From being lost to becoming an achiever

Testimony of Jireh A. Flavio
Magna Cum laude
Former 4Ps monitored chid

ALIMODIAN, ILOILO—I am Jireh A. Flavio of Sitio Balogo, Pajo in this town. I am the eighth child among the 10 siblings, son of a man once called “tambay” and a devoted mother who grows vegetables not for profit, but for survival.

Our home is made of bamboo and rusted tins. On cold nights, only hunger could put us to bed. If we have limited food to eat, we just make porridge to survive our empty stomach.

We didn’t own clocks, yet we knew that for every minute spent barefoot on muddy fields, every hour walking to school penniless, and for every day anticipating our last meals. It was survival. Poverty wasn’t a condition but a shadow that stood with us at our table, empty or not. As part of the Panay Bukidnon Indigenous Peoples, our poverty was made harsher by something we can’t see; we were socially invisible. During elementary school, my attendance was barely 20 percent. I was not lazy but our carabaos had to be fed, firewood had to be gathered, and someone had to help my mother. As a child, I carried more than a backpack on my shoulders.

One day, my mother came home with tears of joy. “Kasulod kita sa 4Ps (We are qualified in 4Ps),” her voice cracking. The Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program (4Ps) changed our lives. It didn’t give us wealth but gave us worth. The monthly financial support aided in buying rice, vitamins, food, and school supplies. But aside from money, the Family Development Sessions (FDS) changed my mother’s behavior. She learned about nutrition, proper hygiene, values, and how to dream beyond planting crops that barely fed us. Still, the road ahead remained steep.

After finishing elementary, my father broke me,” Jireh, tapos ka na dito ka na lng. Bulig ka sa uma (You had finished elementary. You help us in the farm)”. Yet, it ignited my drive to keep moving forward . I left our house in Brgy. Pajo with nothing but hand-me-down clothes, a heart with hope, and uncertainty of what’s next. In a neighboring barangay of Bancal where I temporarily live, I became a working student. I stayed with relatives. I offered to do chores to keep studying. My hands hardened from scrubbing pots, yet my spirit sharpened for every homework and quiz I passed. While my other classmates spent their evenings on TikTok, I spent mine cleaning chicken coops and studying under candlelight.

Then the pandemic made things harder. The classroom, now out of reach. Wi-Fi, gadgets, I didn’t have that privilege. Still, 4Ps stood with us. A little load allowance helped me join online classes, even if I could only listen with a broken signal and earbuds. The masks and hygiene kits from 4Ps gave us dignity, and the food kept our minds running during lockdown. In chaos, I found purpose. I led community pantries and relief drives. I was appointed as President of our Student Government. I didn’t just study, I served. From being a recipient of aid to a giver of hope. By the time I graduated, I was named class valedictorian and received the Youth Hero Award from the International Association of Youth and Students for Peace (IAYSP-Korea).

But college? That was a different jungle. I was accepted into West Visayas State University, a dream for many, a miracle for someone like me. But miracles don’t come with the means to survive. I had no laptop. No extra clothes. No support system. I walked long distances with an empty stomach. I studied under the trees when rent is unaffordable. There were days when all I had was a peso in my pocket and a dream.

So, I became a ghostwriter. I wrote essays, speeches, reaction papers, love letters just for a few pesos. I hid behind anonymity to survive.

Every word written was “food,” “load,” or “rent.” But it was a sacrifice. I postponed writing my own story so others could pass. Sometimes I cried in silence and questioned God. One night, I stared at the cracks on my screen and whispered, “Tama na siguro.”

As I was about to quit, I remembered a boy in an oversized uniform wearing a belt made of straws, holding a book with dirty fingers. He didn’t give up. So why should I?

I rose. I prayed louder, studied harder, and served more. I walked the stage as a Magna Cum Laude in Information Systems, recipient of the WVSU Campus Hero and Service Awards. Not as a dropout statistic. Not as a poor kid from the mountains. But as living proof of what faith, family, and 4Ps can do.

These achievements are not crosses I bear alone. These belong to every Filipino child who thought poverty was a punishment. To every Indigenous youth who believed their voice was forgotten. To every working student who toiled day and night. I am a graduate and a witness to what happens when a system like 4Ps is met with faith, family, and ferocious willpower.

Today, I return to our home not as a lost son, but as a servant-leader. I mentor and help others find scholarships. I speak to break the silence around rural poverty and Indigenous struggles.

To every child sipping rice water, to every student ghostwriting to survive, to every dreamer buried in hardship: You are a seed, meant to blossom for a bright future.//Proofread by Paul Andrie A. Farrol, WVSU Bachelor of Arts Journalism intern ( Submitted by Alimodian MOO, Iloilo POO)

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