Last week, it was a delightful surprise to meet my old school teacher.
I call her my old school teacher as if she was the only one who taught me in school. There were many others too. But the truth is that she’s the only one that’s lingered in memory, she’s the only one that’s been worth keeping.
You must have all had your share of extraordinary teachers. The quirky, idiosyncratic kind that don’t seem to fit into the world around them, the kind that other teachers look at with suspicion or distaste. But once you’re inside the classroom, a space where you can actually get to know each other quite intimately, you realize what a joy it is to have them teach you. Their idiosyncrasy seems only to assist in providing a fresh perspective to things. Aloof otherwise, my English teacher always knew exactly what she was doing in class, as if she had stored all her sanity and clarity for what went on in the classroom. It does sound familiar, doesn’t it? Without at least one teacher like that, school life would be quite dry.
The funny thing is that I met her at an English teachers’ workshop and it felt strange rubbing shoulders with her, trying to be an equal. There’s no way I can look at myself as a teacher when I’m around her. I felt giddy and bouncy and was showing her off as my own teacher like a fifth grader. Because I was trailing behind her everywhere I went and we were talking to each other constantly, everyone around us thought both of us taught at the same school. Explaining that she was my teacher was a lot of fun. Maybe she also felt a little proud to have one of her own students be a teacher like her? I can’t say.
While my respect for her has always been deep – I know that if I ever publish a book, her name will go on the dedication page – I don’t think I’ve ever actually expressed to her how much she’s meant to me and what an impact she’s had on my life. Without her, there would have been some reading, but no love for literature. All my passion might still have been locked up in a vault somewhere, unused. Any of my talents, unexplored.
She provided the perfect platform where I spilled my mind’s contents – bubbling with questions I had no capacity to answer. It wasn’t like she answered them – for all those important questions in life do not necessarily have answers – but she took personal interest in what I had to say, not just as a teacher but as another individual and she encouraged me to ask more questions, making my mind larger and larger until it felt like the chaos of the entire world would be able to make a home in my head. She also helped me hone my love for writing. I used to write recklessly before I met her.
But she actually showed me that there might be something worth sharing to the world in it. Sometimes I could feel so much excitement in her comments about what I wrote, I used to feel embarrassed. But her respect for my writing helped me cultivate a respect for what I wrote as well. I found what I’m happy doing in life because of the confidence she allowed me to have. I’m guess I’m lucky that way.
As a teacher, being in a classroom can sometimes be a hopeless experience. But after meeting my English teacher, who’s been teaching English in high school for over ten years, I realized that you need to be defiant, and strong, and stubborn even, to carry on. To have faith that in the long run you will be able to make a difference. Even a week after having met her, I am filled with inspiration. I must give in all I’ve got if there’s a chance that I may be able to touch and transform the lives of some of my students in a way that is even a fraction of what my teacher has done for me.
Ms. Sumi teaches English to high school students. When she isn’t in the classroom, she likes to read novels, write poems, and spend time in the kitchen. She is also a great appreciator of wildlife and considers spiders, cockroaches and leeches as some of her favorite insects.