heyitsaaa

[heyitsaaa]

Until Then, Future Ma'am

a little note from the in-between.

Dear Future Students,

If there’s one thing this journey has taught me, aside from the magical powers of late-night coffee and deadline adrenaline, it’s that teaching isn’t just a profession. It’s a transformation. A slow, steady becoming. And somewhere along the modules, reflections, and nerve-wracking assessments, I realized: I don’t just want to be a teacher. I want to be someone you'll remember when the Wi-Fi cuts off during online class and you mutter, “What would Ma’am do?”

When I first dipped my toes into this journey, I said I wanted to be the kind of teacher who listens, who sees every student not just as a grade on paper but as a living, growing story. Now? After dancing with Domains 1 to 7 of the PPST like it’s my teacher debut cotillion, I’ve got receipts.

I want to be remembered as your safe space. Someone who believed in your potential, even when your quiz scores didn’t. A teacher who laughed with you, cried with you (but silently, in the faculty room), and held space for your weirdness, your growth, and your questions about life, identity, or why we even need math. A teacher who did not pretend to have it all figured out, but modeled how to unlearn harmful beliefs, relearn kindness, and learn again, together.

Because wow, this program unmade and remade me. M5, in particular, made it clear: there’s no “perfect teacher,” just one who keeps growing. From building inclusive classrooms to planning with purpose, and even reflecting on our own practice, I’ve seen how teaching is both a craft and a calling. And it’s not a solo act. Engaging in learning communities reminds me that the best teachers are part of something bigger; they co-create knowledge, culture, and sometimes TikToks with their students.

So how will I get there? I’ll start by being real. I’ll keep showing up: imperfect, passionate, and prayerfully caffeinated. I’ll root my lessons in empathy and curiosity. I’ll lean on my co-teachers, on research, on the community. And most of all, I’ll keep asking myself: Am I creating the kind of classroom where students feel they belong?

One day, when you look back, I hope you’ll say, “Ma’am did not just teach us Values Ed, she helped us value ourselves.” That’s how I’d like to be remembered. Not for my PowerPoints, even though they'd surely have moving transitions, copyright-free lo-fi music, and the occasional meme that hit too close to home, but for my presence. The way I listened, the way I paused when things got overwhelming, and the way I made space for both learning and laughter.

And as this journal closes, just know: the teacher I’m becoming is still writing her story, with you in mind.

With all the heart, Your future Ma’am, signing off, for now.

[heyitsaaa]

Even Pixels Deserve Principles

“Who are we when no one's watching?"

Back in the day, classroom ethics looked like not yelling, not showing favoritism, and making sure your skirt reached below the knee. But these days, it’s not just about face-to-face behavior anymore, it’s about who you are when you're teaching through a laggy mic and a sea of profile pictures. Welcome to teaching in the digital age: where one sarcastic comment can be misread, one typo can go viral, and one frustrated outburst can be immortalized in a tweet.

I once saw a clip floating around TikTok of a teacher snapping at a student for not responding in breakout rooms. The caption? "POV: Your teacher’s one more lag away from losing it 💀" The comments section was savage. What the video didn’t show was the ten minutes of silence the teacher probably endured before that moment, or the anxiety of wondering whether anyone was even listening.

It made me think of Article XI, Section 1 of the Code of Ethics for Professional Teachers:

A teacher shall maintain at all times a dignified personality which could serve as a model worthy of emulation by learners, peers, and others.

In both online and face-to-face classes, that dignity gets tested a lot. In person, it might be students whispering while you're discussing something important. Online? It's the soul-crushing silence of muted mics and blank screens. And while I get the urge to throw sass or sarcasm back, I’ve learned that how we respond in those moments is the lesson. We’re not just teaching content. We’re modeling emotional regulation, patience, and professionalism even when it feels like we’re performing for an invisible audience.

I remember one time during our online class back when the pandemic was just surging, a classmate kept using voice filters while unmuted, sounding like a chipmunk during a serious group report. The teacher paused, then calmly said, “Let’s remember this is still a classroom, even if we’re not in one.” No shouting. No dragging. Just setting the tone. That moment stuck with me because it reflected Article VI, Section 2:

A teacher shall recognize that the interest and welfare of learners are of first and foremost concern, and shall deal justifiably and impartially with each of them.

Even when students act out, whether in classrooms or Google Meets, we’re reminded that we’re the adults in the (virtual) room. And our reactions? They linger. Especially online, where recordings and screenshots can be twisted and shared out of context.

Which brings me to the most underestimated part of modern teaching, the digital footprint: permanent, searchable, and often taken out of context. In forums or group chats, I’ve seen students joke about instructors, sometimes crossing the line from humor into harm. And while I understand the instinct to vent, I’ve also realized that digital space isn’t a private venting room. It’s a record. A receipt. A reminder that professionalism and empathy go both ways. I believe in speaking up when something feels off not because I want to stir drama, but because I don’t want anyone to feel belittled, especially when they’re just doing their best. Article VIII, Section 2 reminds us:

A teacher shall extend due respect and recognition to the proper authorities… and shall relate to them in confidence and respect.

But respect isn’t just for admin. It extends to everyone: teachers, students, classmates. Behind every screen is a person trying to stay afloat.

As someone training to be a future teacher, I know I’ll make mistakes too. I might mispronounce something, mix up a slide, or freeze mid-sentence because of slow internet. But knowing and living the Code of Ethics helps me prepare not just for lesson delivery, but for the kind of presence I want to have in any kind of learning space. It’s my guide to staying grounded, staying kind, and staying professional even when the Wi-Fi isn’t.

Because here’s the truth: teaching, whether online or in person, means being accountable to people who are always watching. And while I can’t control how students use technology, I can choose how I carry myself. With consistency. With character. With care.

Respect, boundaries, and integrity. They don’t log off when the class ends and neither should we.

[heyitsaaa]

Lessons, Laws, and Viral Posts

Gone are the days when teachers only had to worry about lesson plans, quizzes, and making sure students didn't fall asleep mid-discussion. Now? One typo in a module, one awkwardly phrased joke, or one misunderstood classroom rule, and boom! Screenshots, viral posts, and the internet's unrelenting judgment committee are on the case.

I remember sitting in class one afternoon when a teacher walked in wearing the most technicolored, mismatched outfit I had ever seen. It was bold. It was bright. It was... a statement. And while no one took pictures of it, that outfit became the hot topic during recess time. Whispers of "Did you see what Ma'am was wearing?" and "She looked like a walking highlighter!" filled the hallways. I remember feeling uncomfortable because, as minimalist as I am now, I used to love florals, colored jeans, and loud patterns back in high school. It hit me then that teachers aren't just teaching anymore, they're performing under a microscope, where even their fashion choices aren't spared from scrutiny. And if something as simple as an outfit can become the talk of the day, what happens when the stakes are higher? What if the judgment isn't just whispered in hallways but written in complaint letters or blasted online? This is exactly why understanding and upholding legal mandates is no longer just an option for future educators like me, it's survival.

The Education Act of 1982, particularly Section 16, states that teachers should be accorded due respect and protection in their profession. And yet, in an era where a single misstep can go viral in minutes, where's the protection from callout culture? This law reminds us that educators deserve fairness, and as a future teacher, I'd want my students to know that respect is a two-way street.

Then there's the Magna Carta for Public School Teachers (RA 4670), a law that is not just fancy paperwork, but a literal shield for educators. Section 13 guarantees freedom from unnecessary tasks, meaning teachers shouldn't be overburdened with responsibilities outside their role. Yet, I've seen teachers drowning in paperwork, handling admin duties, and still getting blamed when they're too exhausted to double-check every single word in a module. The worst part is, if they do make a mistake, their hard work is dismissed in favor of a single screenshot taken out of context.

Whenever I talk about things like this, I always think back to my high school days. There's this one teacher who was one of the best at what she did, let's call her Ma'am G. She was funny, engaging, and genuinely cared about her students. But one day, after scolding a student for repeatedly skipping class, that student took to social media, twisting the story into something like "Teacher humiliates student in front of class!!" The post blew up. Parents got involved. Suddenly, Ma'am G wasn't the dedicated teacher we all knew, she was Public Enemy No. 1. At the time, I wasn't even aware that Section 10 of the Magna Carta existed, let alone that it guaranteed teachers protection from baseless accusations and due process before any disciplinary action. I was just a student, watching everything unfold, too young to fully grasp the legal side of things. But even then, I knew Ma'am G came with good intentions. She wasn't out to humiliate anyone, she was looking out for that student, pushing him to be better. And yet, none of that mattered once the internet had decided otherwise. Maybe then, Ma'am G wouldn't have had to deal with an online trial before she even got a chance to explain.

At the end of the day, teacher-shaming isn't just about cancel culture, it's about forgetting that teachers are human too. Yes, they make mistakes. Yes, they should be held accountable, just like any professional. But that accountability should be fair, legal, and within the right processes; not a viral post designed to humiliate someone for one bad day.

As a future teacher, I know I can't control how students use technology, but what I can control is how I conduct myself. Knowing these laws isn't just about self-protection, it's about setting boundaries, demanding respect, and ensuring that the noble profession of teaching doesn't turn into a never-ending performance under the glare of social media's spotlight. If we don't stand by these legal safeguards now, we might just be one typo away from the next viral callout.

And honestly? I'd rather go viral for inspiring my students, not for accidentally misspelling "necessary" in a PowerPoint slide.

[heyitsaaa]

More Than a Lesson Plan: A Mission in Motion

If you had told me years ago that I’d be writing my own teaching philosophy, I probably would have laughed and said, “Me? A teacher?” And yet, here I am, shaping not just my future but the futures of students I’ve yet to meet. Teaching, I’ve come to realize, is not just about imparting knowledge, it’s about impact, relationships, and growth. This journey is both personal and communal, and as I stand on the edge of it, I find myself asking: What kind of teacher do I want to be?

I want to be the kind of teacher who doesn’t just teach a subject but teaches students, whole individuals with experiences, struggles, and aspirations of their own. My goal is to create a learning environment where they feel seen, heard, and valued. In Values Education, this means more than just discussing concepts; it’s about fostering real conversations, self-reflection, and social awareness. I want my students to leave my class not just with knowledge, but with a sense of self and an understanding of their place in the world. If I can get them to think critically, empathize with others, and see education as a tool for personal and societal growth, then I’ll consider my job well done.

Teaching, to me, is not a one-way street. I don’t believe in simply lecturing while students passively absorb information. Instead, I see learning as dynamic, something that requires engagement, interaction, and real-world application. I plan to incorporate storytelling, case studies, and reflective discussions into my lessons, making Values Education not just theoretical but deeply personal. Whether through role-playing ethical dilemmas, examining real-life scenarios, or even using multimedia like short films and social media content, my methods will be centered on relatability and application.

More than anything, I want my students to see learning as something beyond the classroom. If they can connect what they learn to their daily lives, whether in how they navigate friendships, handle conflict, or make decisions, then I know I’ve done something right.

Values Education isn’t a subject that can be measured solely through multiple-choice exams or textbook definitions. Instead, I will assess my students through a mix of traditional and alternative assessments: written reflections, group projects, and real-life application tasks. A student’s ability to explain an ethical concept matters, but what matters even more is their ability to reflect on it, apply it, and see its relevance in their daily lives. Critical thinking, self-awareness, and perspective-taking will be at the core of my assessments, ensuring that students don’t just memorize, but internalize.

What makes this subject unique is that it isn’t just about learning, it’s about becoming. Unlike subjects with fixed formulas and historical dates, this field is fluid, shaped by experiences and personal growth. However, this also makes it challenging; students may struggle with abstract concepts, personal biases, or the fear of being vulnerable in discussions. My role as a teacher is to create a safe space where students feel comfortable sharing their thoughts without fear of judgment. By fostering mutual respect and active listening, I want to make Values Education something students look forward to, something that doesn’t feel like just another school subject, but a journey of self-discovery.

I don’t believe in the idea of a “perfect” teacher, only in a growing one. Just as I encourage my students to reflect and evolve, I hold myself to the same standard. I plan to continuously seek student feedback, attend professional development programs, and explore innovative teaching strategies that align with the ever-changing world my students live in. I also recognize that teaching is not just about what happens in the classroom, it’s about building meaningful connections. By observing my students, listening to their experiences, and staying open to change, I will ensure that my teaching remains relevant, impactful, and, most importantly, human.

At the end of the day, my teaching philosophy isn’t just a set of guidelines, it’s a commitment. A commitment to something more than a lesson plan: a life plan, where education shapes not only minds but also character, purpose, and future paths. A commitment to making learning meaningful, to understanding my students as individuals, and to continuously growing alongside them. Teaching, for me, is both a privilege and a responsibility, and if I can leave a lasting impact on even just one student, then all of this, the effort, the lessons, the growth will have been worth it.

This is the teacher I aspire to be, and this is the journey I am ready to embark on.

[heyitsaaa]

My Soft Launch into Chaos and Purpose

When I first considered teaching, I thought, "Do I really have the patience for this?" —a valid question, considering I once struggled to teach my cousin basic math and nearly lost my sanity in the process. But here I am, pursuing it not just as a profession, but as a vocation and mission. It’s not just about standing in front of a classroom; it’s about shaping minds, and that’s a kind of power I want to wield responsibly.

Learning about teaching as a mission hit differently. It’s not just a career choice; it’s a commitment to something bigger than myself. It means being more than just a dispenser of knowledge; I have to be a guide, a motivator, and sometimes, an unlicensed therapist for students dealing with more than just academic struggles. This realization made me reflect on my own experiences and the teachers who left an impact on me. I remember sitting in class, watching my teachers balance content delivery with genuine human connection, and realizing that the best educators weren’t necessarily the ones who had all the answers, but the ones who made students believe they could find them. That’s the kind of teacher I want to be.

As a future 21st-century educator, I want to embody adaptability, empathy, and the ability to make learning engaging (because let’s be real, if I’m bored teaching, my students are probably suffering too). I picture a classroom where curiosity thrives, where students aren’t afraid to make mistakes because they know it’s all part of the learning process. I want to integrate behavioral science into my teaching, understanding not just how students learn but why they behave the way they do. With the Matatag Curriculum focusing on depth over breadth, I see a chance to make learning meaningful instead of just a checklist of topics. If I can get my students to walk away not just with facts, but with critical thinking skills and confidence, then I know I’ve done my job well.

So, do I still question if I have the patience? Maybe. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m ready to be the kind of teacher who doesn’t just instruct but inspires. And that, I believe, is more than enough reason to keep going.