Memories of a Loss: Tribute to a Teacher

Yellow calla lily
Yellow calla lily (Photo credit: Racy Rachel)

I just have to write this down, in this platform of which I wish to express my feelings and well, my thoughts, of a very recent event that unfolded in my life yesterday (I am writing this down, in the wee hours of 22 March). Please do finish reading this whole thing before commenting or anything.

The memories of the past always flood us, with laughter’s on how stupid we’ve been about, the things that really lifted our spirit, the hurt that crushed our souls, and (for me, this is the best one) the lessons covered in all those situations.

She has always been the loud, merry faculty in the school. Her voice is enough to waken up your bones on a lazy morning that you came to school running in late. She keeps you alert, always looking forward to your lessons as she covers them in stories that will overwhelm you and make your memory stick to that “relevant but will never be part of the exam” story.

However, with her is not all that happy and gay memories. Me (and my batchmates) have had our fair share of her loud, domineering voice filled with words that will shame you and enable you to not try doing those wrong things again, raised her pressure over food (a chicken leg, haha!), a soda bottle share, cheating (with a class activity), being late (when I am supposedly an example, I was a beadle then 😛 ), over cheating again (with the other section). There had been many others reasons that she went too angry that I cannot remember anymore, but I am pretty sure those things resulted to a cancellation of a field trip, to another field trip being cancelled and another (good thing our Senior Retreat is a requirement, or else that would have been, too–yes, you can assume we are that crazy!)

As far as I know, or as a particular incident that really jotted into my mind is that she unknowingly influenced one of us to never take a course that is related or anywhere near to biological science for that person’s failed frog exam under her (I failed at that exam, too! Imagine memorizing the muscular, skeletal, and all the different systems of the frog–around more than 10 pages, I guess.).

We (like our whole class) had to write over and over again some lines of things that we will never do again, that for some will take weeks, numerous pages of intermediate papers, pens, time, classes skipped, and energy had been wasted because of the added 150’s, 200’s, 500’s if your missed a deadline.

There are more numerous things that the batch (class) before you will bestow upon your class, for bits of high schooler wisdom on how to avoid and what to take note on her words that will tell you what she is feeling that time, and what really stick in my memory is her line that almost goes like, “I wouldn’t care even if you are the son/daughter of Pontious Pilate”.

But those are things that any of a young, free-spirited teen will always HATE about. The things that will always earn anger and resentment, the “unforgettable” memory, from your students.

I am one of those who felt the resentment, the hurt, the one who will laugh at the eccentric reason why one would blast off a Christmas Party (like really?) because her soda share is missing (but then in truth is actually just hidden behind the plastic wrapping of the ice used to cool the soda). I am also the one whose smile when meeting her has still that uneasy feeling because of our past (shame on me for one “cheating” incident that led to that feeling).

However, above all this, I can say these are memories that we had looked back on and laughed about it, and in truth, the bittersweet memories of the years spent with her, and all my other “life’s” teachers rolls into almost the same things. Most of them may be of different circumstances but they all lead to some great lessons that really prepare you too life if you only open yourself and understand what life unfolded through them.

She taught me confidence, and the grace, to meet every person as if my equal, whereas my qualities, my background, may not be the same as the person next to me, but I should never, ever treat myself as that person’s next-in-line. I am equal with others, though we may not be of the same qualifications and criteria.

She taught me too be patient, too never miss a deadline or then be sorry, to always be responsible of the position you have been endowed. She taught that you cannot always be the excellent student at all of the subjects because you have your own destiny, your own field that you can really excel in. (Deep in my mind, I always think that being the First Section, sometimes, really do make up for our mistakes, because we are getting good grades, no matter how naughty we are.)

She taught that rash judgments may lead you to wrong conclusions, but then things do not come on our time, it’s His time.

She taught me that the hard way of learning a lesson which is to never really to know how to avoid making the same mistakes later, but then accepting first that you made a mistake.

To Ma’am A., who had to return to the door during your birthday surprise because our confetti box, failed to work at the first attempt, and then pulled its rope, who had a loud voice (like my father’s) when we are just conversing, who never failed to make us laugh, whom we never failed to disappoint.

I know the time you departed from us had been too early for us too accept. Too sudden. Unbeknownst to us and most especially to your family, there are greater things ahead that we still do not know, that will still unfold, that we only have to receive at the moment that it will be given.

Thank you, Ma’am.

 

 

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