Fourth Year High School- Another School, Another Challenge-"Failure will never overtake me if my determination to succeed is strong enough.-Og Mandino

Fourth Year- Another School, Another Challenge-"Failure will never overtake me if my determination to succeed is strong enough."-Og Mandino.

It took me several weeks before I was enrolled in that public high school in Manila. I found it more complicated to transfer from a private to a public school but my persistent paid off.

We stayed in Bicol only for a month. We moved to Manila . My brother had a freak accident and needed an operation in the Orthopedic. The relatives in Bicol were more concerned on what they could get as share in my dad’s benefits than helping us start a life in our own province. My maternal relatives lived in an island which was accessible only by boat—along two or three hour trip from Naga City. No way my mother would bring us there again.

Third Year High School– I did not dance Victoria, I got no red shoes.

Dear insansapinas,

Third Year – I did not dance Victoria, I got no red shoes.

My mother was able to get the death benefits and insurance of my dad. The employer gave us construction materials for our own house in the lot that my father bought before he died.

My mom sold them all to buy a jeepney so we can have regular source of income. Some were used to pay off bills that were accumulated when my father was in the hospital.

When enrollment came, my mother told me the bad news. I had to quit school.
When my mother blurted out the news, my mind became blank for a moment then I cried but I did not let her see me. I did not want to hurt her feelings like what I did to my dad. I did not want to repeat what had happened in the early part of my second year before I learned of my dad’s problem in the workplace.

Because we were financially hard-up, my mom could not give me money for my projects.
I thought that it was just her whim. I thought she was just playing favorite to my brothers. I thought that just because, I was now trying hard to make it good in school, she owed me all the support I need. These are the things that I pushed down the recesses of my mind. I tried to forget my youth’s follies. But I find it as a constant reminder to make me a better person.

There was a point that my rebellious streak drove me to decide to run away and go to my friend’s house. The friend with the grocery. Stupid me. I planned to work as a store helper so I can support myself.

My brother caught me when I was about to step out of the house very early morning. I had put all my books and other personal things in a native basket that was used by a relative in sending us the dried fish from Bicol. It smelled bad. But I did not care.

When my father learned about my plan, he did not say anything to reprimand me. He led me out of the house and asked where I was intending to go so he could bring me there himself. He said he’s sorry that he can’t provide for everything. He’s sorry that he failed me. He asked me if I will be happy with my decision to leave my family who will always be there for me. There was no anger in his voice. There was just bitterness. It was bitterness that he felt that he was a failure as a provider. And I was the one who made him felt of his inadequacy. Honestly, it was not my intention to hurt him. If the competition for honor made my classmate a loony, its effect on me was worse. I became an insensitive person.

The short talk of my father shamed me no end. I turned around and went back inside the house. No talks, no nagging, no punishment, No accusatory tones.
Whenever I remember that incident, I felt guilty. That was months before he died. That was a few weeks before he did not resign even though he was demoted. I knew now how he must have reached that painful decision of choosing not to resign over his hurt pride.
He stayed on even if he was no longer happy in his job. He had responsibilities, us. It must have killed him slowly. I thought what I did add to his worries.

I know he cared for me even he was clinging to whatever was consciousness left when he suffered the stroke. He was calling my name when he was in the ambulance. My elder siblings were never a problem to my parents. They were obedient. They never rebelled.

It was me he was worried about. That he’s going to fail me again. That I would never finish my study. Maybe he prayed that he would not die. And maybe that’s why he never has left me after all these years. Maybe that is why I am writing this.

Second Year - The Year When I Lost My Father

Dearinsansapinas,

Second Year- I lost my father but I maintained my scholarship. I danced the Bulaklakan.

I did not maintain my top honor at the end of the year but I was among the full scholars.

The topnotcher was our classmate who must have a photographic memory that she could recite the books’ chapters word for word/front to back and back to front. She was very studious that she would just sit in the corner and read the books. She was aloof too.

I can see that she was hard-driven. It is only the scholarship that gave her hope to finish high school and proceed to College.

Even though, she’s considered the best in the class, the affluent students regard her as nothing but a bastard with brains. She was avoided by another clique in that top section—those born with silver and gold spoons—even though they’re just plated. I learned why. She was the daughter of a former hooker and lived in the ghetto part of that city. She never knew who her father was.

Together with the girl classmate who was busted for the codigo (she was given another chance by the teacher because she claimed that it was just passed on to her), she started bonding with me. She did not rat the guilty ones, but they avoided her just the same.

Like the topnotcher, she was also treated like someone with a horrible disease when a classmate gossiped about how her father left the family when she was young and her mother was rumored to have a boyfriend who was ten years younger. The gossiper used to be her buddy she always brought to their grocery store for free stuff.

It was sad to find social divide for very young and prayerful community.

During retreat, you feel you are the lowest of the low among the hierarchy of friends by the size and the quality of “stampita” (this is a card of prayer with the picture of a saint or an angel) that you received from the fellow retreaters.

We were called the triumvirate. Not Tres Marias. The two had no fathers while I would be losing my own father before the end of my second year.

I never witnessed my parents argued in front of us. Whatever problems they had in the family, they tried to find solutions by talking in whispers while all the children were in bed.

I know the problem started when the assistant of my father was promoted and became his superior. I remember when my mom sent him to the City to cool off. My father had a history of hypertension and I did not know that politics, intrigues and position grabbing were in our work culture.

Then we moved out from the house provided by the company. My father who was always silent became more silent.

Money had already been a problem since my father decided that we should enroll in the private school. He worked hard to give us the best education that we ought to have. We were seven and all except for a little brother who was born after a big gap, we were all studying in the private school while my eldest brother was starting College.

Though we had scholarships, there were other school-related expenses to meet like projects, allowances and costumes for school activities.



I did not want to join the dance anymore but a big percentage of our grade in PE would be coming from the participation in the dance and calisthenics. All second high school students participated in the bulaklakan dance that the crowd who would come to watch won't even notice if one was out of tempo or was plain walking.

By the time, our presentation was scheduled, my father was already hospitalized. He was in a coma for a month after suffering from internal hemorrhage due to high blood pressure. No one came to watch me.

My mother was already staying in the hospital everyday. My elder siblings were bringing her food and clothes on their way to school. My eldest assigned us responsibilities at home. There were time for studying and there were time for household chores. No play.

Sometimes I missed my classes. There were projects to submit and there were long quizzes to take.

I read my my books while I rocked the crib of my baby brother. I approached the teacher in the Vocational to give me materials for the project and I would do the cross-stitched embroideries. It saved me a lot of money. I got my grades and she got beautiful table runner, hankies and skirts. For our next project, she asked me to make the party purse for her. It was beautiful with sequins and pearls. She used it in one of the school activities. I stood proud of what I had done.

Before the end of the SY, my father died. My mother fell into depression. We can understand. She was pregnant of our youngest sister. A sister who was born after my father's death.

I lost the enthusiasm to go to school. It was only more than a month before the school year ended. My father would not like it, if he were alive. So I returned to school after the burial. My teachers were very supportive. They let me take make up quizzes.

One of them was a male teacher in Math who showed compassion or was it love? He used to touch my long hair when I was sitting down at his class taking make-up exams. He blushed whenever I turned around and looked at him.

He was young. He just graduated from his bachelor’s degree and it was the first time that he taught in the school. He was a substitute to his sister, our previous Math teacher.

He gave me a high grade which gave me an average grade that qualified me for full scholarship.

Before he left for Manila to take his masteral, he called for me. He told me to wait for him.

He never came back or I was already gone when he did. No, the feeling was not mutual.
At that time my only goal was to finish my studies.

First Year- Pandanggo sa Ilaw

Dear insansapinas,


First yearI was in the top section and I danced Pandanggo sa Ilaw.

Except for me and some five classmates, the members of the class were all valedictorians and salutatorians. They were the bunch of young people who thought that the school owed it to them that they enrolled in that university. They were given full scholarship. Mine was just partial but at least, it was the same school where I would be starting my high school.

The principal played favorite to our class. He assigned us a room exclusive for our use. Instead of us moving from room to room every change of subject, the teachers would come at their scheduled time. I did not see any protest action but I thought the issue was settled in the principal’s office. The message was “don’t pamper the guys with IQ that is not lower than 140” or else the faculty would resign en masse. I still did not understand about mass action then.

So we were treated just like the ordinary “mortals”. But the “classmates” walked in the school’s corridors with prideful swagger as if they were god-chosen to be in the elite section. Not me. I got friends in the lower sections who I hang out with during class break. I found it boring to be with guys who did nothing but memorized with their eyes rolling not because they’re laughing but because they can’t cram all those formula and definitions.

The competition for the grades was just nerve-wracking and stressful that one lady student broke down. She was a candidate for Miss Loonies of the year award. She came with wreath of flowers in her hair and danced even without music. We called her Sisa. You know the demented mother of Basilio and Crispin in Jose Rizal's novel, Noli Me Tangere. We were reading Noli Me Tangere then for our Pilipino class. If we were asked to dramatize that chapter about Sisa, she would have gotten the role, hands down. The Pilosopo Tasyo was another classmate who was in the habit of annoying our teacher in History by his off-tangent-sarcastic-patama-remarks.