I have many memories of my schooldays, one of which is particularly sad. When I was in Primary 3, my music teacher was absent for a few days, and when she finally came back to school, she always had puffy eyes and a red face, and looked like she had been crying. So many people wondered what was wrong, and there was word that went around, that her husband had just been killed in an industrial accident.
Through the years I’ve seen many examples of people who gather themselves and face the world with a calm face, despite personal tragedies that take place. Many times we are forced to do that, but there are those brave ones who do it much better, and who not only cope, but continue to be a positive energy around others. I’ve always admired them. How hard it must be to continue smiling, and to give of yourself to others when you’re breaking into pieces inside.
I’ve always wanted to be somebody as strong as that. But I don’t think I’ve been doing it very well. Either that or I do it at all the wrong times. Teaching has made me think again about that. I always knew that I never want to be the kind of teacher who vents her moods on the class, and makes the class be at mercy of her tempestuous whims. I always want to enter my class happy, and be stern only when necessary. I want to always be energetic, and never let my tiredness show. But I haven’t thought about what to do when everything I am feels questioned when I enter a class. I also haven’t figured out what to do when the negative energy in my class saps me within an hour or less.
I mean, I’m the adult here, hello. I should have already gotten myself sorted out, and I should be telling them all these triumphant stories about life and the little things in school. And they should be eagerly lapping up all my stories and thinking to themselves, yay there is hope after all.
But as many have realized, things are not always this idealistic. Nor are they always this pessimistic. Probably it is just an equilibrium that has yet to be reached, because the entropy sometimes threatens to be too much. Sometime, everything should settle down, and work can actually be done, well done.
There are good days and there are bad days. In the final count, there are no wasted days.
o ye of little faith…
