On March 19, 2025, I had my first face-to-face meeting with Sir John Durano at CMSES to further discuss my proposed instructional design (ID) project. He warmly welcomed me into his humble ALS classroom, where I also had the opportunity to meet some of his learners.
The students’ shy but genuine smiles revealed that they were unaccustomed to having visitors. That day, only eight to ten students were present. Sir John explained that in ALS, attendance is often inconsistent because learners balance school with livelihood, family responsibilities, and personal challenges.
The classroom itself reflected the material limitations faced by many ALS teachers: an open-door space with a few chairs, a green blackboard marked with dents, a broken ceiling, and only one electric fan. I was deeply humbled when the students adjusted the fan toward me as I conversed with their teacher—an act of generosity despite their own discomfort.
During this meeting, Sir John signed my consent form and shared valuable insights into his students’ backgrounds and challenges. He described their struggles with life skills, reading comprehension, and learning continuity, particularly given the irregular attendance. He also introduced me to their DepEd-provided modular books and mentioned that since the school year was ending, the learners had already taken their final exams.
While waiting for results, he saw my project as an opportunity to keep them engaged and productive. At the end of our discussion, he gave me copies of their current DepEd Reading and Literacy modules to help guide the design of my booklets.
From this conversation, we agreed that the ID project will focus on Reading and Comprehension Enhancement for ALS learners at the Elementary level.
Reflection
This visit was both eye-opening and humbling. On one hand, I felt encouraged by the openness of Sir John and the learners to welcome me and my project. On the other hand, I became more aware of the systemic inequities in alternative education settings: limited facilities, irregular attendance, and scarce resources. Despite these challenges, the resilience and kindness of the learners reminded me that education continues to thrive even in the simplest spaces.
Reflecting on my prior knowledge, I realized how strongly this experience aligns with theories of situated learning (Lave & Wenger, 1991), where learning happens in authentic, real-life contexts. The ALS learners are not only grappling with academics but also with broader life challenges that shape their learning journey. This makes instructional design more complex, as it must balance curriculum standards with learner realities.
I also recognized my own strength in approaching the project with empathy and openness, but I saw a weakness in underestimating the difficulty of sustaining engagement among learners with inconsistent attendance. This realization pushes me to design flexible, learner-centered materials that can adapt to varying levels of participation.
At a broader level, this experience raises questions: "How can ALS better support consistent learner engagement despite socio-economic barriers?" "What policies and resource allocations are needed to create more enabling learning environments?" Research shows that flexible learning pathways and context-sensitive materials (UNESCO, 2020) are critical for marginalized learners, which strengthens my resolve to design booklets that respond not only to cognitive needs but also to equity and access issues.
Moving forward, my plan is to integrate interactive, scaffolded reading tasks into the booklets while ensuring they remain usable even for learners who may miss sessions. This way, the materials can bridge gaps in attendance while still reinforcing comprehension skills.