Written by Stella Arenaje
In the years I had spent guiding enigmatic souls as they trod through the real world, I often hoped to be more than this. I hoped to make it big someday, but maybe with a different career. I could have been a lawyer, or perhaps a nurse even. My family thought the same. They said I could have chosen a better career path—a real one at that.
I dragged my feet once again to the worn-off tiles that my soles had known for years. 6:30 AM. I stared blankly at the empty seats before me, drenched in sweat from that morning’s rush hour. Maybe if I had followed my family’s wishes, I wouldn’t have been sitting in that humid room, waiting for class to start. If I had been a sales associate, I would have had more benefits and a higher salary. I would have arrived at work via private transportation as I would have had enough to sustain myself. Or if I had chosen to be a dentist, more people would have taken my profession more seriously. But there I was, catching my breath as I pondered different versions of myself that could have been.
My thoughts washed away as I heard light and animated footsteps enter the room. I taught second graders that year. They burned with hope like tiny sparks on Bengal lights. Their eyes were filled with innocence and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Their arms were filled with bruises and scratches from playing after class hours, yet they entered the room with undying vigor.
I looked at them and saw their futures waiting for them—where they could be what I could only dream of. Lawyers, nurses, sales associates, dentists. I felt a tug on my chest, or maybe two. Two tugs pulling my heart simultaneously apart. It wasn’t envy, no. As my core ripped apart, I felt it: the fire inside me was erupting. It spread quickly through my system; from my hands to my legs. Suddenly, I was no longer in the four walls of my classroom eating me whole with what my family described as a failure. I am a teacher, and I am proud of that. Aristotle was a teacher, and he was regarded highly for it. Why must I not be?
The national hero Jose Rizal labels the youth as the hope of the future, yet who enkindles these sprightly souls as they traverse through uncharted waters? Who shapes these brilliant minds into their highest potential? Whose hand shields the flame of a matchstick from extreme wind currents? A flame left unguided is one that is most destructive. Thus, this is my role as a teacher. This is my purpose—my life’s mission.
I am not just assigned to administer learning materials. To grade papers. To write on the board. To berate students. I no longer confine the worth of my profession nor that of mine to the meager salary I receive. The profession I am in requires mental strength, patience, and compassion. It takes so much more than just a degree to be an educator. To be a teacher means to have an unwavering belief in the transformative power of education.
The sacrifices I had to make to be a teacher are beyond measurable. To be deemed as a low-level career by society. To bring shame to my family. To be at the bottom of the priority list in societal reforms. To receive salaries that are just a little more or less than enough to get by. But beyond these setbacks is a mission that sparks through every nerve in my body. My greatest contribution to society and to my country is what I am able to offer as a teacher. One day at a time, one month at a time, and one year at a time, I hone the best minds the world has to offer—those who are young and have so much to learn—into bringing out their full potential for the development of their own selves and that of society.
So, as I fondly cradle the voices of the future in my arms, I do so with my heart open for the world to see. I am not just a teacher; I am a beacon of knowledge a forger of dreams, and a shepherd for hope. I would not trade this for the world.