These past few days, I had been having a hard time remembering how old I am. When filling out forms or talking to my students, parents of my students, there’s always an inevitable six-second lag before I figure out the answer. I even have to count the no. of years passed from the day I was born (that is 1990) up to this year. I find this unusual because as a child and a teenager, I always knew my age. You could ask for it while I am in front of the computer screen, or watching TV, and I would instantaneously blurt out the answer. Five. Twelve. Seventeen.
Now, when asked about my age, there would always be an impulse to self-restraint before I answer “twenty-one”. My answer will be superseded by my question to myself “Ilan taon na nga ba ako?”.
I don’t know what the problem is. Perhaps it is because I can see myself too different from the way I used to be. You see, too many things have changed in just a small period of time. A year ago, in January, I was just having my practice teaching in one of the public school here in Palawan. After weeks, I saw myself marching towards the stage, shaking hand with the heads of our school, getting my diploma and delivering a speech. Two months later, I was teaching in a private college. After more than one year, here I am, teaching in a public school, which also means getting up from bed even I haven’t slept enough, preparing lesson plans, meeting deadlines and dealing with students with different personality. To put it simply, a year ago I was a student, just following what my teachers instructed me to do and now I am already a teacher. Indeed, too many things have changed and I am being drowned by those changes. Is it the change which causes my dilemma or perhaps it is me who refuses to accept that I have grown up? If I could only cease time, I would.
I don’t have a choice though.
Days ago, one of my former students was asking for some advice about love and school. We really had a lengthy conversation. I won’t go into details. The point is if that conversation happened one or two years ago, the advice that I gave her wouldn’t have the same impact. (Just so you know, I am just three years older than her).Of course, I had to think deeply before I react to what she was saying, not only to sound like “oldie” or “know-it-all teacher” but because I was “her teacher” and whatever I said she’d believe. I had to weigh everything and place myself into her shoes. I really felt as problematic as her. I felt empathy.
Empathy- as my teachers once told me – is one of the signs of maturity. Undeniably, therefore, I have grown old and have grown up.
And here is a plus to my age: After our conversation, after going over and over about her problems and listening to her complaints about life, I felt like I was 10 years older.
How old I am again?..hmmm..I can’t remember.Hehe.
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