The morning sun broke through the windows of the EIM workshop, casting long, angled shadows across the tool benches. The air buzzed—not with electricity, but with anticipation. It was the final performance task day, and for Grade 10 EIM students of Jose Rizal High School, this wasn't just a requirement—it was a declaration of everything they had become.
Emman stood at the threshold of the room, clipboard in hand, dressed in his neatly pressed Jose Rizal uniform polo, steel-toed shoes, and a hopeful heart.
Each student had one shot to prove mastery of the core competencies: schematic reading, proper conduit bending, load calculation, safety compliance, actual installation, and troubleshooting. But this year, the twist was personal.
Their final task?
Build a prototype panel of their dream project.
Wired to the Heart
Tables were arranged like small workstations. Each student had their assigned space, complete with a mock wall panel, a basic circuit breaker box, a main switch, and space for their personal design—whether it be for a house, shop, or other real-life application.
Before beginning, Emman gave them a quiet moment.
He addressed them softly: "Today, I'm not looking for perfection. I'm looking for conviction. Let your hands prove what your hearts believe."
One by one, students stood, nodded, and got to work.
Carla, with her steady hands and quiet strength, was installing a light-and-fan setup for her "Mobile Learning Van" concept—an idea born from the outreach program. Her design included charging ports, lighting, and an inverter setup, all powered through a deep-cycle battery and solar input simulation.
Arvin had drawn up a panel for his father's carwash shop—complete with waterproof junctions, emergency shutoffs, and an LED signage controller.
Leo, the once doubtful dropout candidate, was confidently working on a small bakery layout with overhead lighting, a plug-in oven circuit, and exhaust fan wiring.
Even Jas, who once struggled with confidence, had crafted a women's shelter floor plan. She had included dimmer switches for rest areas, tamper-resistant outlets, and clear circuit labels—tiny details that whispered of protection, care, and design thinking.
Tension in the Line
Midway through the assessment, Emman walked around with his checklist, careful not to distract, but observant.
He paused by Dino's station. The class clown had surprised everyone in the past month with newfound focus. Today, he was attempting a dual-circuit barber shop setup—with alternating current sources for a clipper station and a sterilizer.
"Ground line's missing in your second outlet," Emman said quietly.
Dino's eyes widened. He'd forgotten.
"I'll fix it now, Sir," he whispered.
"No shame in a mistake," Emman replied. "Only in leaving it unfixed."
Dino smiled and corrected it.
Next, Emman passed by Carla. She was calm, but a subtle tremor in her hand revealed nervousness.
He gently placed his hand on the table. "Remember what you did in San Roque. This is no different. The people you imagined helping? They're watching you in your mind right now. Wire for them."
She nodded and refocused.
A Visitor's Test
Midway through the day, Mrs. De Jesus entered with a guest: Engineer Tomas Villaruel, a curriculum auditor from the Division Office. He was sharp-eyed and briefcase-carrying, known for high standards and few words.
"Ma'am De Jesus," he said after introductions, "if you don't mind, I'd like to observe. Randomly check three students' outputs."
Mrs. De Jesus gave Emman a knowing look.
"Of course, Sir," Emman said, gesturing around.
Engineer Villaruel approached three stations—Arvin's, Jas's, and Carla's.
Each one stood nervously but answered each question with precision. Wattage calculations. Ampere limits. Code compliance. He tested switches. Checked breaker ratings. Asked about color coding.
When he reached Carla's solar van concept, he paused.
"This is ambitious," he murmured.
"Yes, Sir," Carla said softly. "It's for communities where children have no light at night. I wanted to make something mobile. Rechargeable. Clean."
The engineer nodded slowly. "Did you build a redundancy backup?"
Carla blinked. "Yes, Sir. A manual toggle that connects to a separate low-amp battery system in case solar fails."
He was impressed.
He turned to Emman. "You're doing more than teaching skills, Teacher Emman. You're mentoring visionaries."
Emman simply smiled. "They were already full of light, Sir. I just helped wire the switches."
A Spark of Legacy
By early afternoon, the practicals wrapped up. Emman called the class to sit down.
"I know you're tired. But I want to show you something."
He brought out a large frame and unveiled it—a photo collage of their Barangay San Roque outreach, their classroom, and quotes he'd compiled from their reflection journals.
Carla's quote was at the center:
"I used to think I was just meant to follow. Now I think I'm wired to lead light into darkness."
The students were silent, many swallowing tears.
"You may not remember the exact resistor value ten years from now," Emman said. "But I hope you remember what it felt like to believe you were capable."
He handed each of them a sealed envelope.
"Inside is your evaluation. But more than that, there's a note—from me—to each of you."
They opened it in silence. The room buzzed with emotion, not voltage.
Some notes were longer. Some had drawings. Some had simple, bold reminders like "You are not your grades," or "You are built for more than compliance."
The Current Carries On
Weeks passed. Grades were encoded. The school year wound down.
One day, as Emman was packing away soldering irons into a cabinet, Mrs. De Jesus came in, holding a letter.
"Congratulations, Sir Emman."
He looked up, curious.
"You've been nominated for the Division's Gawad Mahusay na Guro."
His eyes widened.
"Not for your teaching… but for your impact. Parents, students, and our barangay captains submitted letters. Your name came up over a dozen times."
He was speechless.
"And there's more," she added. "The school board approved your proposal for an EIM mobile training van next year—thanks to Carla's final project model and your mentorship."
Emman stood still for a moment.
It felt surreal.
But he wasn't the kind of man to cry in pride. Instead, he smiled, wiped his hands on his rag, and whispered, "Let's get back to work."
Final Bell
On the last day of school, the bell rang at 4:00 p.m.
Students had already left. The halls were quieter than usual. Emman walked slowly down the corridor, his toolbox in hand, passing by classrooms full of memories.
He stopped by the door of his own room.
Inside, the walls had been cleared, but the faint markings from past lessons were still visible. Faint chalk arcs. Traces of the wiring diagrams. Tape residue where posters once hung.
He flicked the main switch.
The lights buzzed on.
Bright. Ready.
Just like his students.
Reflection
That evening, at home, Emman opened his own journal. The same one he'd kept from Day 1.
He turned to a fresh page.
Chapter Complete.
They entered as kids uncertain of wires.
They leave as humans certain of light.
Not all will become electricians.
But all now know what it means to power someone else's world.
That is enough.
That is legacy.
E.