One falls move and an epic Malipunyo to Manabu attempt

My entire body hurts, even my normally quiet toenails are complaining.  A few days ago I, together with eight other people whom I have met for the first time, and Jun Dio, a former student for 2 or 3 meetings when I substituted for their ailing professor in Literature, and with whom I share a kindred affinity for curiosity and creativity, embarked on an ambitious trek that, at least on a best laid-out plan, would take us across the Malipunyo mountain range, more popularly known as Malarayat, in around 10 hours and a handful of bumps and grinds.

But like in any best laid-out plan, everything must work out as expected to get the desired result. Now here lies the problem. The level of difficulty for a hike on either Malipunyo or Manabu is rated easy to moderate, but an attempt on both, with three minor peaks in between in a single go by a group of reasonably fit but mostly newbie members, under wet conditions and minimal preparation (this was called by Jun on a 2 days notice), easily bumps this trek into the "Are you serious?" category.

Like children who didn't know any better -- apparently, we were.

Led by our local guide Rey Lobo, our team immediately setttled into a chatty line as we slowly snaked our way from the slightly inclined rocky road at the edge of the mountain where an early morning blue sky made the grass on our feet glisten with yesterday's rain, up to the slippery single mud tracks that signalled the end of the road for most motorized vehicles, and finally to a path that took us over wet boulders either enveloped with delicate moss or bordered by giant ferns. Irregularly lacing the ground were giant root stumps, indicating that the sky above was now replaced by an impressive canopy of towering trees, with branches adorned by curtains of vines and beautiful parasitic plants that are prized as decoratives in lowland gardens.

Because I'd like to ensure that no one is left behind and I have the tendency to stop and inspect anything that calls my attention, I designated myself as the team sweeper.

Always eager for moments of serendipity, my eyes were peeled like airport scanners for interesting details such as intricate cobwebs made by clever spiders, luminous butterflies that slice the air with playful rainbows, gaudy flowers that host nectar parties for insect pollinators, fruits that look edible and dangerous at the same time, wild orchids and bromeliads that wrap around trees like verdant, thorny snakes, and oddly shaped or colored rocks, wood and debris that, with some imagination, form anything from a musical instrument to a frozen animal, or any random object that the mind can conjure.

 My ears are also tuned in for the slightest rustle of small animals, the raucous cacophony of insects and frogs in wet bogs, and the melodious calls of birds searching for mates.  But what intrigued me the most was the flirtatious sound of gurgling water, gliding and colliding with rocks as it finds its way downstream.  I didn't see it just yet, but I knew that we were traversing parallel to a body of water.

I was the last to arrive at a rocky promontory where my hikemates have settled on top of boulders, resting and preparing for the obligatory selfie poses as white foamy river water eased its way through giant rocks, seemingly in a hurry to  get away, leaving sprays of mist in its wake.

There was the unmistakable drumming sound  of cascading water -- loud and nonstop. As I joined the group, there to the right was the most enthralling sight I have seen in a while: a beautiful waterfall with sparkling mountain liquid pouring down on a shallow wading pool -- perfect as a backdrop for a nice photograph.

But I had no time for pictures; that can wait;I had to do what I felt was necessary at the time. As soon as I parked my hiking bag on a boulder, I dipped one foot in the ice-cold water, placed the other forward, and then the other until my face felt the soft dribble of cool water instantly washing the exhaustion away, my arms spread wide, palms open in thanksgiving for the refreshing shower that literally came from heaven. It was bliss in wet perfection.

I heard squeals of envy, "Wooow, parang ang sarap!"  Apparently, it was only I who heard the call to immerse myself under the falls.

After a few minutes of having the wet pleasure all to myself, Sharmaine took off her baseball cap and waded in, screaming in delight in what I already knew was the feel of heaven.  Claudine followed, doing the same.

And then there were two

In a little while, half of the pack was under the water, with the boys still resisting, but not too long. Eventually, we were all -- except for Jun who took on the responsibility of preserving the moment in photos, and Rael (both  eventually joining) -- side by side, screaming and hollering in delight like young children who had experienced bathing under the rain for the first time.

And there were 9

The water came from all the way from the top of the mountain, travelling through cracks and crevices just to reach this point, the least we could do was to meet it halfway. It was 10 minutes of shared, unexpected magic.
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Then it was time to continue our hike; we were just barely two hours into the 10-hour trek.

The path noticeably became steeper and the terrain more unpredictable, with only protruding roots and shrubs serving as handholds to protect the climber from a potential accident.  The slick trail created by intermittent rain, as well as our wet shoes' diminished traction all but ensured that slipping and butt smashes would happen with regularity. With me bringing up the rear, our contingent was transformed into a 30-meter long conga line of grunting, yelling and cursing wet climbers.

All around us was pristine forest, dark and imposing when seen from afar, humbling and breathtaking when experienced up close.  That a trail was carved at all in this dense jungle, including one that tunnels through a thick tangle of thorny bamboos, speaks so much about the creativity and determination of the trail maker to make something out of practically nothing at all; producing an adventure that is challenging as it is mesmerizing.

The problem with getting an extreme high at the waterfalls is that actually summiting Malipunyo comes more as a relief than a victory.  There were no high-fives and primal yells. The 360 degree view of surrounding areas, including Lipa where we came from, San Pablo, Cuenca, Tagaytay and just about every major  mountain in the Batangas-Laguna-Quezon corridor serving nothing more than an interesting conversation topic, rather than a must-selfie panorama, which it actually is.

Our conquest of the Malipunyo peak was so exciting that it lulled us to sleep after gobbling a quick lunch.

The hike to Manabu required us to retrace our steps until we reach a trail that connects us to it, which was easier said than done, especially that the trail was wet, muddy, slippery, and the shrubs and vegetation that one may use to arrest a fall or control a descent are treacherously laced with unassuming plants that have prickly thorns that can inflict anything from irritating itches to serious puncture wounds. Going down was slow and laborious, to say the least.  And if I may add, noisy.

Sweeping for a 10-man group that does not stay close together can be a bit stressful and tiring, especially when I hear sudden yells from blind spots.  I am relieved when it is followed by laughter or teasing, or both, which meant that it was nothing more serious than a quick roll on the mud, which happened to me twice, with one creating a particularly loud thud that Gibo, who was a few feet ahead of me, asked with an extended hand in case I needed help getting up, "Sir, okay ka lang?" I can only offer a rather embarrassed smile as my butt down to my legs were splayed helplessly on the ground, with only my backpack saving me from a total wipeout.

I like Gibo, he is a grounded kid, always mindful of his mother's reminders and his younger brother's safety as he negotiated the trail ahead of him.  He is also quick-witted. Margie -- anointed the group's Trail Queen because she has registered the most falls, often punctuated by sharp but short bursts of screams, yelps, squeals or crisp curses -- made another two-foot slider, which prompted her to pierce the silence with the unscientific term for the female genitalia.  She did this with such desperation and alarm in her voice that it was as if that this mysterious object was either missing or about to appear from thin air. Gibo seamlessly retorted: Saan? Margie kept the location secret though, so we continued moving down the trail, one sliding foot at a time, convinced that it was probably in a safe place.

After 6 hours of hiking, my body was already feeling the exertion, with aches and creaks appearing here and there, none of which was more bothersome than at the right side of my right knee, which stiffened and throbbed every time I stepped forward, and shot a jolting pain that travelled all over my right side when I had to bend it.  It was as if someone who had an ax to grind against me, perhaps someone I mercilessly bullied in highschool, suddenly decided to stop grinding the ax and smashed the wooden handle on my knee instead.

When we resumed the hike after a brief stopover at another trail guide's hut, I decided that it would be best to relinquish my sweeper duties to Jun and slotted myself right behind Mang Rey, our guide.  By this time, the sky had become ominously dark, crackling thunder rolling around the mountain range like a sadistic warden rattling his baton along the cells' steel bars. Rain was inevitable.

The tree in the middle are actually two trees that, for some reason or another, merged atop where they met.

Mang Rey was afflicted with polio when he was six years old, leaving him with a slight limp.  He also had involuntary movement in his left arm, which was constantly bent at the elbow, his wrist raised up to his shoulder. Because his head was slightly tilted to his left, Mang Rey appeared to be talking to someone on an imaginary phone, except that his hand kept swiveling at the wrist, his fingers almost balled to what resembled a half-hearted fist, with thumb and index fingers slightly pointed outward as if holding a precious stone, and the other three fingers delicately trapping a spider in a small gap between the hand.

With thunder booming and the sky turning even darker, it was a bit disconcerting to see Mang Rey's hand twirl counter-clockwise at the wrist, his two independent-minded fingers suggesting a retreat. After 7 hours of walking, we were closer to the end of the hike than its beginning so there was no way we were turning back.  I didn't want Mang Rey's hand to play mindgames on me so I decided to look down on his feet instead as they continuously moved one step ahead of the other. This, unfortunately, reminded me of my aching knee.

And the rain fell.  In light, intermittent trickle at first, then in vigorous regularity that lasted until we went down.

We exited the forest to a trail bordered by shoulder-high grass. Now there were no longer trees to shield us from the rain.  The only consolation was that had the sun been up, then we would be at its blistering mercy.  Instead, it was cool and pleasant.  We were hiking in a sea of clouds not unlike the famed airscape of Mt. Pulag.

Finally, after eight hours we reached Biak na Bundok, the penultimate peak before Manabu. The regular downpours from the previous weeks have turned the cogon grass verdant and lush, which appeared bathed in mist as clouds embraced our presence and clothed the entire surroundings, including the neighboring peaks and the air where the sky should be with a delicate silhouette of gray gossamer.  It could have been more mesmerizing and calming, except for the fact that we were drenched, tired, and desperately running out of daylight to accomplish our mission of scaling Manabu before heading back to civilization.

It was on this peak that it was decided that our next destination would be Barangay Talisay, where we kickstarted the day, instead of the final summit of Manabu.

We were on our way down when I began to hear voices from my toenails, particularly from the bunch from my left foot.  Because I had to alleviate the pressure from my right knee, I consciously shifted more weight to my left, especially when going down a trail, which my toes did not exactly appreciate as they had to carry most of the weight. Soon enough, I knew at least one toenail was broken as pain impulses echoed in my brain every time I had to put weight on my left foot.  Then it began to talk: Ick... Ick... Ick!  Not to be outdone, my left knee came out with its own distinct language: Aarrgg... Aarrgg... Aarrgg!

Soon, I was trodding under the rain with the chorus Ick-Aargg...Ick-Aargg... Ick-Aargg...Ick-Aargg playing in a crazy loop in my head.  It was not amusing.

But I was not the only one hurting.  All around me were undying declarations of pain: Ang sakit ng paa ko, Ang sakit ng hita ko, Ang sakit ng likod ko, Inaantok ako, Ang sakit na daliri ko, Ang sakit ng kamay ko, Ang sakit ng tinik ko...

Claudine though had a bigger problem.  She told her parents she would be out to shoot a school project. So aside from dealing with her collection of pain, she also had to device a fool-proof plan to convince her folks that she did what she said she would do.

But I had to give it to these kids.  While everyone was feeling some form of discomfort or another, none was complaining or swearing to give up mountaineering and all its self-inflicted torture altogether like many their age readily would.

Conversations turned to lighter things when the trail leveled to an unnoticeable descent, notably of the creature comfort variety: what to eat and where, what to do and how, who to be with and why. And yes, of course,because the next day was a Monday -- the constants of reality: school, work, daily grind.  We completed the 10-hour trek one peak short of our goal.  But no one seemed to mind.

My knee and toenails have stopped talking since.  We all are now back in our respective realities, each consumed with his/her own pursuits and missions in life.  But for ten hours on that particular Sunday, we shared this:

First row:  TJ Lamang, Gibo Mejillano, Rael Villavicencio Tan; Second row: Geraldo Mejillano, The Wet Biker, Sharmaine Castillo; Third row: Vanessa Carino, Claudine Catipan, Margie Maughan; Dulo: Jun Dio (Sorry sa mga taklob ang mukha, ito lang pic na ito ang kumpleto tayo:)

Photo credits to Sharmaine Castillo, Gibo Mejillano and Jun Dio

Idealism: The Mindset of People Who Think They Can Change The World

Idealism: The Mindset of People Who Think

They Can Change The World 

A Narrative Inquiry

By

Marcial I. Enginco

MA, Educational Psychology

UP Diliman, College of Education

For

Prof. Maribel R. Gaite

Methods in Educational Research

INTRODUCTION

Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino once famously declared, “The Filipino is worth dying for.” During that time, the Philippines was ruled by an iron-fist dictator – Ferdinand Marcos -- who used the might of the military and the police to intimidate the citizenry into turning a blind eye on the widespread abuse and corruption in the government, which was also undermining the moral foundations of a society still struggling to find its identity.  While Marcos and his cronies were wallowing in gold and ambition, the rest of the country was quickly spiraling into debt and despair.  Those who refused to be cowered chose to speak out; using the ember of truth to light fire in the hearts of people who have grown comfortable with their fear.   Scores among them were arrested, jailed and tortured; they were the lucky ones, they survived to tell their tale.  Many simply disappeared into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.   Others opted for armed struggle where a fate of either a violent end or a life of a breathing, crawling shadow awaited.

Ninoy Aquino became the face of the opposition.  He, too, has a story; told and retold by people eager to extol his greatness, hoping that those who will hear his tale will be inspired to do great things as he did.

Ninoy came from a powerful political clan in Tarlac.  And this influence and potential was further magnified when he married into the landed Cojuangcos, also of the same province. He was ambitious, intelligent, and eloquent; quickly capturing the imagination of the populace secretly pining for a force that will change the course of its miserable history, as well as the ire of Marcos who saw in Aquino the glib likeability that he once possessed but lost as he greedily sought permanency in power.

Like many of his peers who demanded change, Ninoy was also arrested, tortured and jailed.  But instead of serving to dampen the spirit of oppositionists, Aquino’s incarceration served as a glaring example of the regime’s lust for power and allegiance to brutality, which further, albeit slowly, shoveled fuel to the growing unrest.  Ever cunning, Marcos found a weakness in Aquino and a way to minimize the impact of the opposition leader’s growing defiance – his failing heart condition.  At the specter of dying uneventfully in his tiny jail cell, Ninoy accepted a heart bypass operation and eventual exile to the US.

At a time when the world wide web was not even a dream and long distance communication was limited to telephone calls and telex (which was a limited text messaging device also hooked to the telephone), and mass media was but a couple of censored networks and newspapers, Aquino’s health issues, distance and apparent settling into a more quiet, domesticated life in Boston, meant that Marcos was able to enjoy some breathing space from the person whom many considered as the one who can and would topple him from power.

The 70s to the 80s was a crucial juncture in modern Philippine history as exported Filipino labor, and essentially brain drain and migration, became practically a state-sponsored phenomenon.  And in the US Ninoy, his wife Cory and their children were enjoying their best times as a family; peace, togetherness and normalcy built around routine and predictability -- things that were cruelly denied them in the Philippines -- were theirs, permanently if they wished.  For many Filipinos, the privilege afforded the Aquinos meant not only a fresh start, but a way out of the political and economic quicksand of their nation. But to Ninoy, his time away from his homeland only strengthened his resolve that something must be done, and whatever that was, it had to be done going home.

Ninoy believed that he was meant for greater things, and this purpose went beyond what was good for himself and his family.  He was certain that it was his responsibility to the people to return. In his mind he alone, dead or alive, can lead the nation against Marcos, who was reportedly seriously ill that time, but who still had absolute control over the military and the nation’s coffers.

There was a sense of inevitability and acceptance in Ninoy’s demeanor when he, aboard that fateful China Airlines plane, intimated to reporters: “My feeling is that we all have to die some time. Now, if it's my fate to die by an assassin's bullet, so be it. But I can't be petrified by inaction, or fear of assassination and therefore stay in one corner. I have to suffer with my people. I have to lead them because of the responsibility given to me by our people.”

            The reporters’ television cameras followed Ninoy as he got up his seat and walked down the aisle towards the plane’s exit, a few seconds later, shots were heard and the nation’s history turned on its axis.

Difficult times and the rise of Idealists

Benigno  Aquino was an idealist, a visionary; in his mind, he saw the kind of life that Filipinos can have if they are free and able to pursue opportunities without fear or favor.  That Marcos loomed large to cloud that vision only made Aquino more passionate and determined about his self-imposed mission.

It would seem that difficult times give occasion for certain personalities to rise above the crowd, confidently and passionately showing them that things will be better.  Nelson Mandela emerged from 27 years in prison to end apartheid.  Bono of the Irish rock band U2 uses his clout and connections to raise hundreds of millions of dollars to stave off starvation in Africa.  Mother Teresa gave new meaning to compassion by taking care of the poorest and lowest classes of India.  Malala Yousafzai, then a Pakistani 15-year old student, survived the bullets of Taliban assassins who targeted her for her insistence to continue her schooling.  At 17, she became the youngest Nobel Peace Prize winner for her campaign on women’s rights, particularly to equal access to education.

The power of one person to change the lives of many and alter the world as we know it is rare but real and should never be underestimated nor ignored. What distinguishes the real game-changers from ordinary dreamers is their supreme confidence that, no matter the circumstance or seeming hopelessness of a situation, or how heavy the sacrifice may be, he can and will effect the change that he so desires.  This kind of mindset is what makes idealists such unique and potent individuals, worthy not only of appreciation but, more importantly, of emulation.

Understanding the Idealist’s Mindset

However, any attempt to use an idealist’s perspective as a template for molding one’s character, especially of students, begins with understanding how such a personality is formed and transformed, acquired and developed by looking into events, experiences and personalities that have contributed, in one way or another, to the development of such a transformative outlook in life.  Likewise, it is also important to examine significant junctions in the lives of the idealist to understand how such life decisions have led – serendipitously or by design into such a very ambitious role and/or purpose. 

This study will attempt to understand the mindset of idealists by closely examining the lives of two exemplars of idealism: Tony Meloto, of Gawad Kalinga, who dreams of a first-world Philippines where everyone has a roof over his head, abundant job and entrepreneurial opportunities to pursue, and genuine love for nation and compassion for others, and; Efren Penaflorida who believes that he can take away teenage gang members from a life of crime, violence and failed dreams into the realm of community, productivity and purpose through education.  Penaflorida was named CNN Hero for 2009 for his pioneering effort of bringing education to the slums through his roving library set on a kariton, a wooden pushcart.

The researcher will conduct a narrative inquiry into the personal and professional lives of the two subjects.

Idealism in schools

Different schools have different ideals.  Ateneo de Manila extols its students to be Man/Woman for Others, De La Salle molds its scholars in Religion, Morals and Culture, while University of Santo Tomas inculcates in theirs that there is Truth in Charity, UP simply instructs its men and women to go, Serve the People with honor and excellence.

None of these ideals, however, are individually taught in the respective schools as a specific subject or domain to master, but rather the sum total of values and teachings that may be learned, gleaned and experienced through various subjects, disciplines and activities.   While each university may have varying perspective to what is ideal, all share in the basic foundation that the internalized values are meant to be shown outwardly, with the larger public and community benefiting from such high moral grounding.  At least that’s how, on paper, it is designed to work.  You would think that with all the graduates of these universities proudly stepping into all kinds of fields and communities that social, economic and political ills will be extinguished, or at least diminished, and that the world will grow more humane and concerned for the whole, and not just for a part – sadly, that is not the case.  

In reality, many graduates of the top schools, UP included, leave their alma mater, ready to conquer the world, but not serve, change or better it.  Not a few of the best educated but with questionable motives end up in politics, business and industries; perpetuating inequalities that their alma maters instructed them to douse.

Ninoy Aquino must now be stirring in his grave.  His sacrifice has freed his countrymen from decades of silence.  But instead of rising up to empower themselves and their communities, many have grown dependent on what others can do for them.  And in the age of the internet and social media, many are making up for the years of being voiceless by making ranting and complaining a default mechanism to just about every problem that comes their way.  The Philippine society has grown noisy, not active.  That two of Ninoy’s immediate family members were catapulted to the highest position in the land, with varying degrees of success and missteps, did not succeed in bringing to total fruition Ninoy’s vision for his countrymen.

There are so many things that so many people can do to improve their or their community’s station.  But unfortunately, there are a lot more cynics than doers.  And those in the middle who are willing to help foster change are just waiting for leaders to show them what to do, and convince them with the sheer strength of their personality that it can be done.  We need heroes, idealists; those with the mindset that can tune out the noise and the apparent improbability of a cause to actually do something about what bothers them. 

I believe that a school’s ideals, as encapsulated in their mottos, should be revisited and examined if they are actually taking root in the way their students think and behave.  Failure of the students to imbibe such lofty principles is the failure of school to contribute better citizens and human beings.  By understanding why idealists think and behave the way they do, I believe that the information that will be gathered from this research will help educators – administrators, school psychologists, teachers -- to examine, recalibrate and direct their values formation to include such discovery.

Every person has the capacity and potential for greatness.  But how one accounts, interprets and integrates the lessons from his life’s challenges, decisions and circumstances often dictate which  finds, recognizes and uses this immense power and which one lets it slip away, often, not knowing that it was even there.  Essentially, idealism is a set of character traits – a mindset that allows and even compels one to take on challenges that many consider too big, too impractical, and too impossible for one person to think about, let alone accomplish.  

This research, Idealism: The Mindset of People Who Think They Can Change The World aims to identify and discuss this unique combination of traits by examining, observing and analyzing, through the lens of narrative inquiry, the lives of known idealists Tony Meloto and Efren Penaflorida.

When spiders were more interesting than girls

I am flooded with memories every time I attend mass at the Fernando Air Base Chapel, where I was, a long time ago, an altar boy.  It must have been some kind a covenant made by our parents with God that everyone of us six Enginco boys would serve because I somehow found myself reluctantly following the footsteps of my Kuyas who have distinguished themselves as dutiful servants.  If I had my way, I’d be happier looking for spiders in far away fields and playing basketball at the plaza, instead.  I had the shortest tenure among all of us because I entered rather late and retired rather early. 

But I learned a lot of life lessons as an altar boy.

If you don’t know yet, the most important part of the mass is the ringing of the bell, which happens four times during the celebration; first, when the priest blesses the hosts by placing both his hands, palms down, over the chalice, second and third, when he offers the host by raising it so that the congregation will see, then the wine by doing the same, and lastly, when he drinks the wine which signals that everyone must now fall in line to partake of the feast.

For some reason, I found myself the only altar boy in the chapel one Saturday afternoon that a wedding was to be officiated.  It was not unusual for only one acolyte to serve in a mass, but it was for me because it was my first time.  The thing with being on a solo mission atop the altar is that you have no one to exchange furtive glances or elbows to the side with when you spot something, or someone interesting in the crowd.  So I did what I would normally do when left alone -- use my imagination to go some place.  That was when the revelation of the most important part of the mass dawned on me.

The wedding was going along fine, the bride and groom already delivered their respective agreement to hook up with one another for the rest of their lives with no one from the audience making a dramatic last minute plea, “Itigil ang kasal!”  As far as everyone was concerned, they were already married save for the honeymoon and the first official married kiss, which the priest will later on permit.

It was when I was kneeling on the merciless marble floor that the revelation happened.  At first, I thought it was God himself talking to me in my trance.  But when I came to, it was Father Oarga, his face so close to mine I could clearly make out the pockmarks on his cheeks.  I was tempted to name each one of them after the moon’s craters but he was saying something so urgent, his voice so deep and serious, like an extended sigh married to a grovel.  I was convinced a sacred secret was being passed on by a master to a disciple – Yuuuunnngggg belllllll….

Oh.  I missed it, didn’t I?  Twice, in fact. 

But not the third one, when I rang it so loud I must have made up for the lost two.  And certainly not the last, which signaled that my most favorite part of the mass would follow when I will have the chance to place a plate under a massgoer’s head, which would trigger the devout to stick out his/her tongue, which would then prompt the priest to place a host on it as a reward for falling in line.

Father Oarga rarely talked to me.  And his silence became complete after that incident.  I interpreted it as an unspoken command never to reveal the most important part of the mass to anyone.  But as great secrets go, I just had to let it out to free me from the burden of keeping it.

I didn’t know if I did not put out the proper solemn face when serving, or if I was not trusted enough to do the right thing at the right time because I have never been assigned to carry out the most regale and dramatic roles that an altar boy could ever play, such as carrying the burning incense which swung from a bronze chain, or lugging the large crosses, or ringing the wooden bell called matraca, which made a distinct takatakatakataka sound.  For a change, I would have loved to tak-tak-takatakatakatak-tak-tak it to provide some fresh rhythm to special ceremonies.   

But there was one role particularly reserved for  me though. And this came during Holy Week when Christ’s body, loaded on a carosa, would go around the military base in a long and winding procession.  This time I would be handed a very long pole and my duty was to go ahead of the caravan to look for low lying electric lines or protruding branches, which I would then raise with my instrument until the carosa passes by without a hitch.  It was not pretty, but I got the job done.

One of the reasons why many adolescent boys want to become a member of the Knights of the Altar is that it is one, if not the best way to meet girls.  And in summer, we had our counterparts – the catechists, whom we’d like to be around with most of the time.  With no sisters in the family, my only knowledge about interacting with the long-haired ones consisted mostly of my exposure to girl classmates in school.  But the only thing I knew about them is that they don’t like games for every time I tug on their hair or put thrash over it, they cry.  Same thing happens when I’d like to hear the sound that straps of trainer bras make on their back, or when I pull the chair under a girl who was about to take a seat.  Girls cry when you play games on them.  That much, I knew.

Now, there was one particular catechist who took interest in me: Charity.  I was in Grade Six, she was in first year.   She was pretty.  So pretty, that I didn't know what she saw in me, because at that time, I rarely looked at the mirror so that I could find out for myself.  But there she was, inside the church every time I was at the altar, whether it's on a Saturday, Sunday or Wednesday.  Apparently, she knew my schedule better than I did because she regularly checked on our assigned masses, which was posted on a bulletin board at the back of the church.

I would know where she was seated because just when everyone was quiet, Charity would make a sound with her throat – Eherm, eherm.  She would smile when my eyes located her presence.

During my favorite part of the mass, she would fall in line where ever I was assigned to handle the plate.  When it would be her turn to receive communion, I would jab the plate at her neck just hard and sharp enough to make her gag as she takes in the host.  That’s the best I could do.  I mean, as much as I’d like to pull her pretty bangs with my free hand, I just couldn't because the priest, or the lay minister, might slap my hand with his free hand.

Charity would wait for me at the end of the mass.  Sometimes she would hand me a letter.  I always responded with a smile for two reasons:  One, I didn't know what the hell to say to her; Two, because she was so darn pretty that grinning silly made perfect sense for clueless me.

Well, apparently, we were a couple in waiting.  My fellow knights thought so, and so did the other catechists, including Lea, who was also very pretty.  And as a pair, I guess it was mandated under the dating law that I should walk her home after the mass, which sounded strange to me because if she found her way to the church, then she could very well do the same going home.

Those were long, silent, awkward walks.  I didn't know what to talk to her about.  I don’t want to reveal to her that girls have the tendency to cry when they are exposed to me.  And I certainly did not want to boast about what I learned in school because even my teachers were not sure if I was getting anything.  And the more I couldn't tell her what was really on my mind every hour that I was awake – spiders, the ones with long reddish legs and hairy torsos.

I loved fighting spiders.  And I spent a great deal of my free time making long hikes under the scorching sun, alone or with my cousin Adrian, to far away fields where somewhere underneath the leaves and twigs of dried brushes and shrubs hid these fiercely majestic creatures.

I did not have the courage to ask Charity if she liked spiders.  But I was always optimistic that she would pop the question herself.  That never came though.

Charity liked to see me much more often than our once a week date at the church.  One afternoon, as I was inspecting my haul of spiders from a long, hot hunt, I spotted from a distance Charity with Gay, her cousin and best friend, and another cousin who was the prettiest of the three but who was already in fourth year high school, walking towards our home.  I didn’t know what to do then.  So I did what any self-respecting spider-loving-adolescent would do – run as fast as I could, so fast that I would be a blur and they wouldn’t notice me escaping, and so light on my feet that I wouldn’t stir even a speckle of dust that will give them a hint that I was even there.

That incident convinced me one thing: If a girl wanted to see you, she will.  And I think that it was mighty selfish of her to show up unannounced because I could have just as easily hurt myself running away from her.

I was already 5’7” when I was in first year high school.  And I began noticing that I was fast outgrowing the Sotana which garbed my altar service.  While I have grown adept at ringing the bell at the right time, I was also growing conscious of how I stuck out like a sore thumb when I was at the altar.  By then, my passion for spiders had waned, which was replaced with my love for playing basketball where I was in my place, considered a budding superstar.  Though Charity still attended the masses I served, her letters and my budding romance with her were put on hold.

The highlight of my summers became organized basketball where, with my quickness and jumping ability, I was fast gaining the reputation as a must-see player.  During one intense game, I heard a familiar voice sweetly call out my name; it was Gay, smiling.  She was with Charity, and she was very pretty, especially when she was giving me that look.  I did not say hi, I was playing a game.

I still hang around with my sacristant friends when I was in second year high school, but my service at the altar became less frequent.  By then, the sotana which once reached up to my heels was now hanging at my knees.  Donald, a friend who was a head shorter than me, took interest in Charity.  He had sisters and he looked at the mirror more often.  He would walk Charity home, and they had things to talk about.  He eventually became Charity’s first boyfriend.

I still did not understand girls then.  They were just not interested in games.

If you like this, you may also like to read this:http://therealcuriousbiker.blogspot.com/2012/07/basketball-for-small-fries-and-blessing.html

Where Discovery Learning fails and what Statistics ignore

SUMMARY

Using 2 meta-analyses on 164 previous studies, the research aims to investigate the effects of unassisted discovery learning versus explicit instruction, and the effects of enhanced/assisted discovery versus other types of instruction such as explicit direction and unassisted discovery.  After making 580 comparisons, the research revealed that, under most conditions, explicit instructions produced better outcomes than unassisted discovery.  Furthermore, after analyzing 360 comparisons, the researchers concluded that enhanced discovery, which involves preparing, giving instructions, scaffolding and guiding students with immediate feedback produced superior results over unassisted discovery, which, the study suggests, does not benefit learners.  The 164 subject studies were assigned ranks as per its desirability of content, with journals that were appeared in tier 1 and tier 2 publications given the highest ranking, followed by theses and dissertations.  The study was jointly conducted by Louis Alfieri, Patricia Brooks and Naomi J. Aldrich of City University of New York, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum of Kingston University.

INTRODUCTION

Of fish and classrooms

My idea of what discovery learning is prior to reading the study largely hinged on the word discover, and the variables curiosity, creativity, mystery, exploration and freedom, which, to my mind, came hand and glove with it.  It conjured vivid  images of a young, carefree boy, alone in a far away pond on a lazy summer day; eagerly but prematurely yanking his fish hook out of the water at the slightest tug of an unseen fish that he imagines was the size of a dish.  Soon though, he is able to distinguish the nuances between the nibble of a small but colorful Gourami and the sure bite of the edible Tilapia, which he has also realized almost always came in not much bigger than his palm.  And that if he keeps still long enough; a great big catfish will gently slice the water from the edge of the pond, with an army of tiny red fishes, which are actually its fries, jauntily trailing nearby, sprightly and in unison quickly scrambling for the cavernous mouth of the mother fish for safety at the slightest disturbance, say a falling bamboo leaf quietly and gently creasing the surface of the water, or a majestic blue Kingfisher swiftly swooping in from nowhere to catch an unsuspecting Gourami.

But alas, this period of discovery quickly evaporated like a spray of mist on a hot day the moment I read the opening paragraph, giving way instead to a vision of a boy trapped inside a cramped classroom, wondering why everyone seems to be falling in line all the time, and speaking, standing, sitting and all things that once came naturally must now come on the heels of a command, or in deference to a protocol.  School, with its structure, conventions and expectations, is a strange world.  And this can become scary for a child who once believed that discovery learning is unbridled.

Of family and statistics

A child’s academic education, from preschool up to college, is designed to work in stages, with each set of learnings serving as both foundation and link to the next until a point is reached that the student may exit the academe ready to become a productive and, hopefully, responsible member of society – which is basically how the concept of scaffolding works. Because of this highly focused and specialized role, it is incumbent upon educators to impose structure and control, which is loose enough that it may be pushed a little here and there, but is ultimately hard-cased and insulated enough to withstand varying challenges and changes to eventually and consistently deliver what is expected from it: students trained in the rigors of structure.  Hence, it is not just merely a cliché but an apt description that schools shape and mold students to emerge in a certain way – unique in his own right, but ubiquitous in many others.

 I have the joy and privilege of having five older brothers: a lawyer, an architecture major turned writer and editor, an army colonel, a nurse not working as a nurse, an accountant; then myself, a writer, beekeeper, ex-teacher-who-wants-to-be-a-current-teacher, and a graduate student. 

One can say that our individual performances in school, based on commonly accepted criteria, may in itself form an Enginco version of the Bell’s Curve, with my lawyer and Fulbright scholar eldest brother occupying one extreme end, followed closely by my CPA/MBA, and MA in Psychology candidate sibling, and the youngest me – the outlier, the one usually dismissed by statistics as an aberration, at the other end, with everyone else sandwiched in between.  While statistics is a familiar and indispensable tool in research, I believe that every time a person or a phenomenon becomes a faceless number that essential parts of the subject are lost somewhere along the periphery of the measures of central tendency.

Thus, while I wanted to concentrate my discussion on the central findings of this study, the constant resurfacing of recollection from my school years as I read and analyzed the journal has nudged me a bit off tangent, compelling me to write about how I think schooling is stifling creativity and curiosity in many students, and how research is unwittingly justifying it with the use of statistics.

DISCUSSION AND ANALYSIS

Of discovery and the perils of efficient learning

While the research design and methodology are rigorous and exhaustive to say the least, the findings, for the most part, are neither groundbreaking nor totally unexpected.  The study reveals, or confirms that common classroom discovery teaching strategies can effect a range of outcomes for learners.   For instance, while unassisted discovery learning allows, at least in principle, for maximum freedom to explore to the learner, the lack of direction and clear goals from teachers renders it useless in as far as attaining objectives is concerned.   This is particularly most noticeable in young children whose shallow schematic knowledge practically makes unassisted discovery learning activities no more than mere exercises in random child’s play.  Self-directed learning, apparently does not work inside the classroom.  In addition, giving the child a naïve peer to work with will work just as poorly; however, on a positive note, the probability to see two happy children blissfully toying around with materials that were intended to be put together in a certain way, infinitely increases.  And I say infinite only because the study does not consider this as a legitimate learning goal.

There is a world of difference in learning inside of the classroom and outside of it.  The former requires structure by way of goals, procedures and parameters, while the latter, though they may have the same in one form or another, are not bound by certain expectations and conventions to finding, or rather discovering lessons wherever and whenever they may present itself, by accident or deduction.  The former breeds engineers, doctors, lawyers, accountants, soldiers and other vocations that find comfort and success in structure and instructions; the latter inspires artists, entrepreneurs and dreamers who find order in chaos and opportunity in seemingly disjointed occurrences.  Unfortunately, the steep structures of the educational system all but insure that by the time children, who by their innocence and youth are by nature creative and curious, come out of the educational millstone, only a few still remain dreamy-eyed and eager to pursue passions, and not just mere professions.  It is not surprising that many dreamers who cannot bear the restrictions of school either decide or are forced to drop out so that they may follow the dictates of their heart.

While I understand that that’s how the world works, I feel that inculcating and nurturing in students elements that are virtually unmeasurable and intangible such as love for the arts and creativity, connectedness with humanity and affinity for nature, and the desire to make a difference in the lives of others is just as, if not more important than equipping them with the necessary tools and wherewithal for productivity, consumption and getting ahead of everybody in a dog-eat-dog rat race.  Essentially, I feel that humanity is being eroded, albeit unintentionally, by the very institution that should foster it by sheer attention to what is measurable and palpable.  And this is helped along in large part by society’s over dependence on technology, whose convenience and limitless potential has supplanted human interaction and good old-fashioned hard work that builds strong character.

So, what works?

The study reports that learners perform better on an assigned task when they are shown worked samples and given explicit instructions than when they are simply provided materials to work with, with no goal or implied method to use.  Then, it becomes noticeable that the more intervention introduced into the action, the more agreeable the learning experience is in relation to the set goals.  Such as when immediate feedback is added to the mix, learning goals are more efficiently met.  But the most effective way, according to the study, is when the students are prepared before the activity, given what is expected from them, provided with clear and detailed instructions, and afforded immediate feedback as they are in the process of conducting their learning program.  This is now called enhanced discovery learning.  I see how this strategy will work most of the time; there’s just so little room to commit mistakes, and in the event that it happens, there’s just too little time wasted before it is duly corrected.  Hence, with due respect to its formulators, I no longer see the appropriateness of the semantic enhanced discovery learning, because the way I see it, the learner already knows what’s going to happen, and what’s transpiring at every stage of the process, including the end-product even before it materializes.  Now where is the discovery in that?  While this strategy optimizes learning, I am afraid that when done exclusively and with greater efficiency that this is exactly the kind of schooling that extinguishes or places curiosity and self-discovery in the learner’s backburner.

Case in point: The finding that enhanced discovery learning works better in adult learners than child learners, which the researchers say is rather surprising. On the contrary, I would like to think that this is proof that the longer one is exposed to this method as learners with more advanced age are, the better and more dependent they are to such strategy.  However, the younger the learners are, the more apparent the resistance to such strategy will be, given that the youngsters presumably still enjoy a higher state of curiosity, creativity and playfulness, which have yet to be tempered and shaped by the cushions of structure.

The systematic blurring of faces

The research at hand, being a meta-analysis, is rigorous to undertake and exhausting to analyze, given the comprehensive collection of materials and the ensuing complexity of cross-references and permutations involved.  It is meticulous, detailed and ambitious – exactly the kind of study that only seasoned and deeply knowledgeable researchers with a firm grasp of statistics, coupled with equal parts confidence and determination can hope to pursue with a measure of success. 

The key to good statistics is to prune down a population into a highly representative sample, then parsing the information provided by the respondents into numerical data that can be read, scrutinized and analyzed in an unbiased, objective manner.  These numbers are generally categorized into the mean, median and mode – the measures of central tendency, where the highest and lowest scores are normally disregarded in the analysis; leaving the data in the middle as representative of what the population does and thinks.  The best part of valid statistics is that valuable insights that can be generalized into the population can be gleaned.  The worst part, however, is that it only goes as far as generalization, not to an absolute declaration of infallibility, precisely because the data cannot explain or account for what the outliers truly think or do.  After all, these have been expunged from the information.

The various statistical treatments employed by the researchers, including the segregation of subject researches into classifications of reliability with studies published in tier 1 and tier 2 publications enjoying preferential bias over theses and dissertations, all but ensure that the samples are as homogeneous as can be.  Apparently, in statistics the more one person looks like everyone else, the greater the desirability and reliability of his offered information.

It is when the human face is replaced with an indistinguishable likeness that I fear statistics can miss essentially crucial leads to far deeper insights.  I would like to believe that if only the views and actions of the outliers are given more attention than they  are getting, which in statistics is practically nil, that a lot of the problems that a lot of people don’t understand and thus can’t seem to find a solution to may find a new and hopeful light.  A fresh perspective can make a world of difference specially if the views, conditions and solutions that were existing and not working for a very long time are the ones that appear constantly on the measures of central tendency.

CONCLUSION

I am a beekeeper.  And in most probability, I don’t share the same profession with 99.99% of the population.  Interestingly, scientists say that bees are central to the survival of the environment, and consequently of human existence because bees pollinate roughly 2/3 of the foods that humans consume, and practically all the foods that land animals that people eat will need to live.  If the bees go, plant life would follow, animal life not long after, and then human life as well.  At the rate bees are dying because of heavy pesticides use and the rapid degradation of their habitat, beekeepers like me who belong to the slimmest of the minority are probably doing a lot more in protecting the environment and saving lives than the rest of 99.99% of the population.  But statistically, we are simply insignificant.

I am still not comfortable inside the classroom; I often feel that I don’t belong.  But the big difference today and when I was a much younger student is that I love where I’m at and what I am doing.   I am an asset to the class, and the academe in general because I can offer an outsider’s perspective and challenge conventions, which an insider won’t likely do.  That is one effective way of pushing the breadth of learning, and enriching the depth as well. 

If statistical data from my early years of schooling would be used to predict the likelihood of my success in graduate school, then I am positive that it would be a negative, and it may even conclude that I would not be even thinking about entering graduate school at all, let alone aspiring to become a teacher.  After all, numbers don’t tell a specific story or bother to look into context. It just “objectively” predicts.

I am, in many ways, an outlier.  While many look into the cutthroat corporate world to secure their future, I look to a simpler life to ensure its quality.  When others find enjoyment in the conveniences and perks of modern technology, I find satisfaction in creating something with my mind and hands.  If I employ technology, then it must be for a higher purpose other than enjoyment.  I recently bought a welding machine to complement my growing list of equipment that will help me create things for myself and the people I love, things that are extensions of my imagination and purpose in life.  I don’t find many people like me, and yet I meet a lot of people inspired by me and what I do.  Apparently, inspiration does not happen when it is commonplace.

Why am I like this?  I wouldn’t attribute it to my early schooling.  In fact, I survived education with my creativity and passion for learning intact largely because I ignored school conventions.  I am like this because long ago, I was alone by a pond somewhere in Pangasinan, looking at fish, birds and bamboo as the world passes by, and like statistics, not knowing that I exist.  This, for me, is what true discovery learning is.

Can the School Teach Deep Learning?

Can the School Teach Deep Learning?

A Paper based on

Deeply Affecting First-Year Student’s Thinking:

Deep Approaches to Learning and Three Dimensions of Cognitive Development

By

Marcial I. Enginco

MA Educational Psychology

College of Education

UP Diliman

For

Grace S. Koo, PhD

Professor, EDFD 202: Cognitive Learning

SUMMARY

Deeply Affecting First-Year Student’s Thinking: Deep Approaches to Learning and Three Dimensions of Cognitive Development is a study conducted to assess mainly the effects and relationship of Deep Approaches to Learning (DAL) to students’ Critical Thinking, Need for Cognition and Positive Attitudes Toward Learning.  It was published in the May-June 2014 edition of the The Journal of Higher Education.

The researchers sent invitations to participate to college and universities all over the United States on which 60 responded positively, 19 institutions were then selected.  The longitudinal research initially collected data from 4,501 incoming first year college students, with 3,081 of the total (68.5%) agreeing to  a follow up data collection. 

The research aimed to estimate the relationship of DAL on three cognitive dimensions, namely: Critical Thinking, Need for Cognition, and Positive Attitudes Toward Learning.  The results reveal that DAL has no relationship to Critical Thinking, but with slight significance to Need for Cognition and Positive Attitudes Toward Learning.

The study was conducted by Thomas F. Nelson Laird, Tricia A. Seifert, Ernest T. Pascarella, Matthew J. Mayhew and Charles F. Blaich with a grant from the Center of Inquiry in the Liberal Arts, Wabash College.

INTRODUCTION

Deep learning, like a young tree taking root, is lasting and has positive implications on the growth of a person not only as a learner but as an individual making productive decisions later in life.  As the learning burrows ever deeper into the rich soil of knowledge, it gives growth to sturdy branches that allow the learner to become an incisive and insightful thinker, with an inner motor to creatively and persistently seek out knowledge to use and share freely and readily, without need for recognition – like a sprawling canopy generously giving shade and respite to the weary just because it can. 

But alas, an analogy about how potent deep learning can be in the field of education, or in creating clarity and crafting solutions out of personal, social or work life problems is easier to conjure in the head than to make it work in the classroom, as the results of this study would seem to strongly suggest.

A teacher, or even an ordinary person with cursory concern over a student’s education, would be justified to assume that a young student, fresh from high school, will positively gain from being exposed for a year to something as effervescently termed as Deep Approach to Learning, or DAL.

However, oddly and rather unexpectedly, the research has failed to establish a link between DAL and Critical Thinking, and had barely – and only by a flimsy thread – connected it with Need for Cognition and Positive Attitudes Toward Learning.  Intriguing further is the finding that it is not exposure to DAL but the pre-college critical thinking level and academic preparation of students which determine the overall critical thinking performance of the respondents when they transition into college.  Simply put, high school students will roughly register the same score in critical thinking up until the end of their first year in college, even if they went through a year of DAL.

 Is DAL, then, merely a powerful-sounding placebo? A myth that educators want to play over and over to assure the educational system, to which they belong, that it is closer now more than ever to understanding how the human mind learns?   Is the school the proper venue for learning to learn deeply, or is it merely an auxiliary to such a pursuit?  I will attempt to address these questions and expound on other related issues in this paper.

The Good, The Bad and The Questionable

As a graduate student still finding my way through the intricacies of research, I heavily rely on how readings, particularly journals and studies, are written and constituted to inform my concept of what a good research paper should be, at least in substance, flow and structure as I prefer to adapt the form to my prose.  

However, too often, I encounter researches that treat the review of related literature as an opportunity to showcase how much work went into the paper even before the actual research began by haphazardly citing sources left and right, front, back and center, instead of lucidly using the same to guide and educate  the reader about competing views and reinforcing thoughts, which then will lead to insightful dissection of gaps that underscore the importance of the study, as well as the value of its eventual findings to the reader and his particular interests.   This is why I appreciate the manner by which the researchers of this study clearly and methodically whittled down the gaps out of the literature woodwork, which has made it easier for me to grasp the importance of their research and what can and cannot be realistically expected and derived from it.

Also, I think that the researchers should be commended for, at least on paper, broadening the conditions from which the study of deep learning and its effect on students may be framed by including contextualizing factors such as the respondents’ socio-economic background into the mix of variables.  Though I would have appreciated it better had they actually raised the results and discussed the findings to suggest differences in (even similarities or no differences), say, critical thinking between Hispanics, African-Americans, Asian-Americans and Caucasian Americans.  I mention this because I believe that such general data may be used by future researchers as a starting point for further understanding ethnicity, and the social contexts and underpinnings particular to a group.

The researchers exercised great care in the selection of participating institutions.  However, the same, it seems, was not applied to the choice of respondents as liberal arts students were more liberally selected over other majors in the sample.  This over representation, the paper explains, is because the study’s focus is on the impacts of liberal arts colleges and liberal arts experiences.  Oddly enough, no findings specifically mentioning the results for liberal arts students were discussed or offered in the paper.  Or perhaps, the results corresponding to that query were exclusively turned over to the Wabash College, which sponsored the research.  Whatever the case maybe, this apparent overlook leaves questions hanging.  Was it because the researchers utilized weighting algorithms designed to make the overall sample more similar to the population?  If so, then it defeats the stated purpose of over representation and exposes perhaps a flaw of loose ends and untied threads.

I suppose it is not illegal because apparently it is an accepted research strategy, but I highly question the propriety of giving a stipend to the respondents as the endeavor is essentially and ultimately academic in nature.  Would the respondents answer less truthfully had they not received any monetary compensation?  I wonder, is the reason behind this strategy driven by deep or shallow thinking?

Likewise, I also feel that the respondents were not given full disclosure of the nature of the study they were participating in, but merely a general and vague description of it when they were informed that they were to be part of, to quote from the paper verbatimly, “a national longitudinal study examining how a college education affects students, with the goal of improving the undergraduate experience.”  It is like informing a would-be participant in an experimental anti-ebola medicine that the test that will be conducted on him aims to find out how fast his body can absorb an unknown drug, with unknown effects – still true, but not the truth that the subject needs to hear.  I wonder if the results of the research would change if the respondents were informed that the study was about how DAL would affect their critical thinking, need for cognition and positive attitudes toward learning.

ANALYSIS AND DISCUSSION

It is said that the inner drive to search for knowledge becomes second nature to deep learners, and that this trait holds true outside of the classroom and manifests in multi-faceted ways in how the person goes about his daily business.  For the deep learner learning itself, and the process that goes with it, is more than enough motivation to seek out knowledge – and sometimes, “The” only reason for doing so.  On the other hand, the shallow learner prefers rote and memory exercises, avoids complex situations and detests unfamiliar terrains as these may lead to mistakes and wrong decisions that he/she will deem a failure, a rather embarrassing one.

Unfortunately, in the absence of an objective verification outside of the classroom and into the personal lives of both kinds of learner, the proof of learning and performance is often measured in grades; which, then, begs the questions: Did the learner with the high grades actually learn?  and did the learner who did not get a sterling mark absorbed less?  Add to this the reality that many teachers teach for exams and we can see how unreliable most grading systems are is in far as gauging whether students are developing into deep, lifelong learners or shallow, memory sticks collecting data that is either conveniently deleted, replaced, or corrupted over time.

From grade school and up to the time I was in college, I was not a performer in the traditional sense of schooling terminology.  And if my grades were any indication, then I was not learning all that much either.   But I was learning, deeply. 

My first encounter with cartoons was on a neighbor’s TV set.  The young Enginco household then, with our parents’ indulgence, did not have the benefit of technology, except for a small radio cassette player that was not allowed to play louder than a normal conversation.  What passed for entertainment were three sets of encyclopedia which I began leafing through long before I knew what letters sounded like.  There were also all manners of printed paper materials with visually rich pictures including big, thick books about two wars apparently involving an entire world populated by people with a penchant for violence and facial hair, an even bigger hardbound with watercolor illustrations of jagged lines that formed brown, green and white masses scattered over vast blues with tiny ships trailing dotted lines that touched the edges of brown, thin magazine-sized books about massive triangular edifices housing half-naked dead people with serious eyeliners, huge flying lizards that lived in water and large fierce-looking animals that ate treetops, but which no one alive had seen in the flesh, only in bones.  I looked at all of them, over and over again.  And when I learned how to read, I went over them, over and over again, and so with the score of Reader’s Digest that kept coming in month after month.

But at school, I practically read nothing.  And in the instances that I did, there was no trace of enjoyment, only a deep fear of being singled out as lazy and unworthy of being called a student.

When I entered college at barely sixteen, I did not strike anyone as an intelligent person.  In fact, the first thing that a school official told me when she was looking over my report card with a worried face was, “Mag-aaral ka ng mabuti, ha.”  I simply nodded because I’ve been hearing the same thing from my former teachers every time they wrote down on my report card the numerical value of my performance in class.  Were the grades fair?  If it reflected the sum of my performance based on test scores, assignments and projects turned in, and overall participation in class, I say they were.  But did it take into account whether I was a deep learner or a shallow one?   Apparently not.  And it seems that most schools and many educators do not care as long as their requirements for computing grades are objectively met.

But admittedly, I came into college not much of a critical thinker, or else I would have questioned how the way grades are computed, and how education – which should prepare the student for the real world – is ironically largely not about the real world.  While I was naturally curious, I went about looking for answers without the benefit of weighing first in my head the answers and options to the questions: What can I, or others, get out of this?  Is it good for me?  For others?  Will it put me in trouble?  Not even the basic question, Can I get away with it?

I believe that critical thinking is the difference between the intelligent and the wise.  It comes with age, experience and making mistakes, and not through school-induced strategies, no matter how well-meaning or well-defined they are.  So it does not surprise me at all that the results of the study have shown that the level of critical thinking of first year college students will be no different from when they were still highschool seniors.  It is not fair to have high expectations about critical thinking from people who have not lived long enough to learn lessons from their mistakes.  And we are talking here about Americans who go into their first year in college at roughly 18 or 19.  What more can you expect from Filipino students who enter college at 16 (Until the first graduates of the K-12 come in, that is.).

Yes, there is a marked difference in critical thinking between freshmen and their junior and senior counterparts.  I had first account knowledge of this when I was asked to teach literature some years ago, which involved not only a lot of reading but plenty of analysis and discussions as well.  For reasons known only to the respective program directors, some courses required their students to take the subject in their first year of schooling, while others recommended it for later years.  To my consternation and utter frustration (directed towards the program directors), I found the ideas, articulation and capacity for lesson integration of first year students not only severely lacking in depth and clarity, but in breadth and ambition as well, which were thankfully miles apart from those of many juniors’ and seniors’ who have somehow reached the beginning stages of critical thinking.

I believe that positive attitudes toward learning and need for cognition are as equally important as critical thinking to deep learning.  A student who has a positive disposition to learning is not given to frustration and self-doubt in the face of difficult and complex lessons.  On the other hand, one who sees education, and learning in general, as a chore and required burden tends to be highly self-critical and averse to making mistakes that paralysis by analysis becomes an unintended consequence when confronting complexity or unfamiliar territory.  Thus, the learner forfeits the opportunity to deepen his knowledge or discover opportunities.  I have known many people who were grade conscious and got good marks in college who settled for jobs that require minimum risks such as an executive assistant (euphemism for secretary), or employs rote such as a bank teller or bill collector, which greatly undermine their true potential to acquire more challenging and rewarding pursuits.

Need for cognition is the term used to describe a person’s tendency to engage in and enjoy thinking.  People with high need for cognition immerse themselves in ideas and knowledge, and actively participate in discussions and other activities that deepen and broaden what they already know.  On the other hand, those with low need for cognition are said to have the tendency to look at others, either a trusted friend or a famous celebrity, to shape their thoughts and facilitate decisions.  Sadly, at the rate Kris Aquino, Vice Ganda and Vic Sotto are gobbling up endorsement deals then I guess it would be fair to assume that many Filipinos have very low need for cognition.  Perhaps this also explains why the likes of the Revillas, Estradas and Lapids win elections running away, to the bank.

CONCLUSION

Are Philippine schools designed for deep or shallow learning?  Do teachers have the capacity to plumb the depths of learning?  If not, can they be trained to adapt to teach deep learning techniques?  And if they can be trained, can their teaching output be standardized to assure deep learning?

I believe the answers would depend on who is responding.

DepED top brass would say, “But of course, we can and we will employ DAL in our classrooms.  In fact, we have the modules ready and training schedules planned.  Our implementation goal is this… “

While the teacher would reply, “Don’t tell me that I’m doing it wrong.  I’ve been teaching this subject for 20 years already and I can recite my lessons even with eyes closed.  If you want to go deep learning, then go deep in your pocket so that we can get just compensation for teaching your children how to learn.  Ang hirap kaya.”

And then the students would nonchalantly mutter, “It sounds scary.  Do we even need that?”

Deep learning does not happen in a vacuum.  There must be an impetus to make it happen.  And in fairness to the school and to the educational system as a whole, I don’t think that learning deep learning starts nor ends inside a classroom.  I believe that any researcher can predict with a high degree of certainty the depth or shallowness of a student’s learning by simply looking at what can be found inside the child’s house, or listening at what kinds of conversation and how they are carried out inside the home. 

We had what we had inside our small, wooden house and we, all six male siblings, grew up with a healthy appreciation for learning. 

Of course, a teacher with great awareness at the totality of the learning process would be very helpful in the process.  But until all teachers learn to stop saying “Mag-aral ka, mababa ang mga grades mo,” the school can never be the bastion and champion of deep learning.