THE CLASSROOMS OF AHS

tell me.

how can one learn from rickety and worn out chairs, chalk-smeared blackboards, broken jalousie windows, and creaking floors of old ahs? they defied the principles of education and educational psychology taught in normal schools. like all government schools, they decried of old age and neglect, yet proud of the many who passed by its portals.

but this is much better than the pre-fabricated marcos-type classrooms we had when were first year. when it rained, they drowned our lessons and attention.

at least ours was cooler, and if ever we sweated, it was not because of the heat but due to the difficult physics and pilipino exams. but here, the chairs and the walls boasted of hieroglypics written by ancients unknown. the wiser of us, called those on the chairs, "codigos" and those on the walls, "love notes".

we were summoned to and from classes by a defused world war II vintage american bomb now being used as the bell. for whom the bell tolled i exactly never knew.

but this enclave had shaped us. here, rizal inspired us, experienced love like shakespeare, suffered despair like edgar allan poe. here, minds were formed, talents were honed, and ambitions were cloned. here, we longed to be free.

i was consoled by a slogan written on the walls of the trade school near our home. it said, "the roots of education are bitter, but the fruits are sweet". surely, they did not mean camotes or cassava.

fittingly, i look back, great men are made of these.

even from rickety and worn-out chairs.