NATIONAL YOUTH ESSAY LEAGUE

Promises of mental health awareness are meaningless without concrete action. For years, we've been told to speak up, to break the stigma, and to remember that "It's okay not to be okay." Schools hang posters, companies hold webinars, and social media turns green every October. Yet awareness alone cannot sit with a person whenever they require help. It cannot cover a therapy session or shorten a three-week waitlist. Mental health cannot remain a privilege for those with time, money, or luck.

First of all, the biggest barrier to student mental health is that schools simply do not have enough counselors to meet student needs. As of 2022, the latest office data, the Department of Education reports only 4,096 licensed guidance counselors nationwide. That's roughly 1 counselor for every 6,600 students, and the global standard is 1 counselor per 250-500 students. Most schools have 1 counselor handling the entire high school or even multiple schools, but 1 counselor isn't enough to take care of the many students struggling with their mental wellness. 20.9% of Filipino youth aged 15-24 experience moderate to severe depressive symptoms—more than double the rate in 2013. That's roughly 1 in 5 students walking into class struggling to cope. Counselors are a must and should be increased as it's where students will run to whenever they seek help or need someone to talk to.

Another thing, while barangay clinics are meant to be the first point of care for Filipinos, most still do not offer mental health services beyond basic referrals. The Philippine Mental Health Act of 2018 mandated that mental health services be integrated into barangay health centers, but implementation has been slow. Most clinics lack trained mental health professionals, and the few staff available are too busy taking care of other things. As a result, Filipinos experiencing anxiety, depression, or crisis are told to go to district hospitals or private clinics—places that are often too far or too expensive.

PhilHealth coverage exists on paper, but it means little if there's no local clinic to provide the actual care. This can be solved by expanding PhilHealth's Konsulta package to fully cover basic mental health services at barangay and rural health units.

However, mental health in the Philippines will not improve through awareness alone. We've seen that schools lack counselors, barangay clinics lack services, and R.A 11036 remains under-implemented. Even if we fix the counselor shortage in schools and staff barangay clinics, mental health will stay a privilege unless the system makes help accessible, affordable, and safe to use.

Mental health cannot be a privilege for those who can pay or wait. It is a right, and rights demand action. To make it right, we must institutionalize support: counselors in every school, community clinics with real specialists, and policies that treat therapy like healthcare. Awareness told us to speak up. Action must make sure someone listens.

In an era where modern and complex challenges continue to surface, the adaptation to technology is no longer an option—it has become a need. Generative Artificial Intelligence (GenAI) is one of the most controversial innovations which has swiftly entered the field of education. While a lot of people view GenAI as a threat to education involving issues like overdependence and academic dishonesty, others recognize its potential to enhance the experience of students. As education expands along with technology, undeniably, the question is no longer whether GenAI should be used in classrooms, but instead how it can be responsibly utilized to produce meaningful and effective learning.

The core reason why GenAI is not generally accepted in the field of education is that it is believed to hinder students' learning and pose a serious threat to maintaining academic integrity and ethics. In addition, many argue that it lacks empathy or the ability to convey emotions in its works, while also producing inaccuracies, also known as "AI hallucinations," that may negatively affect the learning process of students. In such cases, it eliminates the need for critical thinking and information literacy, which are foundations in learning.

However, the use of GenAI does not completely degrade students' work. It is primarily used as a tool to generate new ideas, organize information, and simplify complex concepts by providing prompts. Namely, when using ChatGPT, it produces the needed information when given a clear, specific prompt. In order to minimize risks such as AI hallucinations and bias, users are encouraged to write effective prompts to maximize its benefits while improving productivity when guided by the GenAI-generated information. This illustrates that students are still required to think critically when providing prompts for them to gather meaningful and valuable results. Thereupon, I adopt the "human-in-the-lead" strategy since GenAI only acts as a supportive tool for its users rather than replacing the role of humans.

Araullo emphasized that AI does not have the ability to recognize the truth, which only humans can verify. In short, human knowledge is far greater than AI's; thus, it only amplifies and improves information produced by humans.

Apart from this, AI-powered tools make learning more accessible and engaging for students with various learning styles to deepen their understanding. As a case in point, Gizmo, an AI-powered learning app, helps students create instant notes and questionnaires from Portable Document Format (PDF) files. For some, this practice boosts efficiency in reviewing rather than relying on traditional methods, such as manually writing notes and creating flashcards. Therefore, GenAI is more than just a shortcut—it helps students manage their academic workload and study at their own pace.

On the other hand, according to a study by the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Foundation, three in four Filipino students depend solely on GenAI to restate other sources and insist that they created it themselves. Unfortunately, teachers will not be able to properly evaluate the students' learning if, in the first place, they did not create the tasks themselves using only their knowledge and experience.

To combat this, the Department of Education (DepEd) has considered designing guidelines anchored to ASEAN Foundation's findings. They want to prioritize a "human-centered" approach to students' learning processes. The DepEd Secretary, Sonny Angara, explained that learners will remain the "focus" of the learning process with GenAI effectively assisting them in their educational needs. Angara highlighted the advantage of using GenAI in the modern curriculum to further develop the 21st-century skills of students. In fact, on February 20, 2025, DepEd released its first research hub, Education Center for AI Research (E-CAIR), which aims to integrate AI into education. This demonstrates that AI is being considered for incorporation in the modern curriculum as it effectively increases productivity and helps provide personalized learning and engagement for learners and teachers.

Above all, AI is a product of human innovation, and like any tool, its effect depends on how people choose to use it. In education, GenAI should not be viewed only as a danger because it also opens opportunities to improve learning, engagement, and productivity. We can still uphold the importance of sincerity and academic honesty in our works even when using GenAI. By creating guidelines and limitations for its use, students may maximize its benefits for learning. As technology continues to mold the future, students and educators must understand how to use GenAI responsibly not as a replacement for humans, but as an instrument that supports and improves learning.

"It's just an online class."

For years, classrooms were defined by crowded hallways, noisy group activities, and face-to-face conversations between teachers and students. Learning felt alive through shared laughter, casual interactions, and the simple comfort of physical presence.

But when education shifted into virtual and hybrid setups, those familiar experiences were suddenly replaced by glowing screens, muted microphones, and endless Google Classroom notifications.

At first, online learning felt distant and impersonal. Students attended classes through tiny boxes on a monitor while teachers spoke to cameras instead of crowded rooms. Conversations became chat messages. Attendance became profile pictures. The silence between discussions often felt heavier than the lessons themselves.

Everything about virtual classrooms seemed cold.

Many believed that education had lost the warmth that once made learning feel human. Yet behind every module and meeting link were quiet moments that proved otherwise—moments that could not always be seen through a screen, but were deeply felt by the people experiencing them.

For educators, teaching during virtual and hybrid learning was never as simple as presenting lessons through PowerPoint slides. Behind every online class was hours of preparation, adjusting activities for students with unstable internet connections, answering concerns late at night, and constantly finding ways to keep learners engaged despite the distance.

The absence of physical interaction made it harder for teachers to understand what students were truly going through. Unlike traditional classrooms where emotions could easily be noticed through facial expressions and behavior, virtual learning often hid struggles behind black screens and muted microphones. Teachers had to rely on smaller signs—sudden silence during discussions, incomplete submissions, or short replies in chat boxes—to recognize when a student might be struggling emotionally or mentally.

And perhaps that was when the role of teachers quietly changed.

Many educators slowly became more than instructors delivering lessons through screens. They became the steady presence students searched for during uncertain days. Some extended deadlines without hesitation after learning that a student was dealing with internet problems or responsibilities at home. Others spent extra time checking in on learners who had been absent for days. A simple "Are you okay?" sent through a private message carried a kind of comfort that no module or lecture could fully provide.

"Students were not the only ones adjusting," another senior high school teacher from the same school explained. "Teachers were learning too—how to become more patient, more understanding, and more emotionally present even through a screen."

Despite the exhaustion brought by endless online meetings and digital workloads, many teachers continued creating spaces where students could still feel seen and heard. Some began classes with casual conversations before lessons started. Others encouraged students to share stories about their day, understanding that sometimes, what learners needed most was not another lecture, but reassurance that someone was willing to listen.

Slowly, the coldness of virtual learning became easier to bear—not because the setup changed, but because people found ways to bring warmth into it.

So perhaps, it was never just an online class.

Because beyond the deadlines, modules, and endless meetings were teachers who stayed patient despite exhaustion, students who continued showing up despite personal struggles, and classrooms that refused to lose their humanity even through distance.

The screens may have remained cold, but the people behind them did not. Behind every muted microphone was a voice still trying to be heard. Behind every black screen was a person hoping to stay connected. And beyond every cold screen was the quiet warmth of teachers who continued reaching out, reminding students that even in distance and uncertainty, learning was still built on empathy, understanding, and human connection.