"Thank you and goodbye, Miss! See you tomorrow!”
It is something we say almost every single day without thinking. A routine sentence that slips out as easily as chairs scraping against the floor and bags being zipped shut. The classroom slowly empties, voices overlapping into one last burst of noise before everyone rushes toward the gate of freedom.
And yet, even in that noise, our teacher still makes us say it properly. Not rushed. Not swallowed. Clear enough to be heard. At that time, it felt like nothing more than a habit. Just the way school ends: a small ritual that separates one day from the next.
Over time, I have found myself thinking about it differently.
Because "thank you" is something we learn early. We say it to teachers, to classmates, to strangers who hold doors open for us. It becomes automatic—light, familiar, almost effortless. In school, it marks respect. It marks gratitude. It marks the end of a shared space where learning, stress, and effort all exist at the same time.
Somehow, not every "thank you" carries the same weight once the classroom is empty.
For years, conversations about teachers' salaries in the Philippines have continued to surface, especially when discussing the gap between private and public school systems. Despite being expected to guide students academically and emotionally many teachers still struggle with demanding workloads, financial limitations, and responsibilities that often extend beyond classroom hours. Yet for students, these realities are easy to overlook because much of a teacher's labor happens quietly in the background of our everyday routines.
While we are taught to be grateful, we are rarely taught to notice the financial weight carried by the people guiding us. According to Executive Order No. 64, an entry-level public school teacher now starts at ₱30,024 per month. Though this may sound stable, the Alliance of Concerned Teachers (ACT) notes that a family of five roughly needs ₱36,000 monthly just to meet the basic “living wage” and amid rising inflation. This ₱6,000 gap is where the hidden struggle lives.
In the private sector, the reality is even starker, with some starting salaries ranging only from ₱15,000 to ₱18,000. When the math doesn't add up, teachers don't stop working: they subtract from their own lives to add to ours.
Most students have probably experienced small acts of kindness from teachers that feel ordinary at first—printed reviewers, classroom materials bought out of their own pockets, snacks during events, or simply giving comfort during difficult times.
You don't have to be close to your teacher to see this sacrifice. It is hidden in plain sight. It's in the printed reviewers on our desks, the colorful bulletin boards on the walls, and the rewards for being the “best in class.” Researchers show that teachers routinely spend ₱3,500 to ₱10,000 of their own money spent … annually on classroom suppliess that the school budget doesn't cover.
I saw this firsthand when I was about to go home because I was sick. My advisor asked me to wait near the sewing room. She said she had something for me. I did not think much of it back then. I just assumed it was something small, something simple. When she came back, she handed me a Stitch plushie. It was soft, small, and unexpectedly thoughtful. I remember laughing a little because she had repeatedly asked me if I liked Stitch before, and I had said yes without thinking it would matter.
At the time, it felt like just a kind gesture from a teacher to a student who was not feeling well. Looking back, that small plushie represents more than just a kind gesture. It is a deliberate choice. It made me realize that while the world measures a teacher’s worth through salary grades and benefits, they are constantly giving us things—like a bit of comfort when we’re sick—that simply don't have a price tag.
What makes gestures like these meaningful and memorable is not necessarily their price, but the intention behind them. In a profession constantly associated with conversations about salaries, workloads, and expectations, even small acts of generosity reflect time, effort, and emotional labor that students rarely think about deeply. Teachers continue giving parts of themselves to students in ways that cannot always be measured financially.
These aren't just acts of kindness—these are literal forms of subtraction from a teacher's personal budget. While the world measures a teacher's worth through their salary, they are constantly giving things that have a price tag they can't always afford to pay.
We often think of teachers only within the classroom—explaining lessons, checking papers, managing noise, and guiding us through topics we struggle to understand. But what we rarely consider is everything that continues beyond the hours we spend sitting in front of them.
What makes the hidden financial realities of teachers difficult to notice is how quietly they exist in the background of their everyday lives. They are not always openly discussed, nor are they written on the blackboard for students to see. Instead, they appear in passing conversations about salaries, in the exhaustion hidden behind prepared lessons, and in the constant balancing between personal responsibilities and professional expectations. Much of a teacher’s work happens beyond what students are taught to notice, which is perhaps why many of us never fully realize how much they continue to carry outside the classroom.
As students, we rarely connect those realities to the people in front of us every day.
We say "thank you" at dismissal like it is enough to carry everything we have received in a day. Like it neatly balances the effort, the patience, and the time given to us inside the classroom.
And over time, I began to understand how limited that exchange really is. We see the soft fur of a Stitch plushie or the bright colors of a new visual aid, but we don't always see the budgeting and the trade-offs that happen behind the scenes to make those things possible. It’s not about how much they have—it’s about how much of themselves they are willing to give away.
Because when we leave the classroom, the work does not end with us. It continues in quieter forms—preparation, reflection, and the repetition of the same cycle the next day. The classroom resets for students, but not entirely for teachers.
Maybe that is why she makes us say it clearly before leaving. Not because she needs the words, but because "thank you" is easy to say when we are the ones walking out. It becomes lighter when we do not have to carry what comes after it.
