Why Split High School Schedules Leave Filipino Teen Commuters Exhausted (And Small Adjustments That Help)
Last night, my 9th grade daughter Liza fell asleep on our living room couch at 9:15 PM, her algebra workbook still open to the last page of homework, a half-eaten cheese pandesal next to her elbow. This school year, her public high school in Cavite moved her section to the afternoon split shift to make up for overcrowding: first bell rings at 10 AM, dismissal is at 6:30 PM. It’s been 12 weeks, and I still find her dozing in random spots more nights than not.
Liza has to take the public city bus to school, since I work full time at the municipal clinic downtown and can’t drop her off or pick her up. She leaves our house 15 minutes before the first bus is scheduled to leave the terminal 10 minutes’ walk from our gate. Every morning, she texts me a quick update when she gets to the stop: “Bus is full” or “Got a spot by the door.” If the first bus is full, she has to wait 15 minutes for the next one, and if that’s also packed, she’s late for first period. Two weeks ago, the first bus was full, the next was delayed 20 minutes because of a road closure for a barangay fiesta, and she got to class 25 minutes late. She got a detention that made her stay 15 minutes after dismissal, so she missed her usual bus home and walked in the door at 8:30 PM. She didn’t even want to take a bath before bed, just collapsed on her bed with her uniform still on.
I’ve seen all those articles online saying that later start times are better for teens, that their sleep cycles shift and they need more rest in the morning. That sounds great on paper, but that argument falls apart when your teen’s dismissal is after dark and they’re cramming into an overcrowded bus that might leave them stranded. Split shifts are a fact of life for a lot of public high schools in the Philippines, where there aren’t enough classrooms to fit all the students in one day, but no one talks much about how the commute amplifies the stress of an already awkward, busy 9th grade year.
After a month of watching Liza rush out the door stressed and drag home exhausted, we started making small changes that have cut down on a lot of the daily chaos, none of which cost any extra money or took a lot of time. First, we started prepping absolutely everything the night before. It’s not just packing her bag and laying out her uniform—we pre-portion her baon, put the exact bus fare in a small extra pocket I sewed onto the front of her bag, and even fill her water bottle before she goes to bed. That cuts out 5 minutes of fumbling around in the morning, which is just enough time to make sure she gets to the terminal before the first bus pulls out.
Next, we connected with another mom two blocks over whose daughter is in the same shift. They now text each other as soon as they get to the terminal, so if one sees the first bus is already full, the other can leave a little early to try for an earlier jeepney connection, or they just wait together, which is safer when it’s getting dark after dismissal. It’s a tiny swap, but it takes a lot of the uncertainty out of the daily wait.
I also talked to Liza’s adviser at the last parent-teacher conference, something I almost didn’t do because I assumed she already knew how bad the commute is for kids on the far side of town. Turns out she lives five minutes from the school and drives, so she had no idea how long the wait for a bus can be, or how many kids get late through no fault of their own. I showed her the text screenshots of Liza’s daily bus updates, and she ended up adjusting her late policy for commuter students: 10 extra minutes of grace if you text her ahead that the bus is delayed, no detention for a first offense. That one 10-minute conversation cut out so much of Liza’s morning anxiety.
At home, we adjusted homework time too. I used to tell her she had to get her work done right after dinner before she could relax, but she was so tired by the time she got home that she’d fall asleep at the table half-way through. Now we let her take a 45-minute nap as soon as she walks in the door, I set an alarm for her, and she wakes up alert enough to finish her work in half the time it used to take. It’s counterintuitive to let your teen nap when it’s already 7 PM, but it works better than forcing her to push through when she’s exhausted.
Some days go perfectly: Liza catches the first bus, it’s not even full, she gets a window seat, and she texts me a selfie with a 12-peso iced coffee from the sari-sari store near the school gate. Some days are still a mess: the bus is late, she misses first period, she comes home cranky and falls asleep before finishing her homework. We can’t afford to switch her to a private school with single shifts, and I can’t rearrange my work schedule to drive her every day. We don’t get to fix the overcrowded schools or add more buses to the route. All we have are the small things, the little adjustments that make a hard situation a little easier.
Last night she fell asleep on the couch again, but when I went to wake her to move her to bed, I saw an A on her recent science quiz tucked under her workbook. That’s enough for right now.
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