ILOILO — For many who have dropped out, lost opportunities, or lacked access, education goes beyond classrooms and report cards.
The Alternative Learning System (ALS) offers them a second chance — one built on flexibility, dignity, and the belief that it is never too late to learn.
WHAT IS ALS?
The Alternative Learning System, administered by the Department of Education (DepEd), is a parallel, non-formal and informal route to basic education. It is designed for out-of-school children, youth, and adults (OSYA) who for various reasons cannot enroll in or complete formal schooling.
ALS operates with modular, flexible learning programs, including the Basic Literacy Program and the Continuing Education Program – Accreditation and Equivalency (A&E). The goal: to provide literacy, numeracy, life skills, and eventually an equivalent credential to those who have missed out.
Sessions may happen in community halls, barangay learning centers, or other spaces suited to the learners.
The stories of ALS are written in sweat, hope, and imperfection. These are the voices of people who refuse to let barriers define them.
NEVER TOO LATE
At 74, house helper by trade, mother, and survivor of loss — all these titles describe Olimpia Bacho, whose life reads like a chronicle of struggle and longing. Born in Dungon B, the sixth of seven children, orphaned of siblings by illness, raised by an aunt in Tubungan, Iloilo, she always tasted the bitterness of what she could not afford. Education was among those unreachable things, especially when there was no local high school in 1964.
“Gusto ko lang tani nga maka-intindi bala sang English gid, kay ti..naka-first year high school ako pero wala ko matapos, kag dayon naglakat ko sa Manila, nag istar sa tawo, muna nga wala ko nakapadayon sa akon nga pagtuon,” she says, eyes steady.
She laughs easily about tending banana-plants, photocopying her learning modules via her grandchild’s printer. The tasks are small, but the goal is big: understanding, being able to speak English, finishing what was once left undone.
Last 2024, she enrolled in ALS — her way of getting back to school. Though she did not pass a qualifying exam necessary for graduation, she remains firm that she will return.
“Nanamian ko ang math kay mas hapos lang siya. Ga-enjoy man ako sa ALS, kay damo man ko may nabal-an … kag gusto ko man maka-intindi sang English. Galing nabudlayan na gid ko subong kay tigulang na ta, kag budlay na bala, mata ko gasakit magbasa ako,” she shares.
Her dream? To attend TESDA (Technical Education and Skills Development Authority) classes, learn cooking, bake cakes, maybe even cake-decorating.
“Kay mahilig ka ako magluto. … Gusto ko mag-decorate cake,” she says.
FAMILY BREADWINNER
At 32, Joemar Buensuceso is a trisikad driver. Three children, a separated spouse, many responsibilities. But for Joemar, ALS was never about prestige — it was about survival, responsibility, identity.
He was the 10th among 11 siblings. Their father died when Joemar was 12. Even before that, he had stepped up: working side-hustles, helping his mother, filling in for siblings.
“Ako ang nagsilbi nga daw tatay na sa amon mag ulutod sang time to. … Ako ang breadwinner,” he says, voice carrying the weight of early years.
He remembers first years in high school—absences for work, suspicion from teachers and classmates, earning allowances, yet always feeling the pull of education. In 2013, he graduated ALS after weekend classes, part-time work, and long days.
“Wala gid ko nakaagi join sa JS Prom…kadamo na sang gina utangan ni Nanay … Tanan nga kasakit naagyan ko sang bata pa ako,” he says.
Now, even though he could perhaps pursue college, he chooses to focus instead on his children’s future.
“That time, nag-cross na sa mind ko. Sang una gahandom eh. Kaso subong, kontento na ako, ang ginahandom ko na lang ang malab-utan sang kabataan ko,” he says.
SELF-SUPPORTING DREAMER
John Carlo Elvas is 24 and lives in Barangay Airport Zone 1, Mandurriao, Iloilo City. Parents gone, responsibility early, but hope intact. High-school dropout, ALS graduate, senior high school, then some college in Information Technology. Then financial limits pulled him back.
“Sa edad ko nga 19 nag-enroll ko sa ALS. Rason nga-a nag-enroll ako kay nag untat ako sang high school kay napatay si Mama. Bali two years ako nag-untat eskwela, kag sa kapigaduhon pa gid,” he says.
He now works as a government employee, volunteers in emergency response, and carries dreams of returning to finish school.
“Ang lesson gid nga natunan ko sa kabuhi ang maging kuntento sa bagay nga kun ano lang ang masarangan mo, kag mag tinguha gid sa pangabuhi kag mag pangamuyo gid permi. Ipasalamat gid sa Ginoo tanan nga blessings nga na baton mo … Making mistakes does not mean you’re a failure. It just means you’re trying and learning in life,” Carlo adds.
TEACHER’S FAITH
ALS teachers often see the journeys, the losses, the victories.
Jona Tabadlo teaches in five barangays, instructs students like Bacho, Buensuceso, and Elvas—not just in subjects, but in hope.
“Sa ALS di man totally nga nagakalse kami, naga integrate man man kami life skills training, so si teacher ma-strive hard gid siya nga, kay bulig ina sa ila. I want to empower my students. Education is a transformative force. It can change lives. True teaching goes beyond the classroom; it’s about uplifting communities, nurturing hope, and inspiring individuals to strive for a brighter future against all challenges,” she says.
Her classrooms do not demand perfect attendance, lavish materials, or spotless uniforms. They demand consistency, belief, and the courage to try again. She is the kind of teacher who quietly becomes an anchor in the storms of her students’ lives.
BARRIERS AND WHAT ALS OFFERS
Common threads appear in ALS stories: poverty, early drop-out, family responsibilities, geography, even age. These are barriers that many in the formal system struggle to accommodate.
Thus ALS offers:
* Flexibility of schedule and place.
* Modular learning so learners can progress based on ability and pace.
* Recognition through A&E so that certificates have value.
* Support from facilitators who often go to them—not expecting learners always to go to classrooms.
But ALS is not without challenges: exam-qualifying hurdles, societal stigma (“too old to learn”), costs related to transport or materials, eyesight or health issues in elderly learners, financial instability that forces many to drop or postpone.
WHY IT MATTERS
These are not just stories of individuals learning; they are stories of communities being uplifted. When someone like Bacho gains confidence in math, or Carlo senses his life changing through it, or Joemar sends his child to school with pride—these ripple far beyond the learner. Teachers like Tabadlo multiply that effect.
Education, in these contexts, is not a privilege—it is a lifeline. And ALS is a promise.
THE DREAM CONTINUES
Olimpia Bacho will return to ALS. Joemar Buensuceso may yet choose to study further—or watch his children fulfill his dreams. John Carlo Elvas, balancing work, duty, and desire, still holds on to his hopes. And teachers like Tabadlo will be there, module in hand, heart full, ready to uplift again.
As long as there are some who dream, ALS remains a pathway for more than literacy — it becomes a map to possibility, a declaration that education belongs to everyone./PN
