“I will continue to write my parents’ dreams…”
Miguel “Migs” Ramos was born and raised in a remote sitio in a barangay in the Cordillera mountains. His family was poor but always filled with laughter. Migs’ parents worked on the mountainside, working hard all year round with corn and potatoes, but they never let him lack books or a simple meal before going to school. Every night, under the flickering light of a lampara, Migs studied; his mother mended his clothes; his father sat by his side sharpening tiny pencils—these images were engraved in his memory like a part of his flesh and blood.

Migs studied all subjects, especially Literature. He was fascinated by the poems of Francisco Balagtas, pondering the literature of Nick Joaquin and Lualhati Bautista. All the teachers at school loved Migs—he was well-behaved, a good student, and friendly with his friends. The 12th grade graduation exam and university entrance exams were approaching; Migs studied day and night, dreaming of becoming a Pedagogy student so that he could return to teach the children in his village.

But fate was ironic. With only three days left for the exam, a flash flood and landslide struck in the middle of the night after a big bagyo. Rocks and soil rushed down from the mountainside, the small stream that was gentle yesterday now rolled fiercely. That night, Migs’ parents slept in a temporary kamalig outside the field so they could wake up early to weed and trim corn. The next morning, the whole village was shocked to find his mother’s body under an old tree; as for his father, it took until the third day to bring him home, in a hammock soaked with water and mud.

Migs did not cry out loud; he was silent. His eyes were swollen, his voice hoarse as he held his parents’ portraits at the simple funeral at the small church on the hill. Everyone advised him to quit the exam, and retake it next year; after such a loss, who could study? But Migs shook his head. He wiped his tears, bowed his head before his parents’ altar and said:…

— “I will take the exam. I must pass. To make my parents feel at ease, so that I can help my village escape poverty.”

On the day of the exam, Migs wore an old but neatly ironed white shirt. On his chest was a small black mourning band, causing many people to look back with pity. He sat in the exam room, his face tanned by the sun but his eyes steadfast. The Literature (Filipino) exam that day was an essay about the will to overcome difficulties—as if fate had sent him a strange connection. Migs wrote in one breath, without stopping. Each word flowed like tears that he had dried up before. The exam was the voice of his heart, a promise, all the pain and will of an eighteen-year-old boy who was enduring.

After that, Migs became valedictorian and received invitations from many universities across the Philippines. Some schools promised to cover all his tuition, some committed to supporting his living expenses if he attended. But Migs did not hesitate for long: he chose Philippine Normal University (PNU) – Filipino Education (BSEd Filipino).

When asked why he did not choose Economics or Technology to “change his life easily”, Migs just smiled:

— “I was supported by dedicated teachers. I want to become someone like that. I do not want the children in the village to grow up knowing only letters from old pieces of paper or old stories told by words. I want to bring knowledge back to where I was born.”

During his university years, Migs lived simply. He worked as a tutor in his spare time to cover his own expenses; his tuition was covered by a valedictorian scholarship. Every summer, instead of resting, Migs traveled to remote locations in Ifugao, Kalinga, Abra to teach ethnic minority students for free. One year, he walked nearly 10 km over steep passes and terraced fields to reach a school with only a few students and an old corrugated iron roof.

The children loved Migs very much. They called him “the black-ribbon teacher”—because the memory of the year he wore mourning clothes to the exam was still fresh in many people’s hearts.

Four years later, Migs graduated with honors. He refused the invitation to stay at school as a lecturer, and also refused the opportunity to study abroad. Migs asked to return to his hometown and applied to teach at the public high school where he had studied—a small school located in the middle of the hills of Mountain Province.

On the first day Migs returned to school as a teacher, the schoolyard exploded. His old teachers held his hands, choking with emotion; his students looked at him with shining eyes. Migs stepped onto the podium, his hands shaking slightly as he wrote the first lines in white chalk—this time he was no longer a student, but a teacher.

Although the salary for teachers in the highlands was not high, Migs was still happy. He walked from house to house to encourage students not to drop out of school. He asked for books and old clothes from his friends in Manila to bring back to give to his students. On stormy days, when the roads were flooded, Migs still wore a raincoat to teach; muddy feet but eyes shining like torches.

Migs set up an evening class for adults following the ALS (Alternative Learning System) model—parents who were illiterate. He said:

— “A child who studies well is a hope; but a whole village that is literate—that is the future.”

Ten years later, Migs is not just a teacher. He has become a living example—a person who makes the whole mountain region believe that:

“From a pain, if one knows how to stand up, one can become a light for others.”

And perhaps, somewhere in the Cordillera sky, Migs’ parents are smiling peacefully. Because their little son from years ago is now the one who lights up the dreams of an entire generation—just as he promised: “I will continue to write your dreams.”