Anak

At the rate my blog updates are going, you’d think nothing interesting has happened to me of late.

Bugrit. I hate it when you’re right.

But its okay, bloggers like me have survived our diminishing volume in the cyberspace by reporting on interesting things that we saw happened to other people. And boy, have I seen a lot since I start working.

The thing is, when I said that being a teacher means everyday is a new surprise, I had every intention to make it an exaggeration. Which explains why a large part of the surprises everyday consist of the surprise that I can still be surprised.

Working with kids put me on my toes in the same way as teetering on the brink of insanity and undue violence can. Children are capable of ideas, behavior, complaints and excuses that adults hadn’t even discovered yet (although that’s probably a logical fallacy). Whoever think that teachers are boring people clearly leads a misinformed, sheltered and quite possibly, hating-my-job kind of life. Teachers are happening, especially when things tend to happen all around them, sometimes accompanied by cries of “teacher teacher you see him no he beat me first no he laugh at me first no no NO I DON’T CARE!”

A handful they may be, but teaching them was worth it. I suspect that I learn from them even more than they learn from me (the glazed look they give me in class is a hint). They are amazing, exciting and very much adorable.

And what I witnessed yesterday tugged at my heart even more.

The kids had an indoor motivational camp that lasted for two days and one night. It was really fun, and the kids had enjoyed themselves thoroughly while bringing home some important life lessons. Attending this camp with the kids made me appreciate my job even more, because it was an invaluable opportunity to learn and understand children – actually, people in general.

At the end of the camp, the parents joined in for a session where the trainer explained what their children had learnt. The kids then produced a letter they had written for their parents, and loudly sang the song Anak, by Freddie Aguilar, in praise of parents’ sacrifice and love.

It was moving, and a few parents wept.

As I scanned the room, smiling at the children safe in their parents’ embrace, the song went on

Child, you don't know, you'll never know how far they'd go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it's true
They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here

And I saw him. One of our naughtiest boys, standing at the front of the room, unconsciously swinging one leg back and forth, his mouth slightly opened. He was not singing. He was staring at the children in their mummies and daddies’ hugs - a strained look in his wide eyes.

Clutched tightly in his hands were his letter to mummy and daddy, who were not there.

They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here

As the song rang around me, I stared at his yearning face and felt a stab in my heart.

I salute the parents who would slave for their children, even die for their children. I just hope that they remember to reserve some time for their children, too.

Because next time may be already too late.