"Pull-over," signaled the policeman. I yielded to the side baffled with what violation I will be accused of. I opened my window to acknowledge his presence. He leaned forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"
It's one helluva day. Lecture, then consultations, then an individual colloquy. The bell rang and I had to rush to my class. Came in late. Three minutes. Dizzy from hunger and fatigue, I had to project as if everything was normal. I sneaked a meal while my students sat down through the whole period for their quiz on fate and destiny. Bought a lasagna from the caf. Blech. It's close to being stale. I ate three quarters of it nonetheless making myself believe that it's still good for the bite. When I'd filled my caloric need, I threw the rest to the black trash bin. Non-biodegradable, it was marked. The lasagna was in a styrofoam container, hence the choice of black over green. Returned to the room to end the class.
The bell rang and a student approached me to argue his case on a rejected paper. "It's Times New Roman, 13 pt font on Linux that's why it's different." I didn't argue with him anymore since I've no time to prove it as I have another class immediately after theirs. I just said how he knew about my being strict on paper formats that he should have just printed his paper on a regular computer. He gave me a long face, a pout, and a predatory look as he walked away. I called his attention and told him not to give me that attitude. His audacity shook hell's senses in me.
I was more upset than angered by his impudence. It need not end up in a confrontation had he kept his contempt to himself. It is not just being an obsessive-compulsive bastard that's why I insist on strict format regulations. It is a form of discipline. I'm beckoning them to be mindful of the work they render my course. That the course is something to spend time concentrating on even if I caricaturize (and make it a point) to simplify every goddam highfaluting philosophical shit for them. But seriously, because I care much for them, I want to prep them up for their future philosophy courses so they'd brisk through their next teacher's claws with relative unease. It's only the papers I am strict about.
I was watching them sketch and color their road maps and symbols. It was a weird sight, college students drawing and coloring in class! Yet, it was something euphoric too. Imagined memories of them taking the ACET, images of them being angsty little pubescents, sepia flashbacks of them being like scruffy innocent boys and girls. Then back to reality. I felt so proud to witness them at this stage in their lives. I could literally feel the glow of their youthful spirits finding their place in the greater scheme of things. I could only wish that I'd led them somewhere worth their six units.
Wherever they may be right now and wherever they may be going, I'm so proud of them kids. Like my two students who are part of the cast of Tanghalang Ateneo's current play offering Ang Nilalang ni Viktor Frankenstein, seeing them play their part so well gets them my two thumbs up. If my feeling were to be captured on film, one will see an image of a strict father watching his kids' perform on stage teary-eyed with pride. But this is not what's impressive about them, it is their being able to juggle between the demands of what's required (academics, that is) and their passion (the theater)! They know what fate they are tied to and how they can work around it to find their fullness as persons. They have, at their young age, mastered their fates and steered toward their destinies. They don't have this the-world-owes-me-for-attending-your-classes attitude; they work hard to sustain their passions. They sought to be transferred to another section so as not to miss any of the lectures while on rehearsals and actual play runs. And mind you, they do not just sit there at the back whiling away their time, they do participate actively in classroom discussions, always hiding from me their tired droopy eyes.
I can only wish for a multiplication of students like them. In the real setting, a teacher has students calling for attention and pushing his buttons till he surrenders. But he can't. I can't. I won't. However unlovable some students may be, they still are very precious and I really do care for them even through my being OC.
That's why I'm upset. I'm not upset with my students' poor performance in writing philosophical papers or in eloquently doing their oral exams. On the contrary, I hold it against myself for not training them well enough for written and oral exams, for not instilling in them the discipline of self-responsibility and accountability, for not being the best teacher/formator for them. I failed and I'm extremely disheartened.
The policeman leaned forward to smell my breath. "Are you drunk?" My eyes did the talking and sent the distress signal. Can you understand what I'm going through right now? --the heaviness of heart, the cheerless eyes, the lost spirit? Can the policeman understand my thoughtless driving if I tell him how dejected I feel inside? Would he spare me the apprehension?
I told him I'm not drunk and that I simply am close to peeing in my pants that's why I'm in a hurry to drive home. He warned that I drive more carefully next time and then he sped away.
My students will leave their old teacher in a few months. They will rocket to their destinies after me. I gave them my all, I wish they'd see that someday and be back to narrate to me how they have been helped by our discussions. By then, I pray there'd be no more contempt but understanding eyes and receptive countenances for me.
I can only wish.
