As an instructor, I was given the natural opportunity to meet students coming from all walks of life with different characters molded by the various experiences they undergo as they make their journey day-by-day.
This privilege seemed insurmountable at first especially when i was new to this profession. But as I matured and became more adept to the ins and outs of this venture, I learned to cope. One day I woke up thinking it is just easy with the provision of putting my heart into it. It was indeed a past-time, a leisure.
In a day, there was fun and laughter. It was light and tender. On another day, it was heavy, unstoppably unbearable, cruel and hard. But at the end of everyday, it was worth the labor knowing that somehow I became an inevitable part of a student's life. One day, I know, I think, that student would look back to the day he was in school with me. He will utter my name, share his experience with me to his family. That, I guess, will make me -- even in its smallest sense -- a legend.
But today, February 15, 2008, the very day after a rainy Valentine's day, I never thought I will mark this day as one of the most awfully, emotionally draining day. A student of mine, I heard from the local radio, committed suicide. Suicide, yes, at 19. He was Charlie, found dead hanging in the CR of his place.
Suddenly, an avalanche of the past came cascading so fast. Every scene allowed me to remember being with this guy so vividly. It was like a juxtaposition of all the moments I have about him. Every pixel of those moments abruptly rushed to me. Then, after a blink of seeming eternity, every square of time which was captured by nature's camera seemed to have been posted on the biggest wall of pictures I never thought I could imagine. It was a kaleidoscope, a mosaic of different moments in the past.
One imaginary photograph showed an intramurals when we were playing volleyball on the quadrangle of our school together with few other students. He was neat and tidy. He was enjoying the game.
Another picture depicted him walking along the corridors leisurely with a calculator in the pocket of his school polo. Fair-skinned guy of 5 foot 5 inches wearing the prescribed school uniform finishing it off by his school ID.
Two or three others make me remember him wearing that demure smile he would always have when I came across him. I would initiate greeting him "good morning charlie" or "good afternoon charlie" and he would make that distinct smile as a response. Typical reaction from him being a silent type.
Several others would remind me of him as a shy person. Usually, he was a listener than a speaker. An absorber than a giver of opinion. An observer than an involver.
At one side of the wall of imaginary pictures of him, I would see his eyes looking sadly. Ahh, this is one of his last pictures.
In a day, there was fun and laughter. It was light and tender. On another day, it was heavy, unstoppably unbearable, cruel and hard. But at the end of everyday, it was worth the labor knowing that somehow I became an inevitable part of a student's life. One day, I know, I think, that student would look back to the day he was in school with me. He will utter my name, share his experience with me to his family. That, I guess, will make me -- even in its smallest sense -- a legend.
But today, February 15, 2008, the very day after a rainy Valentine's day, I never thought I will mark this day as one of the most awfully, emotionally draining day. A student of mine, I heard from the local radio, committed suicide. Suicide, yes, at 19. He was Charlie, found dead hanging in the CR of his place.
Suddenly, an avalanche of the past came cascading so fast. Every scene allowed me to remember being with this guy so vividly. It was like a juxtaposition of all the moments I have about him. Every pixel of those moments abruptly rushed to me. Then, after a blink of seeming eternity, every square of time which was captured by nature's camera seemed to have been posted on the biggest wall of pictures I never thought I could imagine. It was a kaleidoscope, a mosaic of different moments in the past.
One imaginary photograph showed an intramurals when we were playing volleyball on the quadrangle of our school together with few other students. He was neat and tidy. He was enjoying the game.
Another picture depicted him walking along the corridors leisurely with a calculator in the pocket of his school polo. Fair-skinned guy of 5 foot 5 inches wearing the prescribed school uniform finishing it off by his school ID.
Two or three others make me remember him wearing that demure smile he would always have when I came across him. I would initiate greeting him "good morning charlie" or "good afternoon charlie" and he would make that distinct smile as a response. Typical reaction from him being a silent type.
Several others would remind me of him as a shy person. Usually, he was a listener than a speaker. An absorber than a giver of opinion. An observer than an involver.
At one side of the wall of imaginary pictures of him, I would see his eyes looking sadly. Ahh, this is one of his last pictures.
Now, as I try to look back to that time, I regret not having had the chance to ask him what was bothering him. So many opportunities were -- as I try to reminisce the past seeing him around the campus -- given to me which I just ignored for fear that he might just smile at me; he would feel I was intruding; he might feel uncomfortable and would shy away.
Now, reality struck me. The local radio announced this guy was found dead hanging from the ceiling of his residence's comfort room evidently having committed suicide for an unknown reason. I wonder what he had in his mind all those days I saw him.
Now, reality struck me. The local radio announced this guy was found dead hanging from the ceiling of his residence's comfort room evidently having committed suicide for an unknown reason. I wonder what he had in his mind all those days I saw him.
The past can never be returned. It was like I finally went across the bridge of history where, for every step I made forward, the area which my feet used to stand on got burned and became ashes. There was no turning back. It is like water over the bridge.
I just hope though, that one day, no similar incident will happen again especially to one my students who I consider my friends. I hope that one day, when I notice something, I will have the courage to approach the person, talk to the person, show my concern for the person and , finally, make the person feel he has me who cares for him and will help him go through his life the best way I can.
Charlie, your death will not be useless. You may "just" be a student, but I tell you, you taught me a very big lesson which will make me a better person, a better teacher, a better friend; and I thank you for that.
Charlie, your death will not be useless. You may "just" be a student, but I tell you, you taught me a very big lesson which will make me a better person, a better teacher, a better friend; and I thank you for that.
Good bye. May you rest in peace...
No comments:
Post a Comment