Osmena Peak May 1, 2009

A Memoir of My Generosity 2008-2009

Without notice, a vivacious gal named Letta Plando bolted me from the blue last June. She shared in her expectations of the school year that this will be a wonderful one because I am their adviser. Apart from this flattery, she also said, “We love you sir!” Now that I come to think of it, I am very much ashamed of what I answered in return. 

Great Moment Captured... 

The year before that, we really had a great time. Second year Faith (except for Felices and Fiel of II-Piety) was in uproar every time I come in. They always participate in my discussions. It was a sight where the feeling made me believe I am important and I am doing great as a teacher. 

As time passed, however, people started telling me that my class is too loud—that I should be hard with my students because I am making them sassy. Some students also expressed that I am too kind—students tend to take advantage. I was struck in the face with these ideas. I am Leo, a chauvinist. I think highly of myself, and these innuendos about my classroom management made me think hard. Who would want to be taken advantage? Saddened by this, I started to change myself.

Well, that’s the way it goes sometimes in schools. You as teacher become obsessed with an issue—I was the injured party, conferring, as usual, unheard of freedoms, and here they were taking advantage. It’s not pleasant coming in the faculty room and having to hear somebody say that so-and-so and so-and-so from your class were out in the corridors dating, making noise, hassling teachers, or befouling the campus. It’s madly infuriating.

Anyway, as I start to have the paradigm shift, things began to get nasty; from bad, to worse, to worst. At first, I started as The Passionate Shepherd, but the Nymph took advantage, so I became the fiendish Grendel. Grendel became the murderous Emily Grierson. Emily later evolved into a merciless Assyrian. And this Assyrian oftentimes morph into the annoying Cato the Elder who ends every speech, regardless of topic, with shouts of Delenda est Carthago! We began a war. Or, technically speaking, I did start the war, the first blood.   

More dangerous than the cold war of US and Russia, our war was fought by ignoring one another. Or shall I say; I ignored them for they made ways to catch me off guard and talk to them about something. But I did not yield. We are like lovers. It was fun to see their reactions though. Several dared to fight back, few continued with their smart-alecky ways, others got confused, but majority seemed unaffected.



This setup was really effective in classroom management. I appear to them like a threatening Boss. They clean our classroom surgically and the chalkboards immaculately. My wish is a command. Projects are desiderata, and deadlines are judgment days. But I tell you, I was fair as always in the course of our war. I still continued giving Joanah, Allaiza, Khalyl, and the others the A’s or F’s they deserved. Unfortunately, I was carrying my ego then like an overgrown elephantiasis that separated us in miles of animosity and loathing. Any remark I deem offensive is stacked in the archives of my pride. 

My favorite literary characters at that time include Shylock in William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice (To bait fish withal, if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge!), Edmond Dantes in Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo (Death is too good for them; I want them to suffer as I have suffered), and Montresor in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Cask of Amontillado (The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge—nobody can harm me and get away unpunished.) These personalities presented exquisite ways on how to carry out the unforgivable sin of the unforgiving; and I, I revered them then.

 

The Best... 

Our only acquiescence to jovial circumstances involves their winning in contests. Much as I would like them not to succeed, they emerge victorious quite often. They would run to me and wave their certificates to make me proud, but I return this in a different way. I congratulate them half-heartedly—especially the perky Alexis Gumera, the recipient of the most shares in the wrath I bestowed on them.

This continued. Before I knew it, the air became crisp and cool, and suddenly came the Christmas Season of 2008. Many would say that this is the time of joy and peace, but this did not hinder my derision, my new found glory in becoming The Grinch. 

At first, we agreed to have the Christmas Party. We have had our manito and manita, our assignments, and the amount we are to share for the catering. My manita was Irish Caruzca (I bought her the gift but did not give it). I was assigned to bring the lechon. I heard Ihmar Mayola had the ordeal of selecting the gift for me being his manito. Little did they know; I have planned something they would never forget. I made them believe that this arrangement was just right until the time I asked how many have paid for the contribution. Upon hearing that only a few heeded the call and some will not be joining like James Lloyd Fiel, I declared with great pleasure the climax of our hostilities. The Christmas Party will now be forgotten.

While I was basking under the warmth of this moment, December 20 arrived. After the quarter exams scheduled this day, I was alarmed when they came. I am not comfortable with confrontations. They begged giving reasons why I should continue with the plan. Sedfrey Villarta and Pia Tricia Suñer tried; I can’t forget their countenances. Licah Ligutom followed; others sobbed; but I enjoyed. Ralph Niere also made an effort; he too cried. With this, I saw Apple Romeo’s amazement. I guess that was the first time she saw Ralph cry. But I tell you, I enjoyed watching their agony. It was filling me with satisfaction. Yeah, yeah! When provoked, I am that wicked indeed.

After some jeers and taunts from the principal, (this happened in the faculty room) I told them they can have their party but not in “MY” classroom. They pleaded again; I yielded this time but I will not be joining. Anyway, Bro will always be there for them. And so they followed me towards the lobby. There, I left them teary eyed while I rode my motorcycle. The Rubicon is now crossed—the die is cast.

Unknown to them, I came back that afternoon, sneaked in the campus and locked our room. Hahaha, I knew there were no keys for the two doors. They have to destroy the windows and reach for the knob inside to enter. I found this dilemma last Intramurals. I locked the room then because some students stayed inside to date. I heard that boy was Se--eheeem! Sorry, er, something got stuck in my throat, oh, never mind.

Nevertheless, the following Monday (Party Day, December 22, 2008), they proved that they are oozing with tedious audacity. I did not ask how, but they were able to break into the room. I saw it. The doors were beckoning wide, the corridor was filled with red and gold, the room was festive, and they were chic and fab with their outfits. In contrast to all that, I arrived late, mournful in all black and my mood was morbidly morose. 

Whoa! I was flabbergasted to see how the things unfolded that day. The School Head informed me that they came that Sunday and prepared the room. They even went home late, she said. I was defeated. Sulking, I spent the whole morning help prepare the lasagna for the institutional party that evening. They passed by; I snobbed them and went on my way.

Lunch came. The campus is now buzzing about our LQ, wahaha. They invited me to join them, but I snobbed them and walked away.

Whew! The day was about to end. They came again; this time announcing the reconciliation of Letta and Pia. They beseeched me to imitate the act, but I coldly refused, snobbed them, and walked away.

To end their wooing for me that day came a rectangular chocolate cake (a subtle act of bribery perhaps), and I, as you may have guessed, I snobbed it and walked away. 

I slept late that night thinking if they enjoyed the party. I really hoped they did not because I did not either. How dreadful and foolish, but this really occurred to me.

Time passed and we drifted apart. I became authoritarian and insensitive. I give them tersely their first period English but often skip my Social Studies class. Not on purpose though, this happened only because of the faculty meetings. 

 

 

GENEROSITY: We Don't Blend In... We Stand Out!!! 

I always excuse myself in their presence. Laughter and smile in our class mean you being an ignoramus or in my word; a nincompoop. Deviating from the topic at hand is a crime punishable by sarcasm and scorn. But still, most of them welcomed this in an attitude I could not comprehend. I even remembered once in their English; I ticked them off with select harsh words to start their day. When the period ended and Catherine Angcay delivered the lines Send o Lord..., a student suddenly placed on top of the books I was carrying two chocolate bars of Kitkat and Snickers. Blimey! How can she do that? Is she playing the Love Your Enemy for He Hates It Game? Goodness! I was dumbfounded. The rest of them were all smiling and waiting what I will do next. What can I do? I can’t refuse; after all, the student who gave them was exceptional. Ashen faced in awe and tongue-tied in disbelief, I reluctantly said thanks (manners dictate this), said goodbye (inaudibly), and walked away embarrassed.

Months passed after that, I grew tired. I realized I miss them. It dawned to me that when you are angry, hatred will destroy no one but yourself. You will be left lonely, and eventually you will shed off pounds. Hehehe, on contrary, I eat loads when I’m down. But it’s true; they’re the reason why I lose weight. Somebody said something to me during an Intramural Cheer dance practice. The meanness of which is enough to er—never mind.

It is February now, one month away and they are gone, so I started to act. I started to be forgiving. I asked some of them to come with me to Oslob for the Utanon Festival props. I think they enjoyed the ride—yeah, together with the cab that wouldn’t start. I started talking. I reached out; but the wounds I think for some were not healed yet. It is somewhat late now.

Then the time for closing came. I waited for a sign; it came; I grabbed it right away. They asked me for an outing—one for us to re-establish ties. Similar to the message of a song which I like—Closing Time by Semisonic; it held that every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. This time, the ending was for our warfare and the beginning of our friendship.

While we were busy with these thoughts, suddenly, Francis M—not Francis Merth—died of Leukemia. But what’s the connection? Nah, a student used his talent in singing and borrowed the spirit of Francism to come up with a rendition called Comfort Zone. Haha, cheesy isn’t it but the message was sublime. Jeffrey Salvador would play the guitar and they would sing it, especially when I am around. 

Moraya sa Boljoon... 

We are now really drawing to a close. After the final exams, I gave them their final threat. “I will fail anyone who will not come for the outing,” I said. Later on, I realized that the threat was effective or they really liked me, for during the outing, roughly 45/50 came.

In the outing, I was really overwhelmed with strong emotions I “almost” cried. I could never recall a day I asked God to extend for we have so much to do and say. Nature struck me back for my bitterness before. The sun descended—and that day—it ended. At 6:00 PM, I drove some of them home. 



This however did not diminish their euphoria. We are now reconciled—freed from the burden of hatred. For this, I discovered that reality is stranger than fiction. I fell into a platonic love—not with two or three, but with fifty. Having realized this belatedly, I found that I have cared for them deep inside of me. 

Now, I am proud to call them my students and my friends through and through. For after all what has been said and done, we are meant to be friends in the end. I am also thankful for our disagreements—it made me a better teacher, it helped the learning process become effective, and it encouraged us to open up and realize that our worlds are only separated by phantoms and delusions. And for this, I am certain that like me, their Christmas Party, together with our outing, will always be an episode they would remember for the rest of their lives.