via Ariel Jansen T. Almendra
Did the school really give my name? Or was it my hardship—and the teachers who saw potential in me—that opened the doors I now walk through?
This thought hit me like a wave after hearing certain words that made me question everything. Sometimes, people are so quick to say, “The school made you who you are.” But when I look back, I can’t help but ask—was it really the school, or was it the journey I went through inside it?
Let’s be real. A school is just a place—a system, a structure. But what gives it life are the people inside: the students who strive, the teachers who care, and the small moments that shape who we become. It wasn't the administration’s name that comforted me when I failed a quiz, or stayed up late reviewing for exams, or guided me when I was lost—it was the teachers who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
I’m not disregarding the institution, but I think there’s a big difference between the school and the people in it. The administration might be the face of the institution, but the real heart lies in the classrooms—in the effort of every teacher who goes beyond their duty, and in every student who pushes through sleepless nights just to prove they can.
Maybe that’s what triggered me—the constant credit being given to “the school,” as if my achievements are part of some ownership they can claim. But my name, my progress, and my story were built on my own hardships, the sacrifices I made, and the teachers who opened doors—not the walls or offices that never saw the struggle.
At the end of the day, I’m not ungrateful. I recognize the platform that the school provided. But I’ll never forget that what truly made me grow weren’t the titles or systems, but the people and the pain that molded me.
So no, the school didn’t give me my name.
I earned it—with hard work, with resilience, and with teachers who never stopped believing.
