“When you’re wet, a baby you will get. When you’re dry, the sperm will die.”

That isn’t a spiffy campaign slogan. That is the summation of the sex education that I, together with my other classmates, received in high school.

The class was taught by a nun and, if my memory serves me right, the lesson was taught not under Biology, but under Family Life and Christian Living.

The wet and dry pertained to measuring cervical mucus; the thicker it is, i.e. wet, the more fertile you are. Hence, a baby you will get.

Other methods of birth control, the dangers of catching a sexually-transmitted infection were not discussed. Neither was HIV, even though that was the early 90s and the first case in the country was discovered back in 1984. By then, AIDS-related deaths had already claimed many lives in the United States.

We were not taught how not to get pregnant (although a video showing us a child birthing class was quite effective in convincing us) and it was emphasized that we were to be good wives and doting mothers.

It was expected that women with our education only had decent relationships, which meant we were only to hold hands, give chaste kisses with our mouths closed (French kissing was a sin) and to leave the oral sex to the prostitutes. I remember that last part quite distinctly because when we were being taught the importance of keeping our hymens intact, I — half sarcastic and half inquisitive — asked my teacher about the practice of oral sex, which would keep our hymens intact. Quite mortified by the question, she answered by giving the prostitute analogy saying that girls like us only engaged in sex “the proper way.”

If our education seemed tight-lipped, conservative and quite rigid, it only served to mirror what society was like — only the oxymoron of society was more evident.

We saw more motels than condoms.

We valued relationships and what others thought, but not ourselves first and foremost.

We loved, but failed to remember that it was not to be equated to surrender.

We stopped at the present and let the future take care of itself.

In school, we were educated, but not informed. At home, we were provided for by our families, but often not prepared for the risks and responsibilities of adulthood.

So people engaged in sex and withdrawal was the preferred method of birth control, without knowing how effective it is. Many classmates, friends and acquaintances got pregnant and then got married. Apparently, marriage wasn’t a requisite to the baby in the baby carriage.

Things haven’t changed

Except for condoms now being available in 24-hour convenience stores and in gas stations, things haven’t changed much in the last 20 years since high school. Sex education is still not being taught in schools (where would we be without the Internet and social media?) and young people still don’t know enough about their own bodies. Access to reproductive health information and services is also limited, even from medical sources.

One girl sent me an SMS saying that a doctor she consulted said she couldn’t prescribe her pills because she was only 21 and too young to be having sex. The good doctor may not have been aware that the average age for first sexual encounter in the Philippines is 15 and that one in every 10 teenagers will have given birth to their first child by the time she’s 19.

One boy asked me why his girlfriend still got pregnant when she had dutifully jumped after sex and they even bathed right after.

And in one heartbreaking story, a 15-year-old girl was slut-shamed in her school when her boyfriend bragged to his buddies that she was an easy lay. She wasn’t even sure if they had sex. “We were just supposed to study at his house and started kissing and kind of got carried away. I wasn’t sure if ‘that’ was doing it,” she told me.

In all these cases, these were kids from middle to upper class families and were going to school. They were supposedly educated and supposedly knew better.

But without adequate and judgment-free information about reproductive health, these young people are left guessing and groping in the dark about how their bodies work and how to deal with their burgeoning sexuality that marks the onset of adolescence.

According to the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), over the last 5 years, babies born to teenage mothers in the Philippines increased from 39 per 1,000 live births to 54.  The 2011 Family Health Survey shows that while childbearing is decreasing among women 25 years old and up, it is increasing among the 15-19 and 20-24 age groups.

Various sectors have cited the lack of information and education about their bodies and how they can prevent unplanned pregnancies as a problem among young girls, especially those who come from poor families. It is not a problem of the poor and marginalized alone.

The youth from middle class families are no different and are sometimes overlooked; because they are able to go to school, they are educated and should automatically know better. It is a dangerous assumption to make. Because to know better connotes comparison, and right now, these young boys and girls just don’t know.

On Friday, September 14, the Philippines will hold the first National Summit on Teen Pregnancy to identify strategies and programs for sustainable interventions on the rising number of teenage pregnancies. The program is a joint initiative between the UNFPA and the National Youth Commission. – Rappler.com

Ana P. Santos is a freelance journalist who focuses on women’s sexual health rights. 

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