The irony in our classrooms

By Noel Galon de Leon

When I first stepped into my Filipino 7 classrooms at U.P. High School in Iloilo, I expected the usual mix of nervous smiles, shy introductions, and the occasional burst of confidence from students eager to impress their new teacher. What I did not expect, however, was to meet several 12-year-olds who admitted that they could not speak Filipino, our national language. At first, I thought they were exaggerating. Surely, I told myself, every Filipino child can at least string together a few sentences in Filipino. But after spending a few days with them, I realized they were telling the truth. It was both surprising and eye-opening.

To understand my students better, I conducted a simple language background survey. Out of roughly sixty students from my two sections, seven confessed that they could not speak Filipino. Some could understand when I spoke, but they struggled to reply. Others said outright that they were not used to using Filipino at home or with friends. One boy whispered, almost apologetically, “I understand what you’re saying, Sir, but I can’t speak.” Another admitted that in their household, English and Hiligaynon were the only languages spoken, so Filipino felt foreign to him. These moments were powerful because they revealed a reality that numbers alone could not capture.

Hearing these admissions in person felt very different from simply reading about them in articles or studies. I could see the embarrassment in their faces, the way their classmates would glance at them curiously, and the nervous laughter that followed their confessions. It was clear to me that the issue was not simply about knowledge or skill. It was also about confidence, exposure, and sometimes even identity. In a country with over 180 languages and countless regional cultures, Filipino, despite being the national language, is not always the language of the home or community. In Iloilo, for example, Hiligaynon reigns as the mother tongue, and for some families, English has become the language of aspiration. Filipino, ironically, sometimes gets left behind.

I told my students that I did not believe they truly “could not” speak Filipino. Instead, I told them that they only needed courage, practice, and most importantly, belief in themselves. I explained that language learning begins with trust in one’s own capacity. Without this, no amount of drills, vocabulary exercises, or grammar lessons will matter. I saw a spark of hope in their eyes when I said this, as though they were relieved that their teacher was not judging them but instead challenging them to try.

This encounter reminded me of a larger truth about language learning. The same situation applies to English. The Philippines does not have a genuine English-speaking community in everyday life. English is primarily learned in schools, workplaces, or through media, which is why so many Filipino students struggle to speak and write it fluently. And yet, society often places unrealistic expectations on them, as though mastering English were an easy or automatic process. The reality is that both Filipino and English require patience, persistence, and guidance.

That is why I tell my students that belief alone is not enough. Language learning requires action. The first thing I advise them to do is to practice using Filipino every single day, whether in class, with friends, or even in simple greetings. Saying “Magandang umaga,” “Kumusta ka,” or “Salamat” may feel small, but repeated daily, they become the seeds of confidence. The second is to immerse themselves in Filipino literature. I encourage them to visit the school library and read works like Ibong Adarna, Mga Kuwento ni Genoveva Edroza-Matute, or even contemporary young adult novels written in Filipino. Stories help students hear the rhythm of the language, absorb vocabulary in context, and, more importantly, feel the emotions that the language carries. The third is to write in Filipino, even just a short diary entry or a one-line reflection every day. Writing transforms passive understanding into active expression, and over time, it builds fluency.

Sometimes, my students hesitate. I remember asking one of the “non-Filipino speakers” to try introducing himself in Filipino. He stammered but managed to say, “Ako… ay si ________. Ako… ay Grade 7.” His classmates cheered and clapped, and for the first time, I saw him smile proudly. That moment, though simple, showed how powerful encouragement and community support can be. Another student later told me, “Sir, nakahahawa pala kapag nakikita mong nagsisikap ang iba.” This peer influence, I realized, is just as important as my teaching strategies. Students learn not only from teachers but also from each other.

The broader context also cannot be ignored. According to surveys by the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino, a growing number of young Filipinos are more comfortable using English or their regional mother tongues than Filipino in everyday life. In some private schools, especially in urban areas, Filipino is even treated as a “subject” rather than a living language. This reality is concerning, but it is also a reminder that Filipino teachers carry a unique responsibility: to bridge the gap between identity and language, and to show students that Filipino is not just a requirement in school but a part of who they are as Filipinos.

Of course, I know that my classroom is just one among thousands across the country, and I am certain that there are even greater challenges elsewhere. Some teachers may have students who resist speaking Filipino altogether, while others may face classes where poverty and lack of resources make language learning an even heavier burden. The journey toward fostering love for our national language will be long and filled with obstacles. But what matters now, in every classroom, is that we teach our students to trust themselves. Equally, we must also trust them and believe in their ability to learn.

I truly believe that when our students finally gain confidence in speaking our national language, they will also grow as responsible individuals. They will become more compassionate, more patriotic, and more authentic. Perhaps it sounds idealistic, maybe even too ambitious, but I would rather dream big for my students and for our language. After all, we are still celebrating Buwan ng Wikang Pambansa. And what better way to honor this celebration than by nurturing a new generation who will not only learn Filipino but will also love it, live it, and carry it proudly as a vital part of their identity.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and U.P. High School in Iloilo. He serves as an Executive Council Member of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.