Not everyone is ready to go back to school

Aaron Dave Mendina, Dorothy Gonzales, and Joshua Pasion

Schools are considered as the second home of students — places where they find their comfort to learn, to think, and to slowly understand the world beyond their own.

For generations, education has carried a promise seen as a pathway toward opportunity, a means of breaking barriers, and a foundation upon which learners build their hopes for the future. In the Philippines, where education is often viewed as the key to a better life, classrooms have long been expected to provide more than lessons alone.

They are meant to be spaces where learning feels engaging rather than burdensome, where growth happens with guidance rather than uncertainty, and where students are given the stability needed to thrive.

Yet, as another school year begins, that sense of excitement is no longer shared by everyone. For some, the return to school no longer feels light or hopeful, but heavy, as if they are stepping back into something they are not fully ready to face again.

Like a fresh piece of chalk meeting a clean board, every school year begins with the same promise of possibility. New lessons are introduced, new goals are set, and new reforms arrive, carrying the hope of creating a better learning experience than before.

However, while the board is constantly filled with new ideas, it is just as frequently erased and rewritten. Policies change, standards shift, and expectations continue to evolve, leaving teachers and students to adjust to a system that rarely remains still long enough to feel familiar.

So as Philippine education continues to undergo changes, the experience of learning itself has also begun to change. Amid these constant adjustments, it is worth asking: if schools are meant to be a second home, do they still feel like one for students and teachers who spend their days within them?

Clean board 

With the opening of classes for School Year 2026–2027, inside the classrooms, every beginning starts with a clean board — and so does the life of millions of students who are expected to start anew with the same sense of readiness, hope, and possibility drawn onto a fresh slate.

However, before learning begins, another kind of preparation is already taking place outside the classroom, where families go over lists, weigh prices, and make difficult choices between what is needed and what is possible.

For 18-year-old Krisford Javier, an incoming first-year college student and one of five siblings currently studying in a family of seven, that “fresh start” has never been just academic. It is also financial, shared, and carefully divided among everyone who needs to step into the same system at once.

“Bumibili pa rin naman dahil wala naman kaming choice pero hindi tulad dati na maraming binibili. Ngayon, binibili na lang namin is ‘yong essential na lang talaga,” he said.

[We still buy things because we don’t really have a choice, but unlike before, we don’t buy a lot anymore. Now, we only buy what is truly essential.]

What used to be a simple list of school supplies has slowly turned into an exercise in prioritization. What is necessary, what can be reused, and what can be delayed are no longer small decisions, but part of how learning is made possible.

In the country, where inflation reached 6.8 percent in May 2026, the cost of goods continues to weigh on everyday budgets, with basic school necessities becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with during the back-to-school season.

Based on the Department of Trade and Industry’s 2026 school supplies price guide, notebooks range from around ₱13 to ₱52, ballpens from ₱3 to ₱27, pencils from ₱12 to ₱24, while basic pad papers fall between ₱13 to ₱37, depending on size and type. These price points, meant to serve as consumer reference, reflect how even the most basic tools for learning already come with varying financial weight.

For students like Krisford, notebooks from previous school years are no longer discarded but carefully reused, with remaining blank pages continued as if extending the life of each subject. Pens are refilled or used until they completely run out of ink, while school bags are carried for years beyond their intended use, as long as they can still serve their purpose.

It is a contradiction that learners carry daily: that education is declared free in principle, yet costly in practice. That classrooms remain open to all, but access to fully experience them requires resources not everyone equally has.

For the 18-year-old student, this is where the promise of education becomes most complicated. The idea that studying can lift families out of hardship sometimes feels like it is being tested by the very cost of staying in school.

“‘Di ba sabi ng parents natin na mag-aral para maiahon mo sa kahirapan ang pamilya mo. Pero minsan, ‘yon pala ang nagiging dahilan para mabaon sa hirap dahil sa tindi ng mga gastusin,” he shared.

[Isn’t it what our parents always say that we should study to lift our family out of poverty? But sometimes, that idea becomes the reason for even heavier expenses.]

As the school year begins with a clean board, it is easy to believe that every learner starts from the same blank slate. Yet for many, that board is never truly empty as it is already marked by the weight of what it takes just to begin.

Chalk stars sharp

If students step into a school year believing in a clean board, then teachers step into it already facing a surface that is constantly being rewritten. Just like chalk starting sharp in their hands, every beginning is not a reset but an adjustment, as curriculum changes arrive even before the first line of teaching is written.

With almost 12 years working in the industry, for teachers like Karen Gauat, every school opening is less of a return to routine and more of another cycle of adjustment.

Over the years, teaching has meant constantly rebuilding what “prepared” looks like. New curriculum guides, revised competencies, and updated learning outcomes regularly reshape what must be taught and how it must be delivered, requiring teachers to rebuild lesson plans, redesign learning materials, and adjust assessment tools even as classes are already ongoing.

“Sa tuwing may pagbabago, kailangang muling pag-aralan ang bagong guidelines, competencies, at inaasahang outcomes. Kailangan ding baguhin ang lesson plans, learning materials, assessment tools, at estratehiya sa pagtuturo,” teacher Karen shared.

[Every time there is a change, teachers must relearn the new guidelines, competencies, and expected outcomes. Lesson plans, learning materials, assessment tools, and teaching strategies also need to be revised.]

But beyond the documents and revisions, the real challenge happens in the classroom — where lessons must still be understood despite shorter timeframes and shifting structures. For teachers, survival in the system means finding ways to simplify without sacrificing meaning, to adjust without losing depth, and to continue teaching even when the framework keeps moving.

If we trace the evolution of Philippine basic education in the past decade, it reads less like a single reform and more like a system that is continuously being rewritten while still in motion. It began with the full implementation of the K to 12 program under Republic Act 10533 during then President Benigno Aquino’s term, which expanded basic education from 10 to 13 years and introduced Senior High School in S.Y. 2016–2017. 

During the pandemic in 2020, the Most Essential Learning Competencies (MELCs) were introduced under DepEd Order No. 12, s. 2020, compressing thousands of competencies into essential skills to sustain learning amid school closures. This was followed by the shift to blended and modular learning (2020–2022), where teachers managed printed modules, online classes, and distribution systems, significantly expanding their workload beyond traditional teaching.

In 2023, the Department of Education introduced the MATATAG Curriculum for Grades 1 to 10, a revised K–10 framework designed to decongest learning by reducing overlapping competencies and prioritizing foundational literacy, numeracy, and essential skills. It reorganized subjects and learning targets toward depth over coverage, requiring teachers to again adjust lesson plans, materials, and assessments during phased implementation.

More recently, discussions have included further curriculum decongestion and adjustments to the academic calendar, including a three-term or trimester-style school year structure in selected pilot schools. This aims to distribute instructional time more evenly and improve pacing of lessons and assessments.

Yet, in the middle of these constant shifts, what keeps teachers grounded is not the stability of the system, but the purpose behind it — the persistence of teaching as a commitment that outlasts every change written into it.

“Maaaring magbago ang curriculum at mga polisiya pero kung nananatili ang dedikasyon at malasakit ng guro, may dahilan pa rin para magpatuloy,” teacher Karen said.

[Curriculum and policies may change, but if a teacher’s dedication and compassion remain, there will always be a reason to continue.]

As curriculum changes remain constant in the past decade, teachers continue not because the system is stable, but because they are shaping the very people who will one day enter professions, lead institutions, and carry the country forward. Every adjustment in lesson delivery becomes part of forming learners who will eventually take part in building what comes next.

What is being written in classrooms today is not only for passing exams, but for preparing minds that may one day question, improve, or even redesign the very system they are learning under. The purpose remains anchored on something larger than the curriculum itself: the hope that every learner inside the classroom will grow into someone capable of shaping better systems than the ones they inherited.

Constant writing

If chalk starts sharp in the hands of teachers, students spend the rest of the year trying to prove themselves through every mark written after it — until their learning, struggles, and sacrifices are distilled into a number that follows them home.

This is the reality Grade 11 student Zay Jan Siriban from Lal-lo, Cagayan found himself reflecting on when news broke about the proposal to raise the standard for honor students. For him, this announcement felt less like recognition and more like another hurdle added to an already demanding race.

When he learned about the proposal to raise the honor standard to a 95% average, he said the first feeling was not motivation but frustration.

“Kung itataas pa ang standard para sa honors, mas lalo lang itong magiging nakakapagod at nakaka-drain para sa mga estudyante,” he said.

[If the standard for honors is raised further, it will only become more exhausting and draining for students.]

Yet despite the pressure, honors remain deeply personal. For him, it is not just an award printed on paper, but a form of return that gives meaning to the sacrifices made at home.

“[Iyong] simpleng makahonor ka kasi is sukli [‘yon] sa pagod ng mga magulang. Nagiging proud sila kasi hindi nasasayang [‘yong] dugo at pawis nila sa trabaho,” he shared.

[Simply making it to the honor list feels like a return to our parents’ hard work. They become proud because they feel their sweat and sacrifices at work are not wasted.]

Under the proposed reform, students from Grade 4 to Grade 12 would need to attain at least a 95% General Weighted Average (GWA), with no failing marks, to qualify for an Academic Excellence Award. With almost 26 million enrolled learners across the country, what should have been a simple measure of recognition begins to feel like a heavier standard written on top of already crowded lives.

In an education system already marked by cracks that students move through every day, diligence is rarely the only thing being measured. What should have been a clear exchange between effort and reward begins to blur. 

Learning becomes less of a steady path and more of a continuous adjustment, where students are not only trying to understand the lesson but also trying to catch up with how the lesson itself keeps changing. In that space, effort often feels visible, yet not always enough to be fully recognized.

Like constant writing that never ends, students are constantly being shaped by a system that keeps adding, revising, and never truly finishing what it expects from them. So, students continue to hope that what is written through their effort will one day be read not just as a number, but as proof that they were enough.

Frugal friction

In recent years, educators have learned to become frugal — not just with money, but with time. With limited resources provided by the DepEd and the taxing workload that reading coordinators, teachers, and ARAL Program (Academic Recovery and Accessible Learning) volunteers bear, being frugal becomes less of a value and more of a necessity.

On top of her responsibilities as an English teacher and a former Radio Broadcasting coach, Ma’am Anneline Bercasio frequently faces the friction of changing curriculums, weak material support, and a government institution still clinging to the idea of “no child left behind” — even when teachers vouch that some struggling readers are not yet ready to advance. 

The friction between the ideals that DepEd has ingrained in its policies versus the lived experiences that numerous reading teachers and students regularly endure underlines the missing gap between policymaker and practitioner. A gap that educators must fill by becoming frugal.

Prior to the introduction of the ARAL Program, Sto. Domingo National High School (SDNHS) in Albay had its own reading curriculum for struggling readers, namely Project SHARE: School’s Holistic Approach on Reading Enhancement. This program entailed an additional hour every day dedicated to teaching the identified learners across Grades 7 to 10. While it was a difficult task for the three reading teachers of SDNHS, the program ensured daily updates and communication with the learners while forming a stronger connection with them.

With that said, with the implementation of the three-term school calendar, the ARAL Program is now much less likely to be done on a daily basis, being limited to the Instructional Block and the End-of-Term Block. This limits the connection between educator and reader, leading to less engagement and motivation to continue with the ARAL Program.

“Yung changes ng ARAL Program, parang just the same na those students who cannot read or struggling readers attend ARAL Program. But I felt so sad because not all these ARAL beneficiaries attend reading classes. Just this ARAL Summer, out of 61, only 19 learners attended ARAL Reading Program. And there’s no memorandum coming from the DepEd telling about what to do with these learners who do not attend the ARAL Program,” Ma’am Anneline expressed regarding the programmatic changes.

Beyond the changes in the curriculum itself, Ma’am Anneline finds herself frustrated with the reluctance of DepEd to impose sanctions that would allow teachers to retain learners who do not meet the competencies that the grade level asks. This reluctance translates to the students, who reportedly become complacent in attending these programs as they know that they would still pass.

“Ang maximum tolerance palaging follow up, communication with the parents. Wala naman pong sanctions na hindi pwedeng ipasa, kasi hindi siya part ng subject, wala siyang grade, so we really find it difficult to coax, to encourage these learners to attend the ARAL Program because we do not have the authority to sanction the learners who do not attend the reading program. Walang memo na ‘oh, hindi yan makakapasa o mababagsak. Ang magagawa lang namin, encourage.”

[The maximum tolerance is always applied, and communication with parents is consistently done, but there are no sanctions that prevent learners from passing. Since it is not a passing subject and has no grades, it becomes difficult to encourage students to attend the ARAL program because there are no proper consequences for non-attendance in the regular program. There is no memorandum stating that a student will fail or be marked as not passing. What we rely on is purely encouragement.]

Encouragement can only go so far when the root issues of illiteracy are so deeply ingrained in our country. 

Corruption when it comes to the construction of classrooms as seen in the DPWH fiasco, health and malnutrition cases that are more frequent than the programs that supposedly address them, and a general mishandling of the education system that reflects in the statistics that The Second Congressional Commission on Education (EDCOM 2) has reported. These are wounds that cannot be easily remedied by a new school year calendar — and pretending that it is enough to entirely address these issues is akin to pretending that erasing the writings on a chalkboard is enough to fix the cracks that have long surfaced in our classrooms.

“Ang mga programa ng DepEd, lahat magaganda, yung implementation lang. We don’t need a trimester. We need classrooms para hindi na shifting ang schedules. We need facilities, classrooms, chairs, mga technology,” the English teacher added.

[The programs of DepEd are all good, but some fall short with the implementation. We don’t need a trimester. We need classrooms so that there is no shifting of schedules. We need facilities, classrooms, chairs, even materials related to technology.]

Ma’am Anneline is one of thousands of reading teachers in the country who have learned how to sacrifice their own time and efforts for the learners that they teach. When teachers are the ones who carry the brunt of the friction between idealistic solutions and deprived realities, they learn that even their passion for their profession can become frugal.

Settling dust

Like dust slowly gathering after every movement in a room, the weight of constant adaptation begins to settle on students who are always expected to keep up. It is in this space where flexibility turns into fatigue, and survival starts to feel like the default state of learning rather than the exception.

As the alarm rings, and before the day has even begun, another list of deadlines is already waiting.

For many students, school is no longer simply a place for learning. It has become a daily exercise in adaptation — a constant effort to stay organized, keep up with requirements, and preserve enough energy to face the next challenge. Beyond lessons and examinations, learners are now expected to navigate an educational landscape that changes almost as quickly as the world around them.

One student who has lived through this reality is seventeen-year-old Paolo Bayaon, an incoming Grade 12 student navigating school life with structure born not from comfort, but from necessity.

For him, every week begins with careful planning. Using scheduling applications, he lays out tasks, projects, and assessments long before due dates arrive. It is a strategy developed not for excellence alone, but for survival to avoid the risk of falling into endless cramming sessions.

Even rest has to be scheduled. His academic responsibilities are kept separate from personal and social activities whenever possible. 

In moments like these, students learned to depend on themselves more than the system. Flexibility was no longer just a skill taught in school as it became something they had to live out daily, even when they were already tired.

Even subjects that once inspired enthusiasm can become difficult under these circumstances.

Basic Calculus, which Paolo once liked, slowly became something he simply had to get through. The focus gradually shifted from understanding ideas to simply keeping up with deadlines. 

“Hindi sapat na maging ‘flexible’ ang mga estudyante kung ang mismong sistema ay marupok at paiba-iba. Ang tunay na reporma ay hindi nakikita sa pabago-bagong polisiya, kundi sa katatagan at kalinawan ng direksyong inilalatag para sa bawat mag-aaral.” he said. 

[It is not enough for students to be flexible if the system itself is fragile and constantly changing. True reform is not seen in shifting policies, but in the stability and clarity of direction given to every learner.]

The experiences of individual students reveal a broader concern within the Philippine education system. For years, reforms have been introduced with the goal of improvement, yet many learners and educators continue to face uncertainty brought about by shifting policies and changing approaches. Instead of providing stability, these frequent adjustments often leave schools adapting to new expectations before previous initiatives have fully taken root.

The consequences have become increasingly visible. Recent findings showing that more than 1.3 million Senior High School learners struggle with basic reading and comprehension highlight challenges that cannot be ignored. Such figures point to deeper issues within educational structures and implementation.

What makes the situation even more concerning is that education consistently receives a significant share of the national budget where it received ₱1.015 trillion this year. Despite this investment, many students still encounter obstacles that hinder meaningful learning and development.

For now, learners and teachers continue to do what they have always done: adapt. They also create schedules, search for resources, teach themselves unfamiliar lessons, and find ways to keep moving forward. 

Yet education should not be a test of endurance alone.

Broken pieces left behind

As dust settles, what becomes visible are not just the changes made, but the fragments left behind by constant adjustment.

For years, Philippine education has been a landscape of constant change. Yet for many students, the experience has felt less like moving forward and more like walking across a bridge that is still under construction.

The signs are visible in everyday learning. Modules intended to guide independent study often contain printing mistakes, unclear instructions, and lessons that leave students struggling to interpret the material on their own. Subjects that should inspire curiosity and meaningful discussion are frequently reduced to a series of tasks that must simply be completed and submitted. Learning becomes a race to meet deadlines rather than an opportunity to understand ideas.

Imagine a house that undergoes renovation every year. New rooms are built, walls are repainted, and furniture is rearranged. From the outside, it appears modern and constantly improving. But beneath the surface, cracks remain in the foundation. No matter how many additions are made, the structure cannot reach its full strength until those cracks are repaired.

Meaningful improvement requires attention not only to what is new but also to what already exists. Instead of rushing toward another wave of experimentation, educational institutions such as the Department of Education (DepEd) and the Commission on Higher Education (CHED) could focus on strengthening the systems currently in place.

The issue extends beyond policy and curriculum. It also raises questions about accountability. With a significant amount of budget yearly, many learners still face difficulties with fundamental literacy. The challenge is not merely how much is invested, but how effectively those resources translate into quality learning experiences for students.

Students should not have to rely on survival instincts to overcome unclear lessons, inconsistent systems, or constantly changing expectations. Schools are meant to be places where young people can develop confidence, discover their strengths, and cultivate a lifelong love of learning.

The success of an educational system is not measured by how often it changes, but by how well it supports those within it. For too long, adaptability has been expected from students and teachers while consistency has remained elusive.

The future of the nation is shaped in its classrooms. When learners are given strong foundations, they gain the ability not only to succeed academically but also to contribute meaningfully to society. Building such a future begins with a simple but essential commitment: creating an education system stable enough to nurture potential, strong enough to help every student thrive.

Truly, schools are often called the second home of students and teachers. Yet, do they still find within its walls the kind of comfort that allows them to learn without fear, to think without pressure, to teach without exhaustion, and to slowly make a sense of a world that already feels too fast to understand?

For it to be a place called home, it must feel like something students and teachers are constantly trying to survive inside. A home does not shift its ground every time people finally learn how to stand on it.

Because no one should have to keep relearning where they belong just to continue learning at all.