Last Christmas marked my first trip back to Davao City, my hometown, in a very long time. In my married life so far, my wife and I have spent Decembers in places like Morocco, Hungary, and the United States. But this time, it was different. I had just moved to Sydney earlier in the year, and my wife’s condition had worsened, requiring her to spend time in Davao. It made perfect sense to fly to the Philippines—even if a Qantas flight can be very costly.
If not for Missionary Families of Christ meetings, Himig Sandiwa choir service and Tuesday practices, and cheerful lunchtime interactions at PHD, living alone would have been difficult. On top of that, our office has a mandated shutdown for a couple of weeks in December. So all signs pointed to a trip home.
Another reason for the trip was the chance to attend a high school reunion. It had been ages, and so much had changed since I last walked through the gates of Holy Cross of Mintal. Still, it felt right to reminisce—not dwell, but revisit those memories, even just for a while.
The reunion brought together not only former classmates but also familiar faces from upper batches and those who came after us. We all shared the same campus at one point. I once tried to organize a reunion for our class, but it never materialized.
My time at HCM was filled with simple yet meaningful experiences—school performances, intramurals, and recognition during grading periods.
Table of Contents
The Catholic Faith.
I finished grade school in a public school. While we were taught catechism in third grade in preparation for First Communion, I was on track to becoming a nominal Catholic—someone who followed practices without fully understanding or embracing them.
My first day at HCM marked a transition not only in environment, teachers, and structure, but also in faith formation. (Not wearing the proper uniform or arriving late meant facing consequences you wouldn’t want to experience.) Catholic identity was deeply embedded in everyday life—something critics might dismiss as “brainwashing.”
Our motto, “To Christ, Through Mary,” was sung every morning during flag ceremonies. We had Christian Living classes taught by nuns and read Gospel-based materials. In our first year, we learned about Anne-Marie Rivier, founder of the Presentation of Mary congregation. We held programs every November 21 to celebrate the PM sisters’ foundation.
Being close to a parish also meant active participation in Church life—dawn masses before Christmas, Lenten activities, and more. I served as an altar server and later as a lector during my time at HCM.
The Military Training.
After Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, we transitioned into Citizens Army Training (CAT) during our third year (now Grade 9). It was designed to instill patriotism and basic survival skills in preparation for national emergencies.
In reality, the focus often shifted toward appearances—wearing uniforms, shining boots, and carrying swords as officers. Roles included guarding the school gate or forming a ceremonial saber arch for visitors.
Training itself was physically demanding. Seniors shouted commands, and we followed—rolling on grass or gravel, scaling fences during simulated “flood” scenarios, and learning marching drills, rifle handling, and basic first aid.
As S2 intelligence officer, I had the unenviable task of monitoring discipline—issuing demerits to students who failed to follow rules like wearing IDs or attending classes properly.
The program has since evolved in both name and structure.
The School Canteen.
The HCM canteen was essentially an expanded sari-sari store, selling ice candy, soda, bread, and simple snacks. When the bell rang, signaling recess, students rushed toward it in a chaotic but familiar scene.
I usually bought two pieces of bread and chocolate-flavored ice candy—though sometimes orange or avocado was available. While others gathered under the talisay tree or played basketball, I often sat with friends like Rodel Garsuta, John Elmer Capricho, and Dante Plete outside our classrooms.
The options were limited, but they were more than enough for a school of fewer than 400 students.
The Gardening and Cooking Lessons.
Practical Arts gave us a break from the classroom through hands-on activities.
Cooking classes with Mrs. Cabiguin involved preparing meals in an open-air kitchen using basic tools and group collaboration. We didn’t make elaborate dishes—sometimes just experimental ones like squash cake, which had mixed reviews but, thankfully, caused no harm.
Gardening had been part of our curriculum since grade school. We were assigned plots to grow vegetables like eggplant. Despite our efforts, we rarely harvested anything—most crops were taken before they matured.
Still, working outdoors gave us time to bond, chat, and momentarily escape academic pressures, even as our teacher reminded us to stay focused.
The Drug War
President Rodrigo Duterte’s anti-drug campaign had early echoes even during our high school years in Davao.
I recall a classmate who came from a rehabilitation center. He was quiet but approachable, carrying a different presence.
One day, after a flag ceremony, all male students were subjected to a surprise inspection—bags checked, pockets emptied. Nothing was found among us, but we later learned that prohibited substances had been discovered in another class. The classmate I mentioned was suspected, and I never saw him again after that.
The School Activities
Fundraisers: As a Catholic school, HCM regularly supported various causes. One memorable event involved a competition among classes to raise the most donations. As freshmen under St. Agnes, we consistently ranked first. Whether it was pure generosity or competitive spirit, we took pride in it.
Christmas events: The school held a series of activities from late November through December—foundation celebrations, parties, bazaars, and alumni gatherings. It was the most exciting time of the year, especially for someone hoping for both Christmas and birthday gifts.
In my senior year, the school hosted a concert by a relatively unknown artist, Rotciv Aron. Expectations were high, but things didn’t go as planned. He performed alone, and midway through, claimed his band couldn’t make it due to an incident. Whether true or not, the audience remained unconvinced.
JS Prom: The Junior-Senior Prom was meant to be a highlight, encouraging social interaction. However, strict rules—dress codes, no alcohol, early curfew—made it feel more controlled than celebratory. While we looked forward to it, the experience turned out to be quite forgettable.
The Math Classes: Geometry and Trigonometry
My appreciation for Math began with Geometry under Mr. Ronald Picar and continued with Trigonometry under Sir Trix Olandria.
Before that, Math wasn’t a favorite. But Sir Picar’s clear teaching style made concepts easy to grasp, and solving challenging problems became enjoyable. His discipline commanded respect, and I found myself wanting to rise to his expectations.
Trigonometry was more complex, and Sir Olandria’s fast-paced teaching required extra effort. Still, it deepened my appreciation for the subject.
Years later, I found myself teaching Differential Calculus—drawing inspiration from both mentors.
My First Taste of Journalism
My interest in writing began early, often reading newspapers while helping at my father’s store. Though I had no formal training, the passion was there.
With the support of Mrs. Nora Roque and the PM sisters, we launched The Crossroads. Though we missed the chance to join a press conference, we produced a publication covering school events and stories.
Holding that first printed issue was deeply fulfilling. In hindsight, I would have included more timeless content, but it marked the beginning of my writing journey, leading to greater responsibilities.
The Resilience to Learn
During my first year, my grandmother passed away, and we moved into an unfinished house without electricity or running water. Daily life required extra effort—studying under a gas lamp, borrowing light and space from neighbors, and pushing through discomfort.
Despite the challenges, those moments strengthened my discipline and determination.
By senior year, things improved, but I still remember those nights vividly—studying under dim light, listening to radio commentary, and pressing on.
As time passes, memories fade. Writing this blog helps preserve those moments—not just for me, but for those who shared them. It allows us to revisit a simpler time in our lives, perhaps even decades from now, if God wills it.
Good day, Elmer. This blog entry was such a flood of nostalgia. As the youngest of four siblings which has walked the same path in HCM as you, I have at least heard about how the school was before my time and you have definitely painted a vivid picture of those old stories. Reading about how my father inspired his students with his style of teaching has reminded me of how proud I am to be the great Roland Picar’s son. Without a doubt in my mind, he would also be proud of you, along with everyone whose lives he has touched.