The wind in October carried the scent of both rain and harvest, a mix of storm and warmth. At Jose Rizal High School, the air inside the EIM workshop was heavy not just with solder and smoke—but with a subtle excitement. The kind that simmered beneath focus, rising with every test lamp that blinked on and every terminal that clicked into place.
After the hard lesson in Chapter 17, Sir Emman saw a change. Safety was no longer a checklist—it had become instinct. The students looked out for each other more. They double-checked circuits before asking for power. Even the habitually overconfident Dino now paused before plugging anything in.
And with this shift came a new kind of question, asked quietly, at first:
"Sir… can we try fixing something at home?"
A Spark Beyond School
It started with Leo. Quiet, consistent, usually invisible in group work—but always the one soldering clean joints.
One Monday morning, he approached Sir Emman before class.
"Sir," Leo began, glancing around, "can I show you something?"
He pulled out a folded piece of paper—his hand-drawn diagram of their home's single-line setup. It was simple: one bulb, a fan, and a socket. But beside the sketch were notes in tidy script.
"Loose neutral wire near fuse box – sparking"
"Fan vibrates when turned on – may be grounding issue"
"No light in CR – switch not working since last typhoon"
Sir Emman studied it. "You did this?"
Leo nodded. "My father drives tricycle all day. I just wanted to try fixing the CR light… I haven't yet. I wanted to ask first."
There was pride in his voice—but also caution.
Emman smiled. "What tools do you have at home?"
"Just pliers. No tester yet."
"No gloves?"
Leo shook his head.
Sir Emman reached into the cabinet behind him and handed over an extra pair of insulated gloves and a borrowed tester.
"Bring them back Monday. Take a classmate with you if you can. And Leo…"
"Yes, Sir?"
"You're not just fixing wires. You're lighting your home."
Ripple Effect
By the next week, four more students approached Emman with similar stories:
Jas helped rewire a loose convenience outlet in her Lola's sari-sari store.
Paulo changed a busted fluorescent ballast in their dining room.
Dino surprised everyone by installing a new light fixture in their shared alleyway, earning nods from neighbors who usually only saw him as the "pasaway boy."
Each project was small in size—but monumental in meaning.
Sir Emman noticed that the classroom felt lighter. Not just in mood, but in confidence.
They weren't just memorizing codes anymore. They were applying them—at home.
The Journal Assignment
Inspired, Emman made a new assignment.
"Starting this week," he announced, "you'll each start a Home Wiring Journal."
The guidelines:
Choose one electrical task at home—repair, replace, or maintain.
Document the process: before and after photos, safety checklist, sketch.
Reflect on how it felt to use your skills to help your family.
"No task is too small," Emman emphasized. "It's not the size of the wire—it's the impact."
The students nodded, energized.
"Due in three weeks. And if your family's house doesn't need repairs? Interview a neighbor. Offer to observe and help."
One student raised her hand. "Sir, can I help at church?"
"Absolutely," Emman said, beaming. "That's wiring with purpose."
Carrying Tools with Pride
That Friday afternoon, Emman stood at the school gate as students poured out, lugging toolboxes, multimeters, and extension cords.
Mrs. De Jesus passed by, raising an eyebrow. "Field trip?"
"Field life," Emman replied. "They're bringing electricity home."
She paused, watching one student cradle a coil of THHN like it was treasure.
"Some teachers assign homework," she said with a smile. "You assign service."
One House at a Time
Over the next two weeks, Emman collected stories that moved him more deeply than any grade report ever could.
Carla's Story
Carla's family lived in a cramped two-room house near the train tracks. Her journal was filled with sketches and smudged pencil notes.
Her task? Install a switch near the front door so her grandmother wouldn't have to walk across the dark room to turn on the lights.
She wrote:
"I drilled into the wall carefully, so Nanay wouldn't hear and scold me. She didn't know what I was doing. I wired the switch and tested it with my brother. When she came out and saw it, she cried. She thought we paid someone. I told her, 'No, Nay. I'm your electrician now.'"
Arvin's Service
Arvin lived in an apartment building where neighbors often shared power via risky "octopus" connections.
He used the opportunity to educate others while helping fix a shorted-out junction box.
His journal entry read:
"People say we're poor, that's why we share electricity like this. But I told them, 'We're not poor in knowledge anymore.' I labeled every breaker and made a safety poster for the hallway."
Presentation Day
On the final Friday, the workshop transformed into a gallery.
Each student had a corner with:
Printed photos
Their diagram and process write-up
A short "What I Learned" paragraph
Parents were invited. Some came with slippers and baskets. Others came straight from work. A few came shyly, unsure what their children had been working on.
But as they moved from display to display, eyes widened.
"My anak did this?"
"He fixed our ceiling fan!"
"I didn't know she knew how to make a light dim!"
Sir Emman walked quietly among them, letting the students speak for themselves. Pride blossomed in their voices as they explained circuit paths and breaker capacities. They weren't just students anymore.
They were technicians.
They were problem solvers.
They were hope.
A Letter from a Father
Later that evening, after the event ended and the room had quieted, Emman found an envelope on his desk.
Inside was a handwritten letter:
Dear Sir Emman,
I am Leo's father. I do not always understand what he does in school. But this week, I saw my son fix the lights that I had ignored for months. I saw him draw a diagram with a ruler like an engineer. I saw him explain to his mother what a neutral wire is. For the first time, I saw what your class is really about. Thank you for teaching him more than skills. You're helping build our home—inside and out.
– Mateo G.
Emman folded the letter slowly, heart full. This was more than a teaching moment.
It was a life moment.
The Real Graduation
Weeks later, as second quarter wrapped up, Sir Emman stood before the class one last time.
He didn't bring a projector or a multimeter.
Just a toolbox.
He opened it and one by one pulled out tools.
"Wrench," he said. "For loosening the tight things in life."
"Tester. To check before you trust."
"Electrical tape. Because sometimes, we just need to hold things together."
"Gloves. For protection—not just of your hands, but your values."
And finally, he pulled out a small mirror.
"And this… to remember who holds the power to make change."
He passed it around. Each student looked into it. Some smiled. Some looked stunned.
All were changed.
"The highest voltage doesn't come from a socket—it comes from purpose. It powers not just light, but lives."
– Sir Emman, Closing Words