Waiting for Goodbye

Hope is a tricky thing especially when it comes to waiting. It's like throwing a die. Five sides tell you that the person you are waiting for will come. You feel confident about the winning odds after the wait.

It's the sixth side that does the painful trick because even after all the odds were in your favor, that even with all the five sides that you have been rooting for, you got that one miserable side.

You throw the dice. You wait, patiently. But nothing comes. No one comes.

You realize you have been waiting for nothing. And then it strikes you. The last goodnight that person sent to you was, in fact, a goodbye. And then you know it's over.

Chicken Soup for the Sick Teacher

While on the brink of wallowing and self-pity because I got sick when I'm in the most relaxed schedule I've had in six months, I decided to apply the emotional intelligence skill of creating positive emotions by going through the teacher evaluation done by my students for the past school year. Trust me, you read some hilarious ones in there.

Take the next line for example. It started out okay, then I got scared.

"You are my most respected teacher… I want to make you proud... I will kill for you... You are the wind beneath my wings."

Good thing the last sentence was there. It made me realize that it really is just a joke. I thought I had an assassin under my command.

There's this one that said:

"You look like Thranduil in the movie the Hobbit!"

I know I'm not that tall but a hobbit, really? Good thing Google told me Thranduil is an elf. Phew!

There are also prophetic ones like

"I consider you as a good mentor and someday I know you will be a good father mehehe I am serious."

The 'mehehe' and the 'I am serious' part got me confused. Haha

And there are the crazy ones. Crazy because you have a strong feeling they were written by your adorably annoying (aka kulit) students.

"Hi sir and to your… laptop."

"The fact that he's not mine. Please marry me."

"The instructor's out of town trips. He breaks my heart a little bit every time he leaves. But distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I grow fonder of him each passing minute."

Really, now?

And then there are those that melt the heart because even though I had to be strict with them sometimes, they understood the reason behind that facade.

"Your class made this semester seem worth the tuition fee."

"Keep up the good work sir and continue inspiring people."

"He's not just a teacher. He's an inspiration."

Finally, there's this one that comes in very timely because in June 4, 2011 --- 4 years ago --- I quit my career in the industry to go into the academe. A big chunk of me was asking if I made the right decision. And here comes the answer from one of the students four years later:

"Thank you for sacrificing your managerial work. Without that sacrifice we will never have known you."

I know I am far from being a perfect teacher. In fact that is the reason why I read the evaluations and look first at the areas for improvement. But there are comments like the last one that comes out as innocent but ends up profoundly affirming a life decision that I have made in the past. I'll be going away for 3 semesters to pursue a scholarship grant and I am going to miss teaching terribly. But I'll be back. And I'm eagerly looking forward to be back in the classroom.

I feel better now despite the occasional sneezing. Thank you, my dear students.

Much Ado About a Dog Named Odie

"Ma, I'll get his green squeaky toy," I said as I was about to get out from the car.

"No," replied my mother, "just leave it in the house so we can have something to remind us of him."

"He has other toys. Let's have the the green one, his very first toy, buried with him," I insisted.

My mother agreed, "Okay."

It's still 6AM and there's already much ado about our dog named Odie. My mother and I are in the car. We are discussing, with tears in our eyes, how we will bury our much-loved family member.

While on our way, we reminisced our days with Odie. The times he would sniff our scent and hear the sound of our gate keys even if it's far from where he is inside the house and joyfully welcome us when we get inside. The times he would poke our knees during meals to ask us for table food. The times he, with puppy eyes and his adorable-tongue-out expression, would ask us to play with him.

Digging his grave was not an easy task. At first it was. But when I placed his body down into the grave and covered him with earth, I sobbed. My mother and niece sobbed. As if the tears we shed last night after Odie's car accident weren't enough.

Five years ago, I would never have imagined that I would actually have a dog. Yes, I wanted one but it was just up there in my mind. And then a year and a half ago, a colleague asked if I wanted a dog since her dog was about to give birth.

Our first day together.

My face lit up with an excited smile. There were apprehensions while I was waiting for the dog to be given to me. Would I be able to take care of him? Will my mother like him considering that she's not a dog person? But then I decided to push through with the adoption. I can still recall the details of the day I first met Odie. As much as I know every detail on the palm of my hand. When I carried him, he didn't resist. When we were in the car, I knew that he was sad but he just laid his head on my hand as if asking me "Take care of me." For the most part of the drive, I had one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand supporting Odie's head. The moment I arrived home and my mom saw Odie, there was an instant connection between the two of them. We took Odie to trips, to the mall, brought him with me while biking, and felt the pang of pain and worry on occasions that we had to leave him shortly for a dinner outside the house or when he was sick. He would follow us all around the house and play with my niece and nephews when we visited them. And he played as if there was no tomorrow.

Five years ago, I never imagined how painful it is to lose a dog. Now, it's like a brick smacked in our hearts. I never thought we could go this emotional for a pet. But, you see, he was not our pet. He was like a member of our family.




On the way back to our house after laying Odie to rest, there was an unbearable silence disrupted by short exchanges of our memories of Odie. The very moment we went inside the house, my mom and I cried again. There was no more Odie. No more of the jumping and tongue-out Odie. My mom and I have been through tough times together but we have never cried hard together. Only Odie has done this.

There are still a lot of things I want to write about Odie but I'll just keep them close to my heart. I didn't want to write this but I figured I had to as part of the grieving process.

All the tears I shed yesterday, today, and even tomorrow and in the future has been and will be a lot. But I force myself to take refuge in the thought that these tears are nothing compared to the happy moments we shared with you, Odie.

Odie, the house is awfully empty without you. I've been wanting to clean my room but now I don't want to because your loose fur on the carpet makes me think you are still with us.

Odie, we miss you. A lot. And it's breaking our hearts.