“Is there still a scar on your ankle?” That was the first sentence that came out from Yazid’s mouth last night. My class teacher 9 years ago.

Before last night, I never even considered on going to the dinner. My mind was preoccupied on being on my own for the weekends. I wanted to be alone. I thought I needed to be alone. To me, the dinner’s just another socializing event where old guys talk about fart jokes, you know, an occasion that you know there’ll be another.

But eventually I was there, chatting and reminiscing with the teachers, or what’s left of them. Socializing with the seniors and juniors. Memories started to load rapidly into my mind. My heart softened.

On an interview later that night, spontaneously I told the camera, “… my fellow Sdarians young and old, respect and treasure our teachers because their knowledge and guidance may lead us on becoming better men in the future” Most kids didn’t realize that, including myself when I was a teenager. I guess that’s the norm of it. Well, better late than never.

Thank you Sirs, thank you Madams. Thank you Moronion for making me feel guilty for thinking about not going to the dinner. Golden Jubilee maa…

I ended up sleeping at 6am just to finish reading the teacher’s Coretan Rasa, Nukilan Hati.


“The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called truth.” -Dan Rather