The Access

12/05/2026

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 || The Weight of a Gold Medal

"Of course she got a high score” The murmurs echo through the room as the teacher announces the scores to the class. "Of course”, a phrase I hear from crowds in every accomplishment I achieve, like it was set to my fate that I was destined to succeed. From an outside perspective, it seems so simple—easy even. Some might say that I excel in everything that I do, but is the journey to excellence really the straight path people picture it to be?

When a person builds an image of how they want to be perceived, people often overlook the story that lies beneath it. Not all high achievers were born excellent, most work tirelessly and study endlessly to achieve such greatness. But one thing that they all share in common is feeling the immense pressure that comes from other people's expectations. Once people decide to label us as "smart", that’s when that title is permanently imprinted on the nooks of our identity. It takes over our lives, keeping us up at night, wondering how to stay consistent and live up to the words written all over our name.

As I walk up the stage to claim my golden medal, I feel the reflection of gold shining through my eyes, and for a moment, I stare at a face I can't seem to recognize. It is the same face I see in the mirror every night before I go to bed at three o'clock in the morning. Sometimes, it feels like a mockery, as if my own reflection is laughing at me and reminding me that this achievement didn't come naturally for me. It was built from hours of endless work and sleepless nights. Every night I lie awake, over analyzing and overthinking just to show up right and play my expected role in this stage play we call life. “Can they see right through my performance?” “Can they see right through me?”—these are the questions that haunt me at night.

Maybe this is how it will always be — fighting silent battles that no one ever sees. People will continue to expect so much from me, but their expectations don’t define who I am. They might never understand the depth of the effort I put into everything I achieve, but deep down, I know that I am enough — and I am exactly who I need to be.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : A.M Lux
𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐘 : Kristine Alguno

11/05/2026

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐍 || The man who can’t be moved

Why is it so easy to look away? A classmate trips in the hallway—you act like nothing happened. Someone faints—you freeze in the moment. But honestly, when will this change? When will we become those who act first, rather than mere spectators to others’ misfortune?

I may not know exactly what everyone feels during an accident, but in my experience, we freeze—not out of cruelty, but out of fear. It’s easy to look at someone in trouble and think, someone else will help. A man falls on the street—and we stand frozen, unsure if we should act first. Phones come out, whispers fill the air, and precious seconds tick by. This is the man who can’t be moved—not because he wants to stay, but because everyone around him hesitates. We become spectators in moments where courage is needed, paralyzed by fear or uncertainty. Yet it only takes one person to step forward: calling for help, offering a hand, or simply reassuring the person in need.

Too often, people hover around those who face struggles like a moth to the flame, instinctively reaching for their phone as if filming this very moment is a need. It’s an unhealthy instinct.

As Chris Heath said in his article, the reasons people have for being a bystander or not, is rooted from their values and the strength they have for said values. In other words, it’s up to us to make a change and save a life. Imagine walking outside and witnessing a motor accident involving a familiar face. Would you still record the moment, or would you act to help?

We all know the haunting feeling of trying to help and ending up doing nothing, especially in serious situations. But acting first doesn’t mean doing everything perfectly. It doesn’t require you to become an expert. It can be as simple as calling for help, offering a hand, or keeping the person calm as you both wait for assistance. That one small choice can inspire others and, ultimately, save a life.

Sometimes hesitation isn’t even about fear—it’s about assuming someone else knows better. But should we really wait? That split second of hesitation can be the difference between a minor mishap and a life-altering accident. The irony is that everyone thinks someone else will step up, and in those moments, nobody moves. Courage doesn’t need to be loud or perfect—it just needs to start somewhere.

Instead of being the man who can’t move at all, let us take this to heart and become the people we should have been. The longer we ignore a problem, the bigger it grows—until one day, no one may be able to help. It’s a tough world out there, so let us help one another—or, as they say, carpe diem.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan
𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐘 : Wivi Anne Castro Pancho

11/05/2026

𝐊𝐮𝐲𝐚! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.

Isang araw, nagmamaneho sa Mingla....
Aking nakita, "𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝘼𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙅𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨!"

With a new school-year up ahead, The Access is proud and excited to announce that we are looking for writers! Don't worry- Full route na tayo! All categories are open, but we are primarily scouting for dedicated 𝗡𝗲𝘄𝘀, 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀, and 𝗦𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 & 𝗧𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘆 writers.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬-- Ano, Tara?

📩 For those who want to ride on with us: Message 𝐊𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧 on Facebook!

𝐋𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 Wivi Anne Castro Pancho

09/05/2026

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 || The Depth

A mother is an ocean mistaken for a person.

We notice the surface first—the calm in her voice, the softness of her hands, the way she carries entire households without appearing to strain beneath the weight of them. We romanticize her gentleness because gentleness is easier to witness than exhaustion. Easier to celebrate than sacrifice. People speak about mothers as if they are born knowing how to give, as if love arrives naturally to them like tides returning to shore. But oceans are not gentle by nature. They are shaped by storms.

And perhaps that is what motherhood truly is: the art of swallowing disasters before they reach your children.

We rarely ask mothers what it costs to become a place others can survive inside. We praise resilience without examining what forced it into existence. We admire their strength as though strength is beautiful, forgetting that most strength is born from necessity. Somewhere along the way, mothers learn how to turn hunger into smaller portions for themselves. They learn how to soften their grief so it does not frighten anyone else. They learn how to carry fear quietly, because homes collapse when the person holding them together is allowed to fall apart.

Like the ocean, a mother is expected to absorb everything. Anger. Noise. Debt. Silence. The sharpness of words thrown carelessly across dinner tables. The loneliness of being needed constantly yet understood so little. She becomes vast because she has no other choice. Depth is not a luxury for mothers. It is survival.

And still, people only notice the visible parts of her love. The packed lunches. The folded laundry. The reminders to eat carefully, sleep earlier, come home safely. We reduce motherhood into gestures because gestures are easier to repay with greeting cards and flowers once a year. But the real labor of motherhood exists underwater, unseen. It lives in the sleepless nights she never mentions. In the versions of herself she abandoned quietly so her children could become whole people. In the dreams she learned to place gently back onto the shelf because someone else needed the space more.

Some mothers disappear so gradually that no one notices they are disappearing at all.
Not physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. They become fluent in self-erasure. They shrink their wants until wanting itself begins to feel selfish. The world praises this disappearance, even expects it. A “good mother” is often imagined as someone endless—someone who gives and gives until there is barely anything left of her beyond what she provides for others.

But oceans erode too.

Even the sea grows violent when stretched beyond its limits. Even water, patient as it is, can only endure so many storms before it begins pulling entire coastlines apart. Perhaps this is why some mothers become distant. Why some grow sharp around the edges. Why love sometimes arrives sounding like anger when exhaustion has lived too long inside the body.

Depth does not always look gentle from the outside.

And maybe that is the tragedy of motherhood, to spend a lifetime carrying people safely to shore while no one asks how deep the water has become. To be treated as shelter before being treated as a person. To love so endlessly that your existence becomes associated only with what you can withstand.

Still, mothers continue loving in oceanic ways. Quietly. Instinctively. At the cost of themselves.

Like tides, they return no matter how many times life pulls them back.

And perhaps the cruelest thing is that people only remember the depth of the ocean once something is already drowning in it.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Nicole Man-on
𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝗕𝗬 : Louise Camajalan
𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐘 : Kyner Lapitan

08/05/2026

02/05/2026

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 | The Access Journalists at SunStar's Junior Journo Program

The Access Journalists of MSHS took part in SunStar’s Junior Journo Program, gaining firsthand experience in the craft of news writing through guided sessions with media professionals. The activity allowed participants to hone their understanding of accuracy, ethics, and the responsibility that comes with telling real stories.

The editorial board extends its gratitude to SunStar for the invaluable lessons and opportunity to learn from industry practitioners. With sharpened skills and renewed purpose, these young journalists continue their commitment to delivering stories that inform, empower, and make an impact.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan
𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗬 : Caryll Cuambot

16/04/2026

𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗢𝗖𝗨𝗦 | THE ACCESS 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗗!

The school publication is featured in the exhibition at the National Schools Press Conference (NSPC), joining selected campus papers from across the country. The exhibit serves as a platform to showcase student publications that exemplify strong editorial standards, relevance, and journalistic integrity.

This milestone reflects the collective effort of the editorial board, journalists, and advisers whose dedication to truthful, responsible, and impactful journalism continues to shape the publication. As it reaches a wider audience through the exhibit, the paper carries with it the voice of its campus and the stories that define its community.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan
𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗬 : Angela Fhaiye Labajo

05/04/2026

𝗘𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆

“𝑯𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅.” — Matthew 28:6

Alleluia! Easter Sunday commemorates the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, a central event in the Christian faith that continues to carry themes of hope, renewal, and new beginnings.

The empty tombs remain a lasting symbol associated with the day, often reflected in traditions and gatherings that commemorate the transition from sorrow to joy and from stillness to celebration.

The day is often marked by gatherings, prayer, and religious services, reflecting themes of renewal, hope, and new beginnings. Various traditions continue to highlight the meaning of the resurrection across communities.

𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Maria Celestine Melencion
𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan

04/04/2026

𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗮𝘆

𝑳𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 3:25–26: "𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘏𝘪𝘮; 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥".

April 4, 2026, Black Saturday is a quiet and solemn day that marks the time when Jesus was laid in the tomb. It is a moment of waiting, a pause between sorrow and the promise of new life.

On this day, we are reminded to slow down, reflect on our past actions, and seek renewal within ourselves. Though it carries a sense of grief, it also holds a deeper meaning of hope. Black Saturday teaches us that even in silence and darkness, something meaningful is being prepared.

It is not only a remembrance of His sacrifice but also a gentle reminder that new beginnings are coming, and that hope continues to live within us.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Caryll Cuambot
𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan

03/04/2026

𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆

Observed during Holy Week, Good Friday commemorates the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and remains one of the most solemn days in the Christian calendar.

On this day, many mark the occasion through silence, prayer, and reflection, remembering the events leading to the crucifixion. Religious traditions and reenactments still depict the suffering and sacrifice that go with the observance.

The day itself contains elements of forgiveness, mercy and redemption that manifest themselves in varying practices seen throughout communities.

“𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅.” — John 19:30

The day quietly tells the story of sacrifice over the generations.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗕𝗬 : Maria Celestine Melencion
𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗬 : Kyner Lapitan

02/04/2026

𝗦𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

“𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.”

Graduation often focuses on the names called on stage, but for Batch Syncytium, the real realization happened in the shadows of the ‘Casturea’, the waxed floors of classrooms, and the struggles during general chemistry. It is the end of a journey defined not by honors, but by the grit of staying until dark in a school that felt more like a home than an institution. Here, in the tightest of spaces, every step folded into a story of perseverance that no grand campus could have ever built.

𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗟𝗨𝗠𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦

At Minglanilla Science High School, the feeling of leaving did not come all at once for Batch Syncytium. It arrived when the light disappeared and schoolwork wasn’t a thing to worry about anymore. It hit during the quiet walk home under a gradient sky or the moment the laboratory apparatus was returned for the final time. For the students, they were simply “too busy to grow up” to notice the clock was ticking.

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘’𝗗 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗚𝗢?

What Batch Syncytium will miss isn't the prestige of the institution, but the unexpected weight of a rhythm they once took for granted. Many entered their final year thinking they could prepare for graduation day by distancing themselves—trying to make the goodbye feel lighter by pulling away early. But as the day arrives, they’ve realized that it is hard to detach from something that feels exactly like where they were meant to be.

𝗗𝗢𝗡’𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗔 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥

They didn’t expect the ache of losing the "constants" in their lives– the people who showed up when it mattered and the ones they saw almost every day. It is a rare kind of friendship, built on "silent wars" where they argued and clashed, only to find their way back to each other every single time. Like a living whole that refuses to break, they built a home not out of a building, but out of the many small circles where they truly belonged.

𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘, 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘, 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘

For years, the campus was just a backdrop they hoped to outgrow. They walked through narrow hallways and sat in rooms that felt too small for the weight of their ambitions. But as the gates prepare to close, the realization hits: the school’s smallness was the very thing that forced their lives to intertwine. In biology, a syncytium forms when separate cells drop their boundaries to become one; at MSHS, the lack of space did that work for them. They didn't just attend the same classes; they shared the same struggles, the same exhaustion, and eventually, the same memories.

𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗠𝗬 𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘

And to Batch Syncytium– as the names are finally called and the stage is cleared, the "funny tricks of time" begin to turn the noise of the struggle into the silence of an empty building. We cannot freeze the picture, and we cannot stop Batch Syncytium from finally slipping through the fingers of the institution that held them for years. MSHS may have been a small school, but it was exactly the right size to forge a batch that proved,

in the end, they were always meant to be exactly where they were.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐘 : Kyner Lapitan
𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐘 : Kyner Lapitan