I have a confession to make. I am, and always will be, a promdi at heart.

Though my only brother and I were born in Dagupan City, it was the island of Marinduque that raised us.

After preschool and Grade 1 at Edna’s School in Dagupan, my family relocated to Gasan, a quiet coastal town lined with coconut groves. Marinduque is known as the Heart of the Philippines not just for its geography, but for its warm, close-knit communities where everyone seems to know each other. In contrast to the bustle of big cities, life there moved gently, like the tides of the Sibuyan Sea that cradled it.

I spent my elementary and high school years at Immaculate Conception College (ICC). The campus wasn’t large, but it had an unmistakable sense of pride and purpose. Our teachers were strict yet nurturing, emphasizing not just academics but values and discipline.

Each morning, I’d travel by jeepney with a group of “ates” and “kuyas,” heading 17 kilometers from Gasan to Boac, the capital. Together, we traversed coastal roads, our uniforms crisp in the morning and rumpled by the ride home. On stormy days, we crossed the swollen Libtangin River on foot, our bags held above our heads, as the bridge hadn’t been built yet. We didn’t call it resilience back then, just a normal way to get home.

I still remember the flag ceremonies that began with prayers and the national anthem. Inside the classrooms with wooden desks and chalkboards, we learned algebra and history. But our education extended far beyond textbooks.

After class, my friends and I played basketball or tennis, walked around town, and shared simple joys like halo-halo in the restaurant near the plaza or pancit from Chi Wing’s Panciteria. On Fridays, we cleaned our classrooms, waxing floors and polishing them with coconut husks until they shone.

Somewhere in those formative years, I met the pretty Mangcucang sisters of the DAILY TRIBUNE. They were bright and unforgettable. And yes, I also met my beautiful ex-girlfriend, but that’s a story for another column.

One thing I treasure about ICC is how education was always tied to community values. We didn’t just celebrate academic excellence, we lived our culture. We joined the Moriones Festival during Holy Week and the “Putong,” a local ritual of blessing. Teachers and students volunteered and performed, blending school life and community celebrations. We learned that preserving heritage was just as important as pursuing intellectual growth.

Sports events and school fairs were also community highlights. ICC fostered a healthy sense of competition and camaraderie. I learned from those events just as much as from books lessons in teamwork, resilience, and humility in loss or victory.

Looking back, what shaped me most were not just lessons in the classroom but of the people: the teachers who believed in quiet students, the classmates who became lifelong friends, the neighbors who rooted for us.

We didn’t have much, but we shared what we had: snacks, stories, laughter, and a sense of belonging. Growing up in a small province like Marinduque gave me a kind of grounding that’s rare. It taught me contentment, resourcefulness, and a sense of duty to give back.

Today, no matter where life takes me, part of me remains anchored in those early years in Marinduque. The values of faith, family, and service instilled there still guide me. Marinduque may not be as fast-paced or as modern as the world we now chase, but it gave me the right mind and heart of a promdi, foundations of a life well-lived, which I wouldn’t trade for anything.