology didn’t make me a perfect NMAT taker, but it taught me to face the unexpected. To look at a question, find a clue, and work my way toward an answer.
When I finally stepped into medical school, I thought some subjects—like Parasitology—would carry over seamlessly. I quickly learned that medicine was a completely different domain. The transition was less about applying what I knew and more about starting from scratch with a different set of expectations.
The Weight of Comparison
In med school, the comparisons began. Not official ones, but the quiet, internal kind.
I’d see classmates who were Nursing or Medical Technology graduates confidently navigate clinical terms I was only learning for the first time. They had hospital stories, practical skills, and a way of moving through patient cases that seemed instinctive.
It was hard not to feel insecure. I questioned whether I should have taken another course instead. Nursing was my wife’s (then-girlfriend’s) suggestion, but we couldn’t afford it at the time. MedTech was another option I’d considered in passing, but Biology had felt like the right choice back then.
Over time, I brushed those thoughts away. I realized that no pre-med course could fully prepare you for medical school. The playing field levels out eventually—what matters is how you adapt.
The Misconceptions
One thing I learned is that a lot of people underestimate Biology majors.
There’s the idea that it’s “just” one of the best pre-med choices and nothing more. That we’re not as busy as other science students. That the only fallback is teaching in high school.
Those assumptions erase the skills we actually develop: investigative thinking, deep appreciation of local flora and fauna, an understanding of conservation and preservation. We learn how to observe, record, analyze, and connect details.
And yes, it’s true—some of us go into research, some into medicine, some into education. But the field itself is richer than people give it credit for.
Lessons Beyond Medicine
Even now, I find subtle ways Biology has stayed with me. The way I think about systems. The respect I have for how complex yet fragile life is.
I still remember dissecting an oyster in class and, strangely, coming out of that experience appreciating it more as food. Biology is like that—it makes you notice things you wouldn’t have thought twice about before. It can even create a kind of reverence for life that parallels spiritual beliefs, even if the course itself is rooted in Darwinian principles.
It taught me that understanding life scientifically doesn’t have to cancel out the sense of wonder. In fact, it can deepen it.
The Emotional Baggage
When I think back to my Biology degree, the memories aren’t just about labs and lectures.
There’s a layer of emotional weight to it—delays, failures, and the constant shadow of “what if I don’t make it to medicine?”
I carried those questions everywhere. They weren’t loud, but they were persistent, like a low hum you can’t turn off. It didn’t help that I also felt the pressure of living up to my mother’s legacy. She had taken Biology as her pre-dentistry course, and here I was, walking the same path. It felt symbolic. But it also felt like a responsibility I couldn’t fail.
Another layer was trying to convince others that Biology was useful outside of medicine—even though I was headed for medicine myself. I knew its worth, but I also knew the perception. People wanted clear, linear career stories. Biology didn’t always give you that. You had to carve your own.
Why I’m Still Proud
Despite the struggles, I can say without hesitation that I’m proud of taking Biology.
It’s more than just a degree. It’s a way of seeing the world—rooted in observation, analysis, and curiosity. Even the Latin root of the word species, specere, meaning “to look” or “to observe,” speaks to the heart of it. That’s what we do. We look closely at life. We try to understand it, in all its forms and scales.
The course connected me to people, ideas, and experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything. It trained me to think about details, to see patterns, to respect the complexity of the smallest organism and the largest ecosystem.
If I had to choose again, I’d still say yes.
Advice to Future Biology Majors
If you’re thinking about taking Biology—whether for pre-med or not—know this: it’s one of the most remarkable and useful courses you can take.
But usefulness isn’t always obvious right away. It’s not like Nursing or Engineering, where the job title is in the degree. Biology’s gifts are in the skills it hones and the perspectives it gives you.
Whether you end up in medicine, research, conservation, or education, the field is rich. And I hope more people choose to explore it beyond the usual medical path—especially in research and environmental preservation. We need more voices there.
You’ll face people who think you’re taking an “easier” route. You’ll hear the fallback-teacher comments. But you’ll also discover moments that make you realize how much life there is to study, protect, and appreciate.
Closing the Circle
Looking back, the “woes” of being a Biology major weren’t just about the workload or the doubts—they were about growing into someone who could live with uncertainty and still move forward.
I entered the program with the idea that medicine was the only finish line. Somewhere along the way, I learned that the degree itself had value beyond that path.
Biology didn’t just prepare me for medical school—it prepared me for the unexpected turns in life. And maybe that’s what education is supposed to do.
