An issue to be settled first is the intended audience of this paper. This reflection paper is mainly intended for a Scholastican audience. . . This is so because they are the subject of this reflection and have been the ones who I have decided to turn my career path on for ten years now. However it is not limited to just that. It is my hope that the theme is something that will transcend school affiliations. . .

All those nine years; how do I sum up all that has come to pass? How do I contain all that has been? . . I sit down facing the computer and for the first time my fingers falter at the task of collecting all those years into a comprehensive thought . . .

As I sort out things in my head, I know that what I keep and what I throw away will shape my memories. The clutter I found in my work area, I readily find is not at all work-related. . . On and in my desk is a collection of favorite poems scribbled on pieces of paper, pirated CDs, favorite books, the complete collection of Pugad Baboy and Tolkien, credit card bills, small stuffed toys given by students, birthday cards, my cell phone, props for magic tricks, Days nametags, unsigned notes and love letters from secret admirers, a collection of pens left in Toika, grad pics, photographs and neo-prints, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and what have have you. I can't finish this enumeration as it would probably take the whole day. But this gives a rough idea of what one might expect to see on my desk and the things that could possibly be on my mind.

I decide to set aside the durables from the non-durables. Likewise I sort the vivid memories from the ones I'm not quite sure about anymore. I throw away small pieces of paper with little scribblings of phone numbers, grades, lecture notes, and the like. Then I make mental notes of those words unsaid and and things undone. As i sort through the clutter of nine years, I secretly shed a tear for the memories each little scrap of paper brings. Names and faces come to form. I hear distant echoes of footsteps and chatter in the halls, crying and laughter, jokes and stories told on those lazy days when tales of ghosts and loves lost were far more interesting than any "point of information." Photos from 50 pounds ago put a smile on my face and I bravely stifle a sob, and I laugh at how funny and happy everyone looked. The reason, I thought, it was difficult for me to keep from being messy was the sentimentality of each little item. It was the sentimentality that kept me from throwing away anything. And yet again I realize that it's not really the thing that holds the memories but I who keep them, together with those that I share the memories with. There, I thought, my desk is clean. But even upon second look, it was still messy, my mind was still cluttered. . . ah yes, the matter of words unsaid and things undone.

Nine years ago, I came to St. Scho on a whim. I had quit my job at a shipping line and decided to teach again. St. Scho was farthest from my mind stupidly because I didn't know where it was. I asked a kabarkada, who's also a Kulasa, to accompany me. And to make a long story short, I was hired. I came in re-invigorated by my youthful ideals. I stood strong, convinced of my capabilities that I would make changes in the lives of those that I I will encounter. As I enforced my brand of result-oriented style of teaching, my one resolution was to make and mold the Scholasticans into the best speakers this school will ever know. I demanded much from them because I only expected the utmost from myself as well. Perhaps this was an offshoot from my school days when we were battered with the Latin adage, "non multa sed multum," to whom much is given, much is expected in return. Little did I realize that i failed to make real changes in them because they did not need changing. They were already good at whatever they were good at. It was only a matter of discovering their skills and talents. I was not making changes in them; they were making changes in me.

In the hustle and bustle of a teacher's life, I sometimes forget that students are more than just adding machines and word processors. I sometimes set aside the part of students that love to laugh, sing and dance, scream, tell stories, eat junk food, and so much more. I stopped reaching out. Then four years ago I fell in love with the one whom I thought I was going to share my life with. Two years after that God parted our ways. This year, I fell in love again. God gave me his reason for breaking my heart. He said that He had to break my heart so that I could let you in; that I might learn to love again purely. Then you unwittingly, unknowingly touched my heart. You the debaters, you the Dazers, you the quiet ones in class, and of course you the noisy ones, you who I always tap on the head, you with the curly hair, you who I played volleyball and basketball with, you that I walked out on, all you who were ever heart-broken, you who laughed out loud at the sight of each other's face, you who revealed your secrets, you who thought my jokes and antics in class were funny, you who were my little sisters, you who I sat with at the stones, you who I worked with, you who won and lost in the interclass competitions, you who gave a damn about my useless handouts, you who were the forced volunteers of the speech fest,, you who read my books, you who I played magic numbers with, yes even you who had difficulty speaking to me in english. Yes you, all of you have touched me. And I, I secretly loved each moment with you.  [next page]