Balik Busko

It's like a hit in the face.

Barely two months have passed since i tended my resignation letter as a teacher in Don Bosco. Together with that was the controversial broadcast that I was to leave my beloved alma mater for personal reasons, not to mention much greener pastures.

But no. It seems that a Spirit continues to haunt me. Because guess what?

I'm back.

And i feel good about it.

But not that good.

Because as July sets in, i would have to give a repeat performance for my goodbyes and valedictions.

Here's the story.

One of our co-teachers had to take a leave for family reasons. Because of that, the department immediately had to get someone who could substitute for the month of June. I was one of their options, and since i didn't have anything to do for the month, eventually, i conceded to their offer. I were to teach English 3 to Rinaldi, Rua, Variara, and Versiglia, while taking responsibility for 3 Versiglia as adviser.

Even though i was giddy with excitement of meeting new students and doing what i really love to do, at the back of my mind was a haunting thought that literally paralyzed me to the bone. What if the students dont take me seriously? What if I havent learned from my mistakes? What if I get too attached and find it difficult to leave again?

These were peircing through my gut as the memories of standing in front of total strangers entangled me.

However, as my first day arrived, everything unfolded before my very senses. The 35 young men who stood in front of me, arranged in two straight lines, were like a seamless horizon, painted with the blue and yellow of the sky and sea. Soon after, as they entered the classroom, their silence and attention were like soldiers waiting for the next instructions, as if holding on for dear life to every word that came out of my mouth. And as the day progressed, i couldnt but thank God for this opportunity which i immediately let pass after a year.

I still have seven days to be with all of them. And so far, I already feel a sense of responsibility and dedication towards them, even though i know that it wont be for long. But on second thought, I dont really have to feel nostalgic about it because I wouldnt be leaving after all. Don Bosco has always been my second home, my second family. So wherever I go, i believe that the things i have learned, the people i have met, and the relationships i have forged will always welcome me back on my next return.

The Perfect First Day

It seems like a "first day" phenomenon has been the talk of the blogosphere for a lot of students, not to mention, a handful of Bosconians, whom i have had the privilege to know this past year. A few moments back, i browsed through a number of blogs of former students, ranting and raving about the highs and lows of their first day in school.

Would I be left behind? of course not.

Today was my first day too. In Grad School, that is. However, it was far from perfect. My classes start at 6 in the evening and end at 9. And since today was the first day, I was all so prepared and psyched up about heading to school and braving the wet streets of Shaw Boulevard, V. Mapa and Katipunan just to get to my class.

It takes approximately an hour to get to school from our house, so imagine the panic i had when at 5:03pm, I was merely stepping out of the shower! I rushed to pick out the perfect clothes for the perfect first day, but at the back of my mind were the words: "You're late! You're late!" Timing was crucial. I had to pack my things right after that, and literally swoosh through the puddles of rainwater carelessly collected throughout our street. I got on a ride, and by 5:50, i was dripping wet, and was standing on the platform of the LRT 2. "Four minutes and 30 seconds," it read. And there i was, at the mercy of the train and the tricycle i was to board right after.

To cut the long story short, I was late. And lo and behold, my teacher was late too! Or so i thought. I headed straight to the empty classroom, only to find out from the janitor that two students had just left, apparently waiting for the teacher to show up. In other words, there was really no "first day" to talk about. Sweaty, drenched and poorer by 84 pesos (that's the fare to and from school), I walked around the corridors of the dim building, with only the faithful word of the janitor that the first day was cancelled.

Lesson learned? I heard this from one of our college professors: "Prima non datur" or "The first is not given" -- the first meeting in class, that is. And Grad school is definitely not an exception!

And that's what makes the First Day always Perfect.