WORDS CAN CUT THE DEEPEST

Seated on my favorite chair, sipping coffee, I once again tried to recall what had befallen to me.

 

 

It was like a colored photograph turned into sepia, or an old black and white picture. My mind tried to declutter the tangled mess, but my thoughts would wander away as I struggled to trace the root of it all. Just like before, I would sit down, paralyzed, while trying to figure out the best course of action I would take.

 

My thoughts went back. . .

 

I had my share of teaching in a university. During those times, colleagues envy my vivacity, wit, and humor. My students adore me, and friends always come to me. I had plenty of friends, then. My family enjoys the perks of studying free plus tours that we had. Colorful days. These memories are like colored photographs hanging on my wall.

 

I spent twenty-five years teaching.

 

I love teaching. The smell of newly minted books, the art of motivating the students, the early walks to the lecture room always gave me the satisfaction I craved for. But the educational system, K to 12 left us, tenured professors, haunting doubts on what awaits us. There will be no first-year students for two years and by that time that there will be enrollees, there would be no third year and fourth-year students. I had been teaching major subjects.

 

I was caught at a crossroad.

 

I thought: “I am fifty years old. I am eligible for retirement.” Would I wait for that time, when students coming from senior high come to our doorstep? It was a gloomy prospect which for me, a risk to take. I spent quite some time pondering on the best move.

 

With a heavy heart, I filed my retirement papers, amidst the persuasion of the administration that I should not. I would not wait for that time when there would be no more subject to teach, only an office with a meagre income. Looking back now, I must have been right for many also filed theirs. The unwanted future forecasted by the implementation of K-12-which eventually would displace university professors hit them too.

 

During the send-off ceremonies, I have mixed feelings. Deep inside, I told myself I would just be a full-time lecturer in agencies, then tutor my youngest daughter. Then, it was time for me to speak.

 

I narrated how during the early years of my career, I aspired for the rank, not for any position. I narrated how I finished my masters and doctoral degrees respectively then ventured into research just to attain my professorial rank. I spiced my talk with experiences in the university. I expounded that the ultimate test of knowledge is to convey it to others. That was the reason, I said, why I became a teacher.

 

Driving home, my wife was silent. I, too, cannot say a word. I have already explained everything to her, and maybe she is thinking how we would strive to send the kids to school. She knows I can receive my separation pay in due time, but it is not much. Further, I cannot yet receive my pension.

 

Alas, I was invited to lecture on writing, one of the passions that I have. It was a two-day jaunt, where I got paid very well. I plummeted to Platonic heights when I was offered a job. I was jubilant while I drove going home. Life is fair, after all.

 

My boss became my friend. Each day was a new experience for me. If I enjoyed teaching, I realized I enjoy my new job too. I awoke early, do the household chores and proceed to my pad and scribble poems and fiction. I entered into contests and won minor awards. I went into biking and feasted under the sun.

 

Then, the blow came.

 

 

I remember quite clearly now how those insulting words dragged my energy down. How those thunderous words took my self-worth away. I was insulted by what I have considered as a friend. Not only once but twice. I sulked. In due time, I was like a robot, going with the flow of life. Moments passed by like a wisp, only to come back like a mist. I was shattered. I cannot sing, I cannot smile. I was torn into fighting back or even taking revenge. Adding more pain, my friends waned coincidentally.

 

Am I too sensitive? I tried to reason out I am not. But the other side of my mind told me it was an insult. A verbal insult. Day after day, the pain came back, stifling my energy to be jolly and productive. I go along with the chores at home, but soon, I would take a deep breath and the pain comes back again. I also regret having retired too soon and having been so reckless befriending others.

 

Much to my desire to rise from the whirlpool, I sank instead. I drive to work and lethargically mingle with employees, no longer the usually energetic and festive me, but a detached soul, trying to survive. I started blaming myself as guilty feelings assaulted me. I let go of entering into contests and my bike stayed at the pad, may be wondering why it hasn’t been used for a long time now. The routines are like Sepia pictures that hung in my memory. Life is unfair.

 

That was two years ago.

 

Then yesterday, as I was seated in my favorite chair, I suddenly remembered a poem by Longfellow I used to teach in college.

 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

 

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each tomorrow

Find us farther than today.

 

 

 

I had been distracted for so long. I was not able to move on. Life is beautiful. I have to move on and let those painful experiences be blown by the wind of time. The scar is there, but it is no longer painful. I am alive, I have my passions and all I have to do is to forgive and forget. How dumb was I to be tormented by it for quite some time? The poem by Henley fortified me more:

 

 

 

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody but unbowed.

It is true: words can cut the deepest. As much as possible, let us choose kind words. Statements that encourage, not discourage. Words are sharper than a blade. Words can take away self-esteem, especially if the insult seeped through the heart.

 

I know I have to share this. I can now be free from the blanketing self-guilt, for I know I am not guilty. In fact, I discovered that I have a beautiful heart. I did not bow down. I only rested from the race. The best is yet to come. I know I will be into poetry again soon. And my bike! Ah, I will take the trail soon.

 

 

Seated on my favorite chair, sipping coffee, I smiled at the beautiful spectacle outside the window.

 

It was like a colored photograph turned into sepia, or an old black and white picture, then transformed into the masterpiece of Amorsolo. My mind tried to structure a poem and a beautiful song.