Other faculty required that I be physically present in the classroom. Students taking the survey, they said, might need the help of a mental health professional. They might be in distress answering supposedly "sensitive" questions. Undergrads in their last semester of a grueling public health course that seeps the brain while requiring emotional martyrdom in a school environment with equipment and facilities probably twice older than the students themselves – my group now needed a babysitter. Faculty believed that the students needed some hand-holding, and probably a bedtime story of Dalawa Ang Daddy Ni Billy to go with their baby pacifier. (READ: How these millennials are fighting mental illness with art, Scripture)