Aids

I once had this Filipino teacher who was so passionate about teaching El Fili and Noli that any idealistic yet innocent high school student looking for his own set of convictions, cannot help but get caught up in his fervor for nationalism.

He was the kind of teacher that was pure energy. Even if he was a small man, he spoke at the top of his lungs, and anyone at the other end of the corridor will wonder where that booming voice was coming from. Classmates hated sitting near the blackboard because he would often spill his saliva while talking, hitting victims as far as the second row. He always carried a handkerchief because he sweated profusely and I’m pretty sure if someone decided to squeeze some sweat out of his shirt and hankie, there would be enough drippings to fill a cup.

He would come to class bringing all sorts of teaching materials that included a cassette player so that there would be mood music (I got hooked to the Dying Young soundtrack because of him), the standard manila paper of notes that he wanted you to remember (so that you don’t spend your time thinking what things are important instead of listening to him), self-painted cut-out figures of characters in the story that also included, if necessary, a full scale painting of the environment where the scenes took place, and (this is my favorite) the occasional objects he used as “symbols” to drive a point.

I remember the first day of class where he brought an onion and a mango and started peeling it in front of us. He said something like (my words), huwag kayong maging isang sibuyas na kapag nabalatan ay wala nang nilalaman, maging isang manga na kapag naubos ang balat ay may nilalamang buto. From the first day of class he was telling us to be more than just a superficial, worldly person and to have strong personal convictions that would be our inner strength in making changes even if the path of change will mean going against popular opinion or doing it on our own.

I also remember the chapter on “bapor tabo”. He exclaimed, “Gaya ng bapor tabo, ito ay simbolismo ng pagiging wala – bilog, zero – kapag walang pagbabago mangyayari sa Pilipinas!”

Honestly, there was nothing new to what he was saying. I’ve heard it before. But somehow, for a moment, time stopped. I was in this trance, vacuum, black hole, and all I could sense was the echo of his voice and the sad message he was imparting. If he was not saying something new, why did it hit me so much?

I looked at the man. He was the real thing—he was speaking from his soul, and the concern was authentic— he was reaching out, reaching out not to stir my emotions but to reach deeper and hit my soul with the question, will you let this happen? Somehow, even up to this day, that particular discussion keeps coming back to my consciousness, will you, Mr. Lim, let this happen?

I can never remember a class where we would not be surprised that the time was up. My classmates and I would have two quick looks on our faces. The first one had hints of being absorbed by the day’s lessons and a slight disappointment of not having more time to discuss the subject matter. This will be quickly followed by a look of deep personal realization – I swear this is true — some would occasionally whisper to themselves and say, wow, hayop, galing! My classmates and I would get such inspirational high that we applauded our teacher after every class.

During high school your mind is like a sponge—you absorb things and lessons without question, taking them as truths. Later on in life, you begin to question them. That’s what college teaches you. In college, your teachers will tell you (at least my Jesuit teachers told me) that you should be critical thinkers—not just accepting beliefs as truths, question them, dissect them. If its based on lies or deceit, not on universal “laws” or truths, it will not stand the test of time.

Why do I always go back to that class and have fond memories of that teacher? At a young age, he opened my heart and pointed truths about the kind of person that I should be. That class changed me. High school is a time when you try to find yourself. Your values. Your convictions. At a time that I was looking for something that would define me, he became my teacher.

It has been a decade since I graduated from high school. But from time to time, I remember the lessons and the challenges he posed a long time ago. As if I’m back at that age of innocence, back at that high school classroom of ours, and I could hear him say, with a booming voice and an excited look in his face, anung klaseng tao ka? Sibuyas o Manga? And those piercing and challenging eyes, that seemed to say, will you let this happen… Mr. Lim?

 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 31st, 2006 at 10:12 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.