15/05/2025
| ๐ง๐ผ ๐ช๐ต๐ผ๐บ ๐ ๐๐ฐ๐ต ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ถ๐๐ฒ๐ป
๐๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ด ๐ข ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ๐จ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ข๐บ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐ข ๐๐๐๐-๐๐๐ช๐ด๐ ๐ด๐ค๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ข๐ณ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ข๐ค๐ค๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ ๐๐ข๐ณ๐ท๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐๐ฏ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ช๐ต๐บ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ง๐ญ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ด ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ด ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ด ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ข ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ง๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐ช๐ต๐บ.
โ
At my first rally, I held a sign trembling in my hands. Standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, I was grappling with a question that had followed me since childhood: What does it mean to truly deserve what you have?
There was a time when my family of five shared a single bed in a tiny, cramped room.
Wooden floors groaned under mismatched furniture, and two cabinets fit all the clothing our family had. Yet, I never felt deprived. Inventiveness was the name of the game, and my parents had just that. To us, perspective was wealth. And with a whole entire wall of our tiny room dedicated to just bookshelves with well-worn novels, law books, and vintage shop treasures, I grew up the wealthiest kid in my city. Privilege was metaphysical; in my humble home, big dreams meant more than our current realities. With a name like Jana Sofia, meaning "door to wisdom," I personified this ethos.
In such circumstances, my parents etched an adage into my very being: ๐๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ ๐ช๐ด ๐จ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ, ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ.
We moved eventually. Tiled flooring replaced wood planks. I now had my own bed. Privilege was no longer something my family had to romanticize ourselves into having. We werenโt opulent, but in the do-or-die reality of life in a developing nation like the Philippines, not living paycheck-to-table felt monumental. As my world expanded, so did an awareness of the invisible scaffolding that had lifted me up. All the while, so many others remained anchored. At 12, I started measuring daily luxuries in terms of the Philippine minimum wage โ a mango shake? Half a day's labor. A book? Two days. The more I recognized what "much" I had been given, the more it felt like a debt I could never fully repay. I began to feel an urgency to "earn" what I had.
My loving parents became my first "creditors," and my labor was in the school. Gold medals and teacher praise became my currency of gratitude. When I entered high school as a government scholar, the number of benefactors I held in my heart grew more. Suddenly, my education wasn't just my family's triumph; it was sustained by taxpayers, many of whom toiled daily for wages that could scarcely support their own needs.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ช๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ด?
Activism for me started quietly. It began with sweet and innocuous passion projects โ community pantries, book drives, orphanage visits. As I grew more comfortable in these circles, my network expanded, and I found myself stepping into spaces where the stakes were higher and the conversations more complex. My work brought me to the fields, where I met faces, shook hands, and listened to the voices of the very people I yearned to serve. Campaigns, policy initiatives, advocacy within government, and journalism became my focus.
With childlike simplicity, I used to measure privilege with wages; now, that awareness has directly translated into a driving passion for labor rights and the struggles of Filipino workers. Often, I found myself the youngest in rooms full of leaders with decades of experience, navigating discussions that spanned national implications. One day, I would be at dinner with senators; the next morning, at a project site with fisherfolk. These moments clarified for me the kind of work I wanted to do: crafting policies that bridge the gap between those who make decisions and those who live with the consequences.
As I continue to learn, I recognize that the responsibilities of privilege cannot be fulfilled in isolation, nor can they be defined by personal success. The truth is, I never needed to 'deserve' a life better than that of sharing one bed with four others. In the end, none of us should have to deserve dignity or a life beyond survival.
โ
FEATURE | Jana Sofia Hupp
LAYOUT | Rhea Jeanne Padilla
โ
Jana Sofia Hupp is an aspiring economist from Cebu with a firm commitment to social change. She is the convener of SEAlayan, the initiator of several community-based projects, and a member of Dakila PH and SENTRO Labor's youth arm. As a student advocate, she currently serves as the student council president of PSHS-CVisC and is the former editor-in-chief of its official publication, The Heights.
Beyond formal roles, Jana is an easygoing conversationalist, a voracious reader, and an amateur philosopher with a focus on political theory and ethics.
Jana has committed to the Harvard College Class of 2029.
โ
Follow the official page for future updates:
https://www.facebook.com/theheights.cvisc
