The Making of Carlo Cris V. Gloria

Some people grow up knowing they are good at something. Others grow up knowing they will have to work for everything.

Carlo Cris V. Gloria belongs to the second group.

He was not the standout athlete. He was not the academic outlier. What he had, early on, was an awareness: effort would be his only advantage. While others in his family seemed to arrive at excellence almost instinctively, Carlo learned that progress, for him, would be incremental and earned.

Today, he is a Junior Partner in the Litigation, Labor, and Immigration Practice Group, handling civil, criminal, and tax cases, labor disputes, and complex corporate negotiations. But his professional confidence was not built on early affirmation. It came from growing up in a household where achievement was normal and falling short was quietly noticed.

Carlo was raised in a family of four sons. No sisters. No soft comparisons. His father, Conrado A. Gloria, Jr., was a UP scholar who had only one viable path forward: succeed academically or not study at all. That reality shaped how expectations were set at home. Nothing dramatic. Nothing shouted. Excellence was simply assumed.

The hierarchy was clear.

The eldest brother, three years ahead, was a competitive swimmer: physically gifted and disciplined. The brother after Carlo, just a year and a half younger, academically gifted and consistently at the top of his class. The youngest, eight years behind, would earn scholarships and enter AIM.

Carlo sat in the middle, watching ability come easily to others.

“I had to work hard just to be adequate,” he says.

Adequate was not a compliment. It was a reminder. Grades were never punished, but disappointment was unmistakable. Praise was real, but always followed by the same line: You can do better. Comparisons were indirect, but constant. Over time, they shaped how Carlo measured himself.

At home, rewards were transactional. If you wanted something beyond the basics, you earned it. Honors led to privileges. A car in college required a scholarship. His parents removed obstacles (tutors, books, even a home library), but effort remained non-negotiable. The message was consistent: success was available, but not guaranteed.

The gap between effort and outcome became most obvious during admissions season. His brothers passed Ateneo, La Salle, UP (some with scholarships). Carlo didn’t. He attended a smaller high school, then missed entry into the universities his family had come to expect.

Questions followed. From relatives. From peers. From himself.

“I expected to succeed,” Carlo admits. “I was doing the work.”

Those disappointments stayed with him. Not as motivation in the abstract, but as proof that effort alone does not always produce immediate results. What he learned instead was endurance. If something didn’t work, he adjusted. If he failed, he kept going. He did not stop expecting more from himself, but he learned how to absorb setbacks without collapsing under them.

That mindset shaped his choices. In college, he chose Industrial Economics, a math-heavy course he openly admits he was not good at. He chose it precisely because it was difficult. “I sucked at math, but I chose that class. I wanted it to be hard because that is how it always has been.”

“If it’s not difficult,” he says, “it’s not worth doing.”

The pattern repeated in law school. He didn’t get into UP, his first choice and his father’s alma mater. By then, disappointment wasn’t his enemy. It no longer derailed him. It simply forced recalibration.

Law school was where things finally aligned, not because it was easier, but because difficulty no longer felt personal. Carlo had already learned how to stumble, recover, and continue. When the stakes were real, he was prepared for the pace and the pressure.

As an adult, the expectations that once felt heavy have faded. Not because they disappeared, but because he met them on his own terms. He no longer measures himself against his brothers. They now occupy separate lanes: a businessman, a UP professor pursuing a PhD, a hotel executive turned AIM scholar. Carlo built his own.

His father remains his primary reference point. “He’s my oracle,” Carlo admits. When faced with difficult decisions, he still asks how his father would approach them; not out of obligation, but respect. His father had no safety net. He built everything deliberately. That example matters more to Carlo than any accolade.

It also informs how he leads. As a partner, Carlo is exacting about preparation. He expects his associates to show their work: to arrive ready, informed, and disciplined. “You can’t go to a hearing unprepared,” he says. “That’s malpractice.” Talent matters less to him than visible effort.

Looking back, Carlo sees the pressure of his upbringing as complicated. It was disorienting when he was younger. It bred doubt. It made success feel conditional. But distance has reframed it.

“I’m thankful for it now,” he says. “It hardened me.”

As a parent, he sees himself following a similar model, with moderation. He wants his children to apply themselves fully and to have every tool they need to succeed. The expectation remains, but so does support.

For those growing up under high expectations, his advice is simple and unsentimental: perspective comes later. Resentment is understandable. So is fatigue. But effort compounds, even when results lag behind.

Carlo Gloria’s story is not about hidden genius or sudden breakthroughs. It is about choosing difficult paths repeatedly, even when there was no guarantee they would pay off. It is about learning that progress does not always look impressive from the outside, but it holds over time.

Diamonds are made under pressure. Steel sharpens steel. All the cliches hold fast for Carlo. Grit, perseverance, adaptability. Learn those lessons early. And sometimes, that is enough.

(Interview and write-up by: Zeus Earl Roy D. Custodio Jr.)