21/11/2025
𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐍 | “𝐒𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐚 𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐡𝐚 𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐚𝐠𝐲𝐨”
𝐴. 𝐶𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛̃𝑒𝑑𝑎
The sun should have been rising over Mt. Makiling, but that morning in Los Baños felt darker than usual.
Days of nonstop rain had swollen canals, filled streets like rivers, and pushed residents to stack sandbags outside their homes. The Philippines was once again bracing for a powerful typhoon, the kind that had become more frequent and more violent in recent years.
Despite the weather alert, schools were still open—at least until noon—so 21-year-old Jessa, an elementary practice teacher at Los Baños Malinta Elementary School, grabbed her umbrella, lesson plan, and a bundle of laminated flashcards she had stayed up late waterproofing.
She stepped into knee-deep water outside their apartment in Barangay Mayondon.
“Panibagong araw na naman,” she whispered to herself, trying to sound braver than she felt.
A tricycle driver waved at her, the vehicle’s wheels half-submerged. “Ma’am, sakay na! Pero hanggang LSPU lang tayo, baha pa papuntang school.”
“Okay lang po. Malapit na naman,” she said, though she knew she’d have to wade through more water later.
When Jessa arrived at the school, dozens of children were huddled under the covered walkway—some barefoot, some holding plastic bags over their heads, some proudly wearing rainboots shaped like dinosaurs.
Her mentor, Ma’am Reyes, approached her with a tired smile. “May announcement daw later. Pero for now, tuloy muna ang klase.” Jessa nodded. This was normal. Storms rarely stopped education—only delayed it.
Inside the Grade 3 class, Jessa was greeted by her students’ excited chatter.
“Teacher! Malakas po yung hangin kagabi!”
“Cher! Lumipad ‘yung takip takip ng balde namin!”
“Miss, umakyat kami sa k**a kasi baha!”
Jessa knelt beside them, making sure they felt heard, not scared.
“Okay, class. Safe ba kayong lahat?”, Most nodded. A few shrugged. One child whispered, eyes downcast, “Teacher, nasira po yung gamit namin.”
Before the ache in her heart could grow, she began her lesson—one she had adapted last-minute to reflect the ongoing typhoon.
“Today,” she said, holding up a laminated illustration, “we will talk about community helpers during a disaster.”
The children leaned forward, suddenly attentive.
“Firefighters, doctors, barangay volunteers…”
“And teachers, Cher.” one child asked shyly.
Jessa paused, surprised. “Yes,” she said softly. “Teachers help keep you safe. Even when there’s a storm.”
Halfway through the lesson, a loud announcement echoed through the hallway:
“All classes are suspended. Guardians, please pick up your children.”
Groans filled the room—but also relief.
Jessa helped pack their things: soggy notebooks, plastic-wrapped pencils, small umbrellas shaped like cartoon characters. A few students hugged her before leaving, their feet splashing through forming puddles outside.
Standing by the classroom door, Jessa watched parents and grandparents arrive—some drenched, some trembling from the cold, all doing their best despite the worsening rain.
When the last child left, Jessa and the teachers worked together to lift chairs, secure windows, and move books away from possible floodwater. They had done this countless times, but the exhaustion never got easier.
By the time Jessa left the school, the streets were nearly waist-deep in water.
She removed her shoes, tied them to her bag, and waded barefoot, clutching her lesson materials to her chest. A tricycle driver under a tarp waved her over.
“Ma’am! Libre na po, emergency ride para sa mga guro!”
She climbed in gratefully.
Despite the storm, despite the danger, kindness still flowed like a steady stream.
When she finally reached home, soaked and shivering, her mother reheated leftover sinigang.
“Nakakatakot ‘yung ulan, Ma…” Jessa whispered.
“Kaya mo ‘yan,” her mother said gently, placing a towel over her shoulders.
“Teacher ka na, anak. Kailangan ka ng mga bata.”
Outside, thunder rumbled.
But inside, Jessa felt a quiet resolve.
The floods would come again.
The storms would grow stronger.
The Philippines would face hardship after hardship.
But there would also be children eager to learn, teachers standing firm, and communities helping one another in the dark.
Despite the chaos, Jessa knew she was exactly where she needed to be—in a classroom, in a flooded town, in a country that refused to give up.
𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐂𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐥
