Entry 1
To those who labor for the future,
The clock continues to tick from AM to PM without rest. A pile of documents that are yet to be signed lay dormant on the desk, and by the chair sat a teacher who had been spent. On a quiet night when the moon looms from behind the clouds, someone can only sigh as their fingers graze the keyboard aggressively. By tomorrow, when they force themselves to peel their bodies out of bed and prepare to go to school, exhaust their vocal cords, sacrifice their peace of mind, and finish the seemingly unending evaluation tasks that the institution demands from them—one could only imagine how such a lifestyle is fitting for a couple thousand pesos minus the taxes and loans. The responsibility of an educator does not end when the classes are over. They sap the remaining ounces of their vitality influencing lives, broadening perspectives, and alleviating stigmas that exist in the community to which they belong. In this age when knowledge is recognized as having the power to change the world, teachers hold immense authority over the future. They rebrand mankind by imparting decades and even life's worth of wisdom, inspiring change while also igniting the youths' passionate hearts in understanding themselves and the society that they will someday traverse and push towards the higher realms. With sincere intent, I want to express this immense gratitude, woven through a decade and a half of your perseverance in helping me realize the value of knowing that I don’t know everything—that there is a big world out there waiting for me and millions of young and curious minds to unearth. This lifetime of remarkable discoveries is your gift to us, and we, as bearers of your visions, will continuously present to you the sweetest fruit of your labor.
To our great heroes, Happy Teachers’ Day!
Love,
watercolourcantcolour
Entry 2
For teaching me about love,
I think there's something
special of the moment our
feelings collide in collective consciousness;
that time when she taught me
of charms, singing solace in lullabies,
that's how she carried me in her arms.
I think there's something
special of the moment in
between remembering and
forgetting;
that time when he rolled the dice,
uttering fondness for pandesals at lunch,
that's how he taught me of sacrifice.
And so, when I look at my parents,
my heart aches for voices
that resonate with mine,
as I recall the time they taught me of love,
and it will remain despite the tragedies of time.
I think there's something special
the moment you know you forgot something;
there's something special of trying
to recall what's forgotten
-there's something special
of learning what remains
will always speak of love,
Thea Maristelle Pusod
Entry 3
My mother—a teacher
"My mother is my first teacher."
That was a story I often heard from my friends,
that I never got to experience.
I used to be envious of them,
and I used to wonder how it felt.
To have my mother teach me
vowels, numbers, and alphabets.
Because mine was not the one.
She was not the one.
Who heard me memorize the vowels?
not the one that guides my hand to write the letters,
and certainly not the one that taught me math.
However, her absences remind me of the passage of time.
Her art makes me think about life.
When was the last time I felt a connection with her?
And how did we spend our time together?
She teaches me that,
In every passion, there’s patience.
In every dream, there’s a sacrifice.
And for every sacrifice, there’s love and longing.
And with longing, I found what I truly value.
After all, my mother is truly my teacher.
A fallen petal of,
Tulip
Entry 4
A Letter to Sir E,
The day I ventured into the philosophy department; I never anticipated the journey that awaited me. As I grasped the handle and pushed open that door, I had no inkling that I would soon be unloading a cascade of thoughts to a stranger. I remember turning to my friend, who had accompanied me, that I was merely inquiring about the possibility of shifting to the department. Little did I realize that this casual inquiry would lead me down an entirely new path in my academic life.
From our very first conversation, you suddenly became an unexpected guide in deciphering the intricate path of my academic aspirations. I entered the department with a mind in flux, lacking a concrete plan. All I knew for certain was that my interests were scattered, mirroring the uncertain path I was about to embark upon — just as you astutely observed, "You're still exploring."
Now, as I reflect on my initial weeks as a philosophy student, I can't help but acknowledge the profound impact you've had on my life. Beyond providing academic guidance, you encouraged me to embrace the thrilling adventure of self-discovery. What might have seemed like a chance encounter on an ordinary day has become a pivotal moment for which I am immensely grateful. While I may not be under your guidance this semester, I eagerly anticipate the wisdom and insights you will continue to share.
Thank you, Sir E, for being more than a teacher. You have become an inspiration on a journey I now embark on with enthusiasm and purpose.
Sincerely,
B.C. Writes
Entry 5
Dear Halcyon,
i.
It is a universal fact that all children must learn to let go. In the alien space of their first classroom, they will know an adult—they do not know this adult--- but the adult, somehow, knows them. When the unfamiliar person crouches down to meet their eyes, extending a new hand for the child to latch onto, they will know who they are: a teacher.
ii.
Children then learn how to do things on their own. How to feed themselves, how to tie their shoes, how to live without holding onto another. The teacher witnesses all, often seeing more of the child’s firsts more than their own guardian. They will be the first to read the child’s first poem, and place a small star on the paper’s corner. The child shall collect these stars, placing them within the open sky of their achievements. As these stars grow into constellations, the origin of the stars will become lost to memory and time. This will not dull their shine.
iii.
Pencils into pens. Storybooks into textbooks. Children into teens. Teachers still remain teachers, no matter how many stars they have drawn, no matter how many tears they have wiped away. Teachers remain teachers, even if a child is no longer their student. Teachers may see them in passing—a glimpse of a now taller boy on the streets; a whip of long hair from one who used to wear it exceedingly short; a voice, while still soft, has grown strong. While they may have stopped being their students, they don’t stop being theirs.
ix.
Years down the line, when a child grows and grows and grows, shedding the visage of youth into something more wizened and certain, they will revisit the decorated galaxy they had built from praises, small stars written on the corners of lined papers, and the impressions of mentors they have met before. When a former-child visits the porch of someone older, someone whom they hold no ties with, but the memory of a classroom long forgotten and a voice long worn from overuse—they also learn to cherish. To cherish the hand once offered and held theirs long, long ago.
Words from,
Fatmah Said
Entry 6
I wish you could read this,
It was 2017 when I first stepped foot in your classroom, my friends and I heard from the seniors from your class on how meticulous you are with your rules. And, as a freshman back then we were oblivious on the journey we’re about to experience.
Do you remember the day when I stood in the middle of the classroom to report an assignment? I chose to talk about queerness and feminism because I knew that you would disapprove as we were in an overtly conservative Christian school and the thought of people existing without the confines of your boundaries irritated you, that was the year I learned I liked all genders. I spoke about the harassment and inequality of queer individuals and women, what they have to go through to simply exist and how your belief was the root cause of all that. After my limited report you asked me condescendingly if I identify as a woman and I stood there with my hands shaking not knowing how to respond so I awkwardly laughed and sat down.
I never viewed you quite the same after that incident. Imagine my thoughts as I stayed in your classroom for 4 years knowing that you view me as a living sinner, that my existence will ultimately lead me to eternal suffering. Every morning devotional you would drop passive aggressive statements on how liking the same gender is immoral and my friends and I would steal glances and chuckle as we did not have the power to talk back, writing this made me wish I should have said something because my little sister and brother are now in the space of your classroom and I do not want them to hear your bigoted words.
This was just my experience, imagine dozens of the kids that were under your teachings that experienced the same bigotry and hatred and internal violence. The kids that are now in their right careers and yet still get glimpses of how you treated them.
Your words have power.
and it's hypocritical that you spew verses on how the tongue can give life and can also take them away,
not realizing that you use yours as a double-edged weapon that kills authentic identities and stops life from growing.
I would be lying if I wrote about how I want the best for you.
What I want for you is to be free from the cult of oppression.
I want you to realize that you are standing in a stage where you are being treated as a prop.
I know how hard it is to break free from the one place that you grew comfortable in but you have to change in order to grow.
I kneel to the ground and pray to your god I no longer believe in and beg that your eyes will see the blood from all the hopes you have killed.
Through the winds,
LucSamael
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