I Lied. I Hate Teaching.

Only three hours of sleep ought to have weighed my eyelids down. Yet sleep mocks me like an expected visitor that never arrives. I guess this is because of the last lecture I gave to my graduating students. There is this unnerving itch that beckons me to pound on the keys of my computer. Perhaps Maya Angelou was right when she said that there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. So let me make the untold told.

Over four years ago, I wrote an entry on my blog which I called, regrettably for its overly grand style, Born to Teach. In there, I outlined the long but interrupted history I had with teaching and how I was led to the academe. I claimed professed my love for teaching. But now, I hate it.

I hate it because, come to think of it, teachers are the most stupid bunch of people. Who would spend hours preparing their lessons just to see that look of students that tells us that we've made them understand how to unravel the Gordian knots of life. Okay, that might be too much of a stretch but you get the point. Also, imagine teachers getting overly concerned for students who don't pass projects on time, come to class late, or are absent. I mean, if these kids don't put in effort, why should I, right? But you see these teachers anyway. Why would anyone try to deviate from their well-planned syllabus to accommodate the pace of students? Shouldn't it be the problem of students to catch up? Teachers take their time to painstakingly integrate little bits and pieces of values like honesty and discipline in the discussion, in the activities, and in every nook and corner of the classroom experience. Silly, right? And to bring their practicality barometer down to an all-time low, they do this even if they know that these kids are bound to leave the school halls in a couple of years. Yes, you also see these kinds of teachers. I am one of those.

That claim is not to brag about myself. I am just one of the many millions of teachers who are like that. And it is during this time of the school year when I hear a few of my colleagues' voice get nostalgic when they reminisce their memories with the graduates. I've seen this happen a couple of times but I didn't get it. I found it cute but at the back of my mind I was like "Okaaaay." I guess it is something a teacher only grasps after seeing several batches graduate. By then, the smoke clears and one becomes faced with the clear and bland truth that the point where our lives meet with the lives of our students will come to an end. And that is what I hate. The bitter-sweet goodbye.

The other day, I saw a photo in Facebook illustrating how sad the story of parallel lines are because these lines will never meet. The case is as sad for intersecting lines because they meet at one point but drift apart forever. But who ever said life was one straight line? I'd like to think of it as a curved line filled with several waves and crests and at several points in time, my curved line intersects with the lives of my students. And school is just the first intersection. And then I realize that it's not a goodbye after all. And then I don't hate teaching anymore.