Mangga’s night air hums with victory. From the stage, announcers call out the names of gold medalists, their voices weaving through the cheers and applause that erupt like fireworks. Behind the commotion, a woman sits with quiet grace, hands folded on the table, a warm smile on her lips. She watches the celebration — not as a mere bystander, but as a quiet force behind their golden triumphs.

There was a time when inferiority clung to her like a shadow. In her elementary days, she sat among classmates whose parents were doctors, politicians, and business owners, and she couldn’t see past the vast gap between them. She found comfort and thrived more in following rather than leading. But that phase of her life was not in vain—for in following, she unknowingly mastered the art of leadership.

“I never set out to be a leader. I just wanted to serve with a happy heart,” the woman reflected.

She established her career in teaching with a simple yet profound mission: to shape learners into the best versions of themselves. She used her voice as instrument to inspire, educate, and uplift. But the very tool she relied on—her voice—began to falter. The strain of teaching took its toll, and she was left with no choice but to succumb to this disheartening turn of events. Yet, this unexpected detour did not end her journey; it only redirected her.

“I believe it is the Lord’s redirection,” she shared, her faith unwavering.

Though her voice could no longer echo in classrooms, her passion for service remained unshaken. She turned her efforts toward ensuring the smooth operation of school systems, advocating for better learning conditions, and empowering those she once stood among. Thirty-eight years down the line, her unwavering commitment naturally elevated her to a position of influence—despite her never seeking it.

“I will do the last five years of my career with the same vigor I had when I started 38 years ago. I truly love to serve,” she affirmed.

Her voice may not carry as far as before, but her impact resounds louder than ever.

“To a 7-year-old girl, hang on, keep dreaming, and know that you are supported,” she expressed when asked what advice she would give to young girls.

She is known simply as “Ma’am Inday,” an all too familiar endearment for women. Yet, there is nothing common about her. Assistant Schools Division Superintendent (ASDS) Marilyn V. Deduyo is a woman of remarkable character—unapologetically herself, deeply humble, and relentlessly dedicated to serving her people.

Her story reminds us of a simple yet powerful truth: real leaders do not stand in the spotlight—they create it for others with a happily serving heart.

Indeed, ASDS Deduyo is a woman of strength; a Filipina whose quiet confidence commands respect, whose wisdom shapes decisions, and whose grace in adversity inspires those around her. She is the embodiment of leadership—firm yet compassionate, down-to-earth yet unyielding, quiet yet powerful. Undoubtedly, her presence is felt in every success, every challenge overcome, and every life she touches.

Arianne Fel B. Fernandez, Juvy Leron, Adrian H. Pansacala

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