It is a tranquil summer afternoon. I just happened to be here in this school, and I felt a sudden wind of melancholy, and thought I could take a detour from my hectic routine and steal my way to the classroom that I knew so well. Well, honestly, my heart asked me to go there, because I might find something worthwhile. I don’t know what it’s all about.
The corridor is a very different place without people in it. Nothing but the sounds of my quick steps and the trees rustling and swaying gently to the breeze. I was here for three years, but I never did hear them – nor cared to – not with all the noise and daily goings-on. Neither had I cast eyes upon the grounds from a contemplative and reflective perspective (an attempt of assonance?). The pale white walls seem to echo the voices of countless students that have come and gone. I trained my eyes on a window of an empty classroom – 7 Truth, and I thought I clearly heard the familiar voices of my students…the voice of a man trying to get an idea across in a sea of chatter from those empty chairs – thought I heard my own voice. I wander towards the other door at the end of the classroom and imagine the stampede of footsteps…and more chatter fading slowly into the melancholy of the wind.
Now I stand before this door like a stranger about to open it for the last time. I am surprised that it’s my first time I felt down in the dumps of seeing this empty room that is used to be very busy in the past years. I came inside and felt even more downhearted – I’ll never be here again. I am leaving this room that for three years become my home. I may be leaving but I’ll be bringing with me the numerous memories I shared with my adored students. With an achy heart I’ll bear this truth in my heart – what’s gone and done can never be brought back again. I’ll miss you all!
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