A Day in the Life of A Filipino Student

Starting school at noon? Popsicle break? This is my experience of spending a day at a local high school on the beautiful island of Palawan, the Philippines.

“To connect with people, to immerse yourself truly in the place you reach, is a greatest gift of all. ”

During a family trip to the Philippines, I was fortunate enough to get in contact with a local school who granted me the chance to spend the day with their students. That's where I met Jesha, a passionate teenager who showed me her campus, her friends, and even her goals for the future. Two years later, I still remember the day vividly, from the first moment I stepped into the gates of Santa Monica High...

It was noon, with rays of sun piercing through the car windows. I sat anxiously in the backseat with Jesha as her family drove us to school, dozens of students flocking in the same direction. The capital of Palawan, Puerto Princesa, was especially lively at this time of day. Street vendors pushed carts of fish balls and grilled pork skewers, filling the streets with the aroma of sweet pepper. Jeepneys dashed through alleys, sending dust flying behind their wheels. Soon, we arrived at the entrance of Santa Monica High School -- painted in bright red and green. I stepped out of the car, and with a tug by Jesha, was dragged into a swarm of lively students. The day had begun.

"Have you had lunch yet?" she asked, her smile beaming in the sunlight. Before I could answer, she sped towards a large building nearby. The scent of fresh delicacies lured us to the canteen, where all sorts of fried delicacies filled glass shelves. Fried plantains, as I were told, were scrumptious. I ordered a cup and was shocked at the burst of flavors packed into the bites of crispy fruit. Drizzled with condensed milk, the dose of sugar was all I needed to start the lessons, as a confused, excited, and simply overwhelmed teenager at a new school in a foreign country.

After the little treat, I was encouraged to first give a short speech to the school journalism club. Watching dozens of students, many my own age saunter into the room, I can be sure that is not what I imagined when I told the principal I enjoy writing. As a student myself, I knew I had no techniques to bring, but I have always been passionate about writing, so why not share some stories with those alike?

I began by writing two Chinese characters on the board: 旅行。I led the room-full of students in pronouncing it slowly: lu-xin, then asked them to guess its meaning.

"What is a way for us to see more of the world?"

"If I am exploring a foreign place and culture, what have I done?"

As the hints increased, hands shot up in the air, until one chirpy voice shouted, "Travel! that word means travel!"

I nodded. He smiled with victory.

Deciding to focus on travel writing, I began sharing stories of my home, Taiwan, and another half way around the globe, Iowa. I told them about the rolling hills, the gentle sea, the bustling cities and quaint alleys. I told them about my grandfather's farm, his enormous green tractors, and the Amish village down the street. Images of Sagrada Familia of Barcelona, lavender fields of southern France, and the British Museum of London unfolded as I spoke, with rising enthusiasm, of the places I've traveled and kept in heart. They listened with fascination, as the stories ended and it became their turn to share about the Philippines. From food to landmarks, markets to beaches, I asked them about the islands they call home. Despite wincing at the thought of trying their beloved balut (premature ducklings cooked in shells,) I found great joy in seeing their pride and hearing their stories, which I am certain will be one day put into the writing, as I have with mine. The session ended with the toll of the bell, and I left with ever more curiosity of how the day would unfold.

As I stepped into the homeroom, thirty or so students sat in tight rows, some holding miniature electric fans to drown out the heat. The walls were painted lime green, with posters and drawings hung on each. Jesha waved at me, and I sat down with relief. After a short introduction, the teacher signaled all to settle down, and I happily complied to being the student once again.

From math, science, theater to history, lessons were filled with group discussions and presentations. There was not a moment where students were not engaged, some sitting on the edge of their seats to answer the barricade of questions. I was deeply impressed at the lively learning atmosphere, in contrast to classroom back home where silence was often the norm. Tablets, phones, and more were used freely, but not one screen displayed social media.

I was in shock, to say the least, how orderly and effective this method of teaching is. By granting us freedom grew responsibility; by encouraging expression brewed confidence. Even when senior students knocked on the door mid-class to sell chocolate popsicles, teachers simply smiled and students returned to work quickly. Enjoying the fresh, frozen treat while completing worksheets at school was an experience I could have never dreamt of, yet one I wish all could have. The perfect balance of academics to leisure was unparalleled to what I have seen.

I was surprised again, when we were taken outdoors for a compulsory lesson of knitting, webbing, and recycling. As a form of vocational training, all students could select a category they were interested in and be taught the basic skills of that trade. In the span of 30 minutes, I learned what materials could be used to recreate fishing nets, information I have never and perhaps will never be exposed to otherwise. This practical learning, I realized, it what the Taiwanese curriculum as well as many others lack. In the Philippines, learning was not only for grades, but for equipping oneself for the future, whatever that may hold.

I remember especially, in civics class, how touched I was at the pride students take in their country. When discussing issues modern Philippines faces, from poverty to high numbers of emigrating domestic workers, each and every student in the room sat upright. Their eyes shone, and one by one hands sprung up to suggest solutions to uplift society. A poster on the main wall, reading how Filipinos should be proud of their culture and their people, was recited in thunderous unison.

I have never seen a group of teenagers as passionate as they were--as pure and as eager in becoming leaders for their society. Remembering how common I saw Filipino domestic workers in Taiwan, I wondered if they too, had once been this ambitious for change. If they could have had the opportunities they deserve at home, would they have chosen to leave their families behind, to seek a better life in a foreign country?

Perhaps that was when Jesha whispered, "Here, take a look," and shoved a notebook towards me. It was poetry, page after page filled with the myriad of teenage emotions but also hopes for her country. It was beautiful, it was genuine, it was a reminder that we as the younger generation should have hope, regardless of what reality forces us to believe

As dusk set upon the city, the classroom dimmed in golden rays. The black boards were cleared of equations and formulas, and students quickly packed their bags. Hollering, skipping, wandering, and laughing, we all left, exhausted yet contempt at another fulfilling day. Standing at the gate for a final photo with Jesha, I was reminded of how a few hours, the Filipino education system was a blur to me, as well as the passion its students had for learning. I know deep down, this is a precious experience no tour trip could grant me. It was a sneak peak into local life on Palawan that I was privileged to experience, and must treasure greatly.

I am immensely grateful for all the wonderful teachers and students who welcomed me to their school, and the principal, who on her first day in office, received my odd request to drop in unannounced. I am inspired by each and every one of you, who are so eager to learn, so passionate to teach, and so generous to embrace those near and far. From them I learnt the trademark Filipino kindness and compassion.

The beauty of traveling, as I now see, is not how far you go, but what bonds you make along the way. To connect with people, to immerse yourself truly in the place you reach, is a greatest gift of all. A few speeches, a few classes, a few pictures—it may not seem like much, but to me, it meant everything.