I loved reading ever since... well, forever. And there were many books that I loved but it wasn't until my 6th grade that I fell in love ... with a person.
In my previous post about my mom telling me I can't love studies, I told you about how devastated I felt. What I didn't tell you was, part of this devastation was not entirely about me. I was a student at a school run by a charity. It had opened four streets away from my home just over a couple of months ago, just in time for me to finish my 5th grade from the primary govt. school in my street and go to a high school. It was a blessing for me because there was no other high school nearby and my family was very less likely to send me to a school I couldn't reach on foot. A part of it was due to added expenses of travelling but most part of it was because of them being scared of sending a girl in our family alone to a place not close enough to home.
Anyways, that charity school saved me from quitting education after 5th grade, and it also introduced me to my first love. We had two teachers in my 6th grade, each teaching four subjects to us. And I fell in love with one of them. I was always a bright student but the desire of impressing her with extraordinary work was overwhelming for me. I wanted to spend more than 5 hours of school with her so I told my parents I need private tuition and I would like to be taught by one of my teachers from school. They knew I just want to spend more time with her so they refused for a long time.
Before even the end of my 6th grade, she got a better job at a govt. school and she left. I didn't eat anything for 3 days straight, didn't talk to anybody, and became sick and weak. My mom met my teacher and told her about it and my teacher assured her that even though she has accepted the new job, she would still be with us for another month. My mom told me my teacher isn't leaving (and skipped "for another month") and I got better.
I started writing poetry in 6th grade. A lot of my friends know that. What I've never told anybody though, is that I started writing poetry for my teacher. To this day, she is one of the most influential figures in my life. And my respect for her has only grown with time. She left our school after a month and some other teachers took her subjects (one of them was her younger sister, and they resembled each other so much that people often had difficulty recognizing who was who, she was nice and friendly and later became a very good friend to me). The grief of my teacher leaving was still overwhelming but she has prepared us all during that one month. I was not the only one who cried the day she left. Such was her influence on all of us. I never stopped asking my parents to let me go to her for private lessons and eventually after about six months (when I was in 7th grade), they let me go to her for a couple of months. She always appreciated me a lot, always told me she had high hopes for me. I hope she is proud of me today.
In my previous post about my mom telling me I can't love studies, I told you about how devastated I felt. What I didn't tell you was, part of this devastation was not entirely about me. I was a student at a school run by a charity. It had opened four streets away from my home just over a couple of months ago, just in time for me to finish my 5th grade from the primary govt. school in my street and go to a high school. It was a blessing for me because there was no other high school nearby and my family was very less likely to send me to a school I couldn't reach on foot. A part of it was due to added expenses of travelling but most part of it was because of them being scared of sending a girl in our family alone to a place not close enough to home.
Side Fact: My grand parents still worry too much about choosing an auto-driver or Uber rides for my daily travel to work, despite me having lived on my own for past seven years, three of which were out of country.
Anyways, that charity school saved me from quitting education after 5th grade, and it also introduced me to my first love. We had two teachers in my 6th grade, each teaching four subjects to us. And I fell in love with one of them. I was always a bright student but the desire of impressing her with extraordinary work was overwhelming for me. I wanted to spend more than 5 hours of school with her so I told my parents I need private tuition and I would like to be taught by one of my teachers from school. They knew I just want to spend more time with her so they refused for a long time.
Before even the end of my 6th grade, she got a better job at a govt. school and she left. I didn't eat anything for 3 days straight, didn't talk to anybody, and became sick and weak. My mom met my teacher and told her about it and my teacher assured her that even though she has accepted the new job, she would still be with us for another month. My mom told me my teacher isn't leaving (and skipped "for another month") and I got better.
I started writing poetry in 6th grade. A lot of my friends know that. What I've never told anybody though, is that I started writing poetry for my teacher. To this day, she is one of the most influential figures in my life. And my respect for her has only grown with time. She left our school after a month and some other teachers took her subjects (one of them was her younger sister, and they resembled each other so much that people often had difficulty recognizing who was who, she was nice and friendly and later became a very good friend to me). The grief of my teacher leaving was still overwhelming but she has prepared us all during that one month. I was not the only one who cried the day she left. Such was her influence on all of us. I never stopped asking my parents to let me go to her for private lessons and eventually after about six months (when I was in 7th grade), they let me go to her for a couple of months. She always appreciated me a lot, always told me she had high hopes for me. I hope she is proud of me today.
What a stellar article about respecting a teacher. I think first romantic love should always be one's teacher. So fitting. And thank you for your wisdom, coupled so perfectly with gothic rebellion, penned with such poetic grace. Have you ever thought about writing a novel?
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