My Grade 3 year was a time of quiet resilience, small triumphs, and innocent hopes. I may not have been in the top section, nor came from a well-off family, but I learned how to stand tall in my own little way, by trying, even if it meant to pretend. It was a year that taught me that even when the world tries to define your worth by numbers or possessions, your effort will not always be left unnoticed, because it speaks louder than you could imagine.
Downgraded to a lower section
I had a feeling my Grade 2 teacher didn’t like me much, so when I was enrolled to Grade 3, I ended up in Section Four. Back then, your intellectual ability was judged by which section you were in, Section One was for the top students, and the lower sections were often unfairly seen as where the “least smart” were placed. My teacher that year was Mrs. Abao, who was probably in her early or late forties.
Still doing my best in school
Just like in prior year, I was never left behind in class. I kept up well and even competed with some of the brightest pupils, like a girl named Marissa Buaya. She was sharp and quick on her feet, definitely a tough one to beat. We often participated in classroom contests where we’d stand in a line between desks, and for every correct answer, we’d take one step forward. Whoever reached the front first was hailed as the brightest in class.
That year, I learned more English and Filipino grammar, and extended my math skills to include multiplication, division, and a little bit of fractions.
Trying to win my teachers attention
But more than anything, I had a strong desire to impress my teacher. Maybe it was because I felt unwanted back in Grade 2, and this time, I craved my teacher’s attention and approval. One time, after our periodical test, I scored very high, just two mistakes. Another student had the same score. Mrs. Abao congratulated us both but expressed doubt, suspecting that someone might have cheated. But I knew I didn’t. It turned out that our scores were the highest in the entire Grade 3 level, even though we were only from Section Four. The brightest students were supposedly in Section One.
One embarrassing moment
I truly enjoyed the company of my classmates. No one bullied me, and we all got along well. But one morning during gardening time, I had an embarrassing but amusing experience. My classmates and I started throwing lumps of clay at a wall near the Industrial Arts building. I was the one who initiated the mischief. We were laughing and having fun, until Mr. Abasolo, the Industrial Arts teacher, suddenly came out and caught us. We were scolded right away. Trying to defend myself, I said, “You see, I threw stones to remove the clay from the wall!” I knew it was a poor excuse, I just wanted to save myself from embarrassment.
Pretending to be someone else just to impress
Because I wanted so badly to make a good impression on my teacher, I often tried to hide the fact that we weren’t well-off. During fundraisings, I would eagerly raise my hand to contribute, even when it wasn’t required. I would insist to my mother to give me money, no matter how tight things were at home.
I remember one time, I asked Mama for two pesos for a school fundraising project. The next day, I proudly handed it to the teacher right away. To my surprise, I was the first and the last to contribute. Nobody else gave anything. I felt a wave of regret. Two pesos was a big amount for us in those days. Looking back, I realized I could have kept the money to myself without telling anyone, not even Mama. But I wanted so much to be seen as someone who could give, someone who belonged.
I won the attention of my teacher
Still, my efforts didn’t go unnoticed. On several occasions, my teacher invited me and another classmate selectively to visit her house, especially when there was some kind of an occasion.
Too ashamed to sell candies
On another occasion, my mother gave me coconut candies to sell at school. I liked the idea at first, mainly because of the commission. But when I got to class, I suddenly felt ashamed. I thought it might look degrading. So I stayed quiet the whole day. Just before dismissal, I finally mustered the courage and told my classmates, “I have coconut candies. Do you want some?”, without telling them they were for sale. When I got home, my mother was furious. I hadn’t sold anything, and only a few candies were left.
A child born in between has to content with left-overs
We were a big family, and Mama couldn’t always afford our school needs. When the school bag I inherited from my older brother wore out, Mama sewed me a new one using leftover fabric on her sewing machine. One day, a girl from the neighborhood noticed it and exclaimed, “Ninduta bag nimo, Uly, a!” (Uly, your bag is so nice!), not so bad. We called her Jica, short for Jessica Cabaluna.
The president's feeding program
Even though this was during the martial law era under the late Pres. Ferdinand Marcos, we still found a little contentment. At school, there was a feeding program by the government especially for indigent children to curb hunger. They called it Nutriban. There was a free bread and milk. We jokingly called the bread, “pan de ok-ok” (cockroach bread), because it smelled oddly like cockroach, maybe because of the low, quality flour. But my favorite was the skim milk powder.
During recess time, I was one of the many children who lined up for it. And no matter what it was made of, that bread filled our stomachs.
As for my friends, I can still recall a few names: Julius, Francisco, Roel and Eulogio, who also happened to be our neighbor in Kabulihan.