I have read about gender equality in books, journals, and policy papers. I have spoken about it in classrooms, community discussions, and youth gatherings. As an Indigenous woman in the Philippines, I believed I understood what gender equality meant because I had seen, named, and challenged inequality around me. I knew how women were often expected to be silent, obedient, and endlessly self-sacrificing. I knew how Indigenous women carried the double burden of being both female and marginalized by ethnicity, geography, and poverty. But despite all that I had read and said, I now realize that understanding gender equality in theory is not the same as encountering it, questioning it, and measuring its absence in everyday life.

It was only when I decided to study in the United Kingdom that my understanding of gender equality deepened in a more personal way. Leaving the Philippines did not erase my identity; instead, it made it more visible to me. In a new country, I became more aware not only of being a woman, but of being an Indigenous Filipina woman navigating unfamiliar spaces. I saw how gender equality is discussed more openly, embedded in institutions, and protected through systems that encourage women to speak, lead, and challenge injustice. Yet I also saw that no society has fully achieved equality. The United Kingdom is not free from sexism, prejudice, or exclusion. But what struck me was how seriously conversations about rights, inclusion, and representation are taken in many spaces.

As a student, I experienced classrooms where women’s voices were not automatically dismissed, where questioning authority was encouraged, and where diversity was treated as a strength rather than an inconvenience. That experience was both empowering and unsettling. Empowering, because it allowed me to imagine what a more equal society could look like. Unsettling, because it forced me to reflect on how often women back home, especially Indigenous women, must fight simply to be heard. In the Philippines, many women still struggle against deeply rooted cultural expectations, unequal access to education and opportunity, and social systems that often reward male authority. For Indigenous women, those struggles are even sharper. We are expected to preserve culture, nurture families, and endure silence, even when our voices are urgently needed in decisions about land, education, health, and leadership.

Studying in the United Kingdom did not make me love my country less. On the contrary, it made me look at the Philippines with clearer eyes and greater hope. It showed me that gender equality is not an abstract Western concept, nor a slogan reserved for conferences and campaigns. It is something that must be lived, protected, and practiced every day. It is present when women are safe enough to speak without fear, when girls are encouraged to dream without limitation, and when Indigenous women are recognized not as passive recipients of aid, but as leaders, knowledge holders, and agents of change. It became real in ordinary moments, in conversations, classrooms, buses, and libraries.

My journey has taught me that gender equality is not only about giving women a seat at the table. It is also about changing who built the table, who sets the rules, and who has long been excluded from it. As an Indigenous woman from the Philippines studying in the United Kingdom, I carry both the wounds of inequality and the vision of what justice can become. I now speak about gender equality not only because I have read it in books, but because I have felt its urgency across borders. That experience has made my voice stronger, my purpose clearer, and my commitment deeper.