Portrait of a Young Public School Teacher

From FS blog dated July 8th, 2006

Morning begins with curving excitement honoring another luster of triumph; a new life to celebrate after the misty dawn is a form of extreme victory. As sunrise, inch by inch, creeps over the fields in the dewed soils of the Great Plains, he then crawls over to the edge of the lazy blue bed bewildered with the conceptual cries of the squeaking roosters all over the land of the orient. Ah, it’s forty-two past five.

Waking up forms habitual deals pushing his body to clock its way completing the morning, knees bended, thanks to the Almighty for the restful night of dreams and wonders, of conquering and pursuing, of  forgetting and facing…deeming the breathtaking melody of his twenty-five years fight above the world’s stage. No wonder his huge heart (literally) enjoys the cool breeze as a secret smile broke his lips for a new trek to pursue, go and fight…man, you can do it.”

But, as usual he comes late…late as ever. So what? It is his life at which nobody must take the sullen attempt to slam the reality in his face. 

Nobody noticed the firmness clouded by what they think as immaturity. For them it is his job to resemble the complete daybreak with industry beyond the limits of his capacity. Expectation recoils its antagonistic fury when it falls short to what the masters thought would have been the right, the correct and the real. It would end up with the impression that he is a callow, frolicsome and happy-go-lucky young teacher. I doubt.

He mulls his entire strength to give the best English he knows (though he is not a master of it). He raises the level of awareness for the young pupils to comprehend some of the most difficult questions he ever encountered, preparing them when time comes that they have face the struggles but well and defined.

For the whole stretch of the day, he toils for what he knows is the best for these little souls. At thirty past the hour of two, he’s back at his own tiny podium of hiding. He then writes his masterpiece for the following day. He prepares for the next battle and reloading his artillery of LP (lesson plans) combined with his tiny gadgets called visual materials. 

And when the dusk slowly makes its supreme rule, he clears all the day’s burden releasing the powerful “kame-hami-wave” of stress. And at night, he falls like a log, and begin to savor the beauty of restfulness within the cradle of lullaby. He takes his deep rest happy and contented to what the day brought him.

Here, he makes his dreams and wonders, of conquering and pursuing, of forgetting and facing…deeming the breathtaking melody of his twenty-five years fight above that world’s stage.