There are people who pass by our lives and contribute to the stories of our life. Some of them play large roles and make deep impressions. Some of them open for us a whole new perspective and vision of the world. Some leave us with everlasting interest in something which is to become our passion. Some of them touch our lives and inspire us with their generous hearts. Today I'm writing about one such person, someone who made a deep impact on how I see things in life. Let's just call her Mamita Mel.
Mamita Mel was one of my teachers. She was upright and strict that sometimes my classmates would dread going to her class. But it was her being upright and strict that made me enjoy her class a lot, because it presented a fair environment in the classroom.
Time flew swiftly. I graduated from high school. She got promoted as head teacher . I graduated from college and landed a job. She got promoted as principal and handled different schools. But during all these years, we kept in touch. While in college, I would eagerly tell her stories about school. I would show her my articles published in a daily newspaper and I would know that she was proud of me. She never told me how proud she was. But I just knew.
Well, she isn't really that kind of person--not the type who would hug me to soothe my broken optimism, nor go shopping with me at the mall, nor spend time with me in "kulitan" or anything trivial. Most of the time, her schedule is full or she would be dead tired from work. I rented a house that's just a stone's throw away from hers. And whenever I would walk by her house, I would wonder how she was doing or if diabetes had been kind to her.
❝Because heroes aren't only the ones who die for their country or risk life and limbs to save others.❞
But the thing I love the most is that when we get to have time together, we cover over lunch or breakfast the times we have lost. Just a few words, a few stories, are all that is necessary. And we will be back in the saddle again, exchanging each other's points of view on education, politics, show business, our careers, and personal matters.
Over the years, I have considered Mamita Mel my second nanay. Perhaps because I have always felt comfortable sharing with her things that I would normally share just with my mother. Perhaps because I have always looked up to her ideals and principles in her chosen career. Perhaps because despite her busy life and her silence that sometimes keeps her distant, I know that I matter to her like her own child. Perhaps because it deeply warms my heart and it makes me proud when she addresses me, ❝Anak.❞
When the Kablogs Journal announce that heroes will be the August theme, I have thought of writing about my Mamita Mel. Because she is one of my heroes. Because heroes aren't only the ones who die for their country or risk life and limbs to save others. Heroes, like my Mamita Mel, are also those who trust us, who care for us, and touch our lives regardless if we are their own blood or not. - TKJ
Mamita Mel was one of my teachers. She was upright and strict that sometimes my classmates would dread going to her class. But it was her being upright and strict that made me enjoy her class a lot, because it presented a fair environment in the classroom.
Time flew swiftly. I graduated from high school. She got promoted as head teacher . I graduated from college and landed a job. She got promoted as principal and handled different schools. But during all these years, we kept in touch. While in college, I would eagerly tell her stories about school. I would show her my articles published in a daily newspaper and I would know that she was proud of me. She never told me how proud she was. But I just knew.
Well, she isn't really that kind of person--not the type who would hug me to soothe my broken optimism, nor go shopping with me at the mall, nor spend time with me in "kulitan" or anything trivial. Most of the time, her schedule is full or she would be dead tired from work. I rented a house that's just a stone's throw away from hers. And whenever I would walk by her house, I would wonder how she was doing or if diabetes had been kind to her.
❝Because heroes aren't only the ones who die for their country or risk life and limbs to save others.❞
But the thing I love the most is that when we get to have time together, we cover over lunch or breakfast the times we have lost. Just a few words, a few stories, are all that is necessary. And we will be back in the saddle again, exchanging each other's points of view on education, politics, show business, our careers, and personal matters.
Over the years, I have considered Mamita Mel my second nanay. Perhaps because I have always felt comfortable sharing with her things that I would normally share just with my mother. Perhaps because I have always looked up to her ideals and principles in her chosen career. Perhaps because despite her busy life and her silence that sometimes keeps her distant, I know that I matter to her like her own child. Perhaps because it deeply warms my heart and it makes me proud when she addresses me, ❝Anak.❞
When the Kablogs Journal announce that heroes will be the August theme, I have thought of writing about my Mamita Mel. Because she is one of my heroes. Because heroes aren't only the ones who die for their country or risk life and limbs to save others. Heroes, like my Mamita Mel, are also those who trust us, who care for us, and touch our lives regardless if we are their own blood or not. - TKJ
► About the Author:
Miss N has always been very vocal about her life, especially her childhood, in the hope that those who are able to read her stories can learn a lesson or two from her past. She would be happy if you could join her in living and celebrating life at www.nortehanon.com
► Read Ms. N's previous articles here.
Miss N has always been very vocal about her life, especially her childhood, in the hope that those who are able to read her stories can learn a lesson or two from her past. She would be happy if you could join her in living and celebrating life at www.nortehanon.com
► Read Ms. N's previous articles here.
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