An open letter to Localization Law

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The Republic Act No. 8190 of Localization Law is defined as “AN ACT GRANTING PRIORITY TO RESIDENTS OF THE BARANGAY, MUNICIPALITY OR CITY WHERE THE SCHOOL IS LOCATED, IN THE APPOINTMENT OR ASSIGNMENT OF CLASSROOM PUBLIC SCHOOLTEACHERS”. Through this law, a teacher who was assigned away from his/her hometown can eventually be transferred through a series of evaluation and selection criteria.

Recently, a teacher sent us a letter hoping that this may be heard or read by anyone who can relate. This is to bring awareness and an eye-opener that even teachers must also be heard without taking these issues against them.

Dear Localization Law,




Greetings of justice and love!


Hoping this letter will find you not busy and well. With so much honesty I find you beautiful, sensitive, considerate and selfless that I am so interested with you. Forgive me but with respect I read about you to know you even more.However, with my limitation, there are matters that is beyond my comprehension.


Allow me to please present my humble self. I spent most of my time traveling on Sundays, a two-stop travel with long hours of waiting. May God forgive,but I don’t go to church already because I spent already my time on the road. I used to rush having groceries for a week while running for a lunch so, I could catch up with the jeepney traveling to my work. During rainy days, it is a must for us to walk two hours to reach the school carrying all the rice, canned goods and personal things packed on our back not to mention the other bags on our hands. Teaching in one of the last mile schools is quite challenging and interesting. It taught me lessons of life I will forever carry in my heart. It taught me patience of waiting on the side of the road for a ride amidst the growing fear of a girl standing alone while the light has been consumed by darkness. It made me stronger for carrying my necessities. It made me more understanding as I walk the road the children are walking through everyday in the name of education. It made me kinder to appreciate small things in life. It taught me to be brave for the moments I needed to walk alone in the canopy of great trees and weeds at night. It brings more than happiness but joy within. It humbled my proud and ambitious heart. It fulfills my calling. It defines teaching more than my imaginary thoughts in my younger years. Teaching far from home made me stronger and independent.


There are more stories of drama, adventure, horror and comedy to tell yet words cannot contain them in just a page of a letter




It has been four years and five months. With heavy soul, I longed for transfer because of personal matters I rather left hidden through the words I am knitting towards you. As Stephen King says, the most important things are the hardest to say, because words diminish them. I wish the tears I shed and the silence I embraced will both speak in my behalf. I do not detest the place I am right now but there is a gushing longing within me to grow.
I am writing you because I pleaded for this for a lot of times yet remained ungranted. With so much understanding, I comforted myself always that those doors closed for me had their purpose as it molds me to be a better human. Yet I cannot help but question in a long run. The word “this is not yet your time, everything happens for a reason” sounded an excuse and gives no comfort but brings offense already. It made me wonder that others, in a short while are granted with their request to be based into their home-sweet-home because of the privileged of having someone they know.


A friend in one of his writings said, you cannot keep your one eye open and close the other. I cannot help but question your authenticity. Are you real? Are you true?
Shall I still cloth myself with the comfort that it is not yet my time or uncover myself with pity because I am less privileged?


With my greetings of justice and love, shall I allow myself to believe in love without injustice or to wake up in a reality that there will always be prejudice in love? It is lamenting that the remaining purest truth in me is slowly being corrupted by the ugly truth of the system.


I hope that the beauty I saw in you will still prevail, that you are created because of injustice, that love exists because of prejudices.




May I end this letter expressing not my rants but to be understood that in the other end of the line, may the “privileged people” shall stand for what is just and fair. Allow the names of the people on the bottom be acknowledged, be recognized. Let people still believe in law and justice.

Until then,

Ma’am J.



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