“An idle man is an evil’s mind.”
Our teacher wrote this on the board one morning while we were inking articles for the school paper. Such set of hepty words directly pierced my ears with thud. It was not addressed to anyone, but deep within, I knew it was meant for me. I suddenly caught my heart pounding with guilt. It was filled with too much guilt that I could not look at my teacher through the eyes.
I continued writing, pretending that I was not affected by those words, but deep within, I felt the silent tirade seemed to penetrate my soul.
Yes, it tortured me to admit that I’ve lost the trust and maybe, the love that she gave to me. I craved for such affection at that very moment from my teacher, whom I realized I have ignored in the past.
I can still remember back then, she always approaches our room gracefully with a big-painted smile. The clicking of her heels adds rhythm to our laughter. Her long hair seems to cascade throughout her pudgy body. She has that kind of understated beauty, perhaps she’s unaware of her prettiness. And her uniform that blends her skin makes her aura brighter. Then, she starts to catch everyone’s eyes lovingly and says “Good afternoon class! Bring out your pens and papers.” However, with just one swipe of vignette, the euphoria of her especially towards me sank as I loosen its grip. It’s a nostalgically remembered past that I want to pull from behind. Thus, I shamelessly tried to cheer her up, but all I got was a blank face and it hurt me more.
The teacher who believed in me and supported me in everything I’ve been into was so cold to me. Gone were those magnetic smiles that inspired me to excel in everything I tried to do. But I could not blame her. She gave almost everything to me: her brain, her trust, her effort and many more. All of them I wasted because of my selfishness.
She hasn’t changed. I did. I’ve been shadowed with procrastination and negligence. I’ve spent the rest of the day doing nothing, unaware of my mentor waiting for ages for my assigned tasks or even for my presence. Such exploitation I’ve done brought me in a fragile state.
I’ve been irresponsible, insensitive and numb. With that, I’ve lost a space in her heart. I’ve lost the person who I treated as my elder sister. I did hate myself for that. She was badly hurt, I knew.
Beyond this slapping truth, I wouldn’t like to be
entangled into intricate webs of guilt forever. Thus, I am trying to recompose
my young-scriber life. I am trying to rise from the phoenix. And I’m hoping
against all hopes that the door to her heart where I have left off is only
closed, but not locked. I do hope she will let me in again soon.