I didn't know what to think or feel when I received messages earlier this afternoon about the death of my high school English teacher. I was in Landbank when I read them. He died of colon cancer and heart disease last Tuesday. His body will be buried tomorrow in Nueva Ecija. I guess everyone in my batch is still as shocked as I am to this very moment.
He was always there whenever I try to conjure up memories of high school. He is definitely someone to remember. I can't forget the time he introduced himself to our class, and to the time we said goodbyes on graduation.
One thing I specially remember was his eyes. Eyes that have known real loneliness. I remember him always being jovial and funny, but I never missed his eyes whenever he made us laugh. I guess I can say he succeeded in trying to make that link between people and himself. I really don't want to spoil my memories of him. I'll stop there. This is not just some desperate attempt to make sense of his life. This is to comprehend what he had been to us.
He also believed in us. He believed in me, in whatever paltry talent I exuded. I felt that. Only one in a thousand teachers can make you believe that you can do wonderful things. I never believed in myself the way he did. He was happy when we passed those college entrance exams. He taught us eagerly. He talked to us about what we think, even of our lives and dreams, as if her really cared. And Lord knows we were young then and we needed that to get respect ourselves and to validate that we do matter.
Perhaps these are exaggerated claims. But he was real inspiration.
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Have you known real loneliness? I don't mean to exaggerate, but even the mere memory of how sad things were renders me incapable of reaching out to people. But I must aspire to make sense of my life through others, the same way my teacher did. After all, that's the only meaningful thing we can do with our lives.
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Be planning to go to Nueva Ecija on Sunday or next Friday. Be meeting Ka tom to plan everything.
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