BAROTAC NUEVO, Iloilo — Long before her name appeared on the national list of topnotchers, 23-year-old Christel J. Surita had already learned how to walk carefully through muddy roads she could barely see.

In Sitio Safa, Barangay Patlad in Dumangas, Iloilo, Christel’s childhood was simple, rural, and deeply familiar. She grew up among rice fields, muddy roads, and canals, playing with siblings and neighbors under the sun. But while other children ran freely through the fields, Christel moved more carefully, slowly memorizing roads and familiar spaces. “Budlay gid maglakat kon indi mo makita maayo,” she recalled.

At age 5, she realized she was different. Other children could recognize faces from afar. She could not. They could read what teachers wrote on the board. She needed to press her eyes close to her notebook just to see lines on paper, sometimes tilting the page under the classroom light and hoping the words would become clearer. Eventually, her family learned that she had congenital cataracts, a hereditary condition traced to her father’s side of the family.

Over time, Christel learned to live not with perfect sight, but with careful adaptation. Though partially blind, Christel explained that she can still see objects clearly when they are near but struggles to recognize faces, movements, or written material from a distance. This made ordinary classroom situations — reading board work, locating people, or navigating unfamiliar spaces — far more exhausting than many realized. She memorized spaces. She learned to move through uncertainty. She accepted, quietly and painfully, that some things would always require more effort from her than from others.

Christel is the second of seven siblings — four girls and three boys — in a family shaped by both hardship and resilience. Their father works as a farm laborer and sometimes drives a tricycle to make ends meet, while their mother stays at home to care for the family. Three of the siblings, including Christel, are visually impaired. Their eldest sibling, who also became a licensed professional teacher, quietly became another source of inspiration for her growing up.

Still, perhaps the hardest part was not the condition itself but the exhaustion that came with it. There were mornings when she walked to school under heavy rain, accidentally stepping into canals or stumbling along slippery roads because visibility was poor. There were moments in elementary school when classmates who did not understand her condition teased her. There were days she questioned herself so deeply that, in her own words, she became “the villain” in her own story. “Daw gusto ko na lang mag-untat,” she admitted.

Poverty made everything heavier. Her parents sometimes borrowed money so she could join school competitions and continue studying. The family survived partly through the government’s Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program, while scholarships became crucial lifelines. Christel later became a beneficiary of the Commission on Higher Education Student Financial Assistance Program through a merit scholarship, alongside financial assistance from the Dumangas local government for college students with disabilities.

Even during the hardest years, Christel said she was never completely alone.

Her father regularly fetched and accompanied her to school. “Permi gid ya ko ginasugat ni Papa,” she said — a simple sentence carrying years of sacrifice and quiet love. Her siblings became her “scaffold,” assisting her with technical tasks and daily challenges. Teachers adjusted materials into larger fonts. Friends guided her during presentations. Faculty members constantly checked if she was comfortable inside the classroom. Kindness, in Christel’s story, did not arrive dramatically. It arrived quietly — through pangamusta, guidance, patience, and people choosing not to let her feel alone.

THE DREAM THAT REFUSED TO DIM

Teaching was not originally the easiest path available to Christel. She once hoped to pursue Special Needs Education in Iloilo City, but circumstances prevented it. Instead, encouraged by her high school teacher John Paul Defiño, she enrolled in the Bachelor of Elementary Education program at Iloilo State University of Fisheries Science and Technology-Dumangas Campus. It turned out to be the redirection that would eventually change her life.

Inside ISUFST, Christel found not pity, but inclusion.

She recalled how faculty members from the College of Education made deliberate adjustments so she could participate fully in class. Test papers were enlarged. Classmates assisted during reporting. Professors regularly asked what she needed rather than assuming what she lacked. Ernie Pedregosa encouraged her to join activities and helped her navigate student opportunities. Ma. Angela Libo-on’s simple but sincere “instant pangamusta,” as Christel fondly described it, made her feel she truly belonged.

For Christel, those small adjustments mattered deeply.

For universities, inclusivity is often reduced to ramps, policies, or compliance reports. But for Christel, inclusivity looked like people who slowed down enough to help her keep pace without making her feel lesser. It looked like classmates adjusting beside her instead of away from her. It looked like educators who understood that fairness is not always sameness.

That culture reflects what ISUFST has increasingly tried to embody as the country’s first and only fisheries university — producing globally competitive graduates while remaining grounded in community, accessibility, and nation-building. Founded in 1957, ISUFST has steadily expanded from fisheries into education, agriculture, and technology without losing its focus on service and inclusivity. Recent Commission on Higher Education recognitions affirm that commitment. Christel’s story, many believe, became living proof of that aspiration.

Despite being legally blind, Christel remained academically active throughout college. She graduated cum laude. She participated in activities. She survived research work through teamwork and collaboration. During thesis writing, she explained ideas orally while groupmates typed on the laptop.

She described herself as an auditory learner who learned best by listening carefully during discussions. In fact, Christel revealed that she barely relied on traditional handwritten reviewers. “Wala gid ko halos may nasulat nga notes ukon bisan dot sa reviewer ko,” she shared candidly. Instead, she depended heavily on listening — replaying online review sessions, video tutorials, and recorded discussions repeatedly until concepts stayed in memory.

Much of that preparation happened through a simple Realme C11 cellphone bought during the pandemic in 2020 — the same phone she continued using all the way through her LET review. Through that modest device, Christel spent countless hours listening to YouTube review videos and online discussions from Gurong Pinoy, her review center, replaying lessons repeatedly until concepts stayed in memory. For her, the cellphone became more than a gadget. Quietly, it became one of the bridges between limitation and possibility.

Her preparation for the LET began as early as her second year in college, when she casually started watching free review videos online. By formal review season, she had already developed the habit of absorbing lessons through audio discussions, particularly in General Education and Professional Education subjects.

Her study habits were refreshingly human — and far from romanticized perfection.

“If I feel energized, I study. If I’m exhausted, I rest,” she admitted honestly.

Christel admitted that she did not always follow her study plans perfectly. There were days she became distracted and lost focus. “May ara gid nga ma-distract ko,” she said honestly. But instead of giving up, she slowly learned how to regain momentum and start again.

There were no glamorous stories behind her review journey — just quiet effort, consistency, and a dream she refused to abandon.

Months before the examination, she began studying more seriously. A week before the LET, she joined classmates in a “lock-in review,” where they stayed together and focused almost entirely on preparation. She also leaned heavily on prayer, visiting several churches before the exam as a way of calming her fears and grounding herself spiritually.

INSIDE THE EXAMINATION ROOM

When the March 2026 Licensure Examination for Professional Teachers finally arrived, Christel faced a setup unfamiliar to most examinees.

At John B. Lacson Foundation Maritime University-Arevalo, she was assigned two proctors for the exam. One read the questions aloud. Another shaded her answers. They assisted her throughout the testing period, even helping her navigate restrooms and move around the testing venue. The experience, she said, felt like a “roller coaster of emotions.” “Kulbaan gid ko, pero excited man,” she recalled. She was excited that the months of preparation were finally ending, yet anxious about whether her answers would be correct.

There was another pressure quietly sitting beside her during the exam: expectation.

Even before results were released, many people around her already considered her inspirational. Teachers, classmates, and mentors hoped she would make the topnotchers’ list. Rather than collapsing under the pressure, Christel embraced it. “Diamonds are formed through pressure,” she reflected. Instead of extinguishing her confidence, the expectations fueled it. Still, she admitted that pressure also frightened her at times. “Basi indi ko ma-meet ang expectations sang iban,” she quietly shared.

Then came the call.

At first, she refused to believe the result. “Hambal ko, ‘Weeeh? Ako gid?’” she recalled, laughing softly at the memory before the tears finally came.

A 92.80 percent rating. Top 10 nationwide.

For a few seconds, disbelief came before joy. Then the tears followed. The first people she thought about were her mother and father — the same parents who once borrowed money so she could continue joining school activities, the same parents who escorted her to school through difficult years no ranking could fully summarize.

Back in Dumangas, celebration erupted.

People jumped in happiness. Family members cried. For many faculty members at ISUFST Dumangas Campus, the achievement felt deeply personal. One instructor described Christel as “quietly determined,” recalling how she rarely asked for sympathy despite the additional challenges she faced daily. “She worked twice as hard just to keep pace,” the faculty member shared.

The dean of the College of Education reportedly broke down while calling her. Social media posts spread rapidly across Iloilo and beyond. Soon, Christel became more than a successful examinee. She became a symbol — though she carries that symbol with striking humility.

University President Nordy D. Siason Jr. described her achievement as a reflection of “resilience, determination, and excellence” nurtured within an inclusive university environment. Many educators echoed the same sentiment. But among those closest to Christel, the admiration was not simply because she ranked 10th. It was because they saw every unseen step before that moment happened.

They knew the canals she accidentally fell into as a child.

They knew the notebooks she struggled to read.

They knew the exhaustion hidden behind her quiet smile.

MORE THAN A TOPNOTCHER

It is tempting to frame Christel Surita’s story as a simple motivational narrative about overcoming disability. But doing so risks oversimplifying what her journey really reveals.

Her success was not built by “positive thinking” alone. It was built through family sacrifice, public educational support, scholarships, accessible teaching practices, community encouragement, faith, persistence, and institutional inclusivity working together. Her achievement reminds people that resilience flourishes best when society chooses not to abandon struggling individuals.

That is why her story resonates beyond rankings.

For students quietly battling poverty, disability, delayed dreams, or self-doubt, Christel’s journey feels painfully familiar. She understands doubt because she once carried plenty of it herself. But Christel also learned that limitations do not automatically decide a person’s ending.

During difficult moments, her faith became her quiet source of strength. She held on to verses like Isaiah 60:22 and Jeremiah 29:11 while continuing to prepare for the future she believed God had planned for her.

Looking ahead, Christel hopes to pursue further studies related to Special Needs Education — the field she once dreamed of entering. She hopes to work in government schools someday or serve in organizations and foundations that support learners with disabilities and other persons with special needs. Still, amid the recognition, she admitted carrying one quiet fear: not being able to fulfill the expectations people now place upon her.

As a future teacher, she hopes to extend the same compassion she received from the ISUFST Dumangas community to students who may also feel overlooked or discouraged.

Her story reminds people that inclusion is not merely about policies or infrastructure. Sometimes, it begins with communities choosing not to leave struggling people behind.

Today, Christel J. Surita stands as one of the country’s highest-performing new teachers. Yet perhaps her most remarkable achievement is not the number beside her name.

It is the quiet way she proved that a person does not need perfect eyesight to see purpose clearly.

And somewhere in Sitio Safa, beyond the muddy roads and rice fields where a little girl once struggled to find her way home, that purpose now shines brightly enough for others to follow. (Herman Lagon | Ernie Pedregosa | Isaiah Lord Ebido | PAMMCO)