High School Life

My first day of high school was filled with both excitement and anxiety. I was lucky to be in the same class as my best friend, but the majority of our new classmates were students who had graduated from different elementary schools.

My usual bubbly self had to tone things down a little. It felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory, where I didn't quite know where I belonged yet. We introduced ourselves one by one, trying to get a feel for the people around us. Before long, little groups began forming here and there, as some students naturally gravitated toward those they already knew or quickly found something in common.

Naturally, I stuck close to my best friend. Eventually, two other girls joined our little group. I had no idea then that the four of us would end up becoming close friends all the way through graduation.

During my first year, our adviser was a Math teacher who was famous around the school for being mysterious. There were a few rumors circulating about her, and apparently, some of them had been around for years.

Some students said she could see ghosts. Others claimed that a dwarf had fallen in love with her, which was supposedly the reason she remained unmarried despite her age. There was even a rumor that this was somehow connected to her thin and frail appearance.

As a new student, I had no idea which stories were true and which were simply the usual rumors passed around by bored teenagers. But one thing was certain—our adviser had already become one of the most intriguing people in the school before I even got the chance to know her.

One afternoon, the teachers were called to a conference, which meant we had no classes for the day. Before leaving for the meeting, our adviser asked us to clean the empty space behind our classroom.

It was basically an empty lot with only a few plants and trees scattered around. Since it was clearly visible from our classroom through the large windows, our adviser insisted that we keep it clean and tidy.

The four of us formed a small circle as we pulled out the overgrown weeds. I can't exactly remember who brought up the topic, but somehow, our conversation ended up being about our adviser.

We remained that way for a few minutes when we suddenly heard a soft, “Psst!” coming from behind us.

We all turned our heads at the same time, only to find our adviser standing inside our classroom, her head poking out through the window.

We all flinched. I was pretty sure we were scared out of our wits at that moment, but running away would have been extremely rude—and probably a lot more suspicious.

“Tama na ’yang chismisan n’yo d’yan. Tapusin n’yo na ang paglilinis dahil patapos na ang meeting namin,” she said, her sharp eyes fixed on us. (“Enough with the gossip over there. Finish cleaning up because our meeting is almost over.”)

We immediately went back to pulling weeds, suddenly very interested in the task we had neglected while gossiping about her.

As soon as she walked away, we started whispering again, convinced that she had somehow heard everything we had been saying. It seemed almost impossible. We were quite a distance from the classroom window, and we had been whispering the entire time. Surely, there was no way she could have heard us.

The more logical explanation was that she had simply seen the four of us huddled together, whispering instead of cleaning, and had correctly assumed that we were up to no good.

But our imaginative minds refused to accept something as ordinary as logic.

Instead, we somehow convinced ourselves that one of the rumors about her had to be true. Maybe she really did have some kind of supernatural ability—perhaps a superpower she had received from the dwarf who had supposedly fallen in love with her. And maybe, somehow, that superpower had allowed her to hear us talking about her from all the way inside the classroom.

To our thirteen-year-old minds, that explanation made perfect sense.

Eventually, we stopped believing those rumors after gradually getting to know her better. She was one of the few teachers who actually made me like Math, even if only for a little while.

And on the premise of being close to a teacher, there was a time when I became a little too attached to one of mine. I remember crying after learning that he was about to transfer to another school. Without a doubt, it was one of the most embarrassing moments I can remember.

He was our Science teacher and the advisor of the Debate Club. After noticing how opinionated I was, he offered me a spot on the team. He told me that I was exactly the kind of student he needed.

Having participated in different activities back in elementary school, and genuinely enjoying them, I didn't hesitate when I was given another opportunity to do something similar. I immediately agreed.

The only problem was, I had absolutely no idea how debating worked.

Thankfully, he was patient with me. He taught me what I was supposed to say, how to present my arguments, and, more importantly, how to approach people whose opinions were completely different from mine. It was something I had never really thought about before. I was used to simply voicing whatever opinion I had, but being part of the Debate Club taught me that having an opinion was only the beginning. I also had to learn how to defend it, listen to the other side, and respond without simply talking over them.

We spent a lot of time together—or rather, I found every possible excuse to make sure we did.

I would volunteer to participate in debate sessions almost every time. I would ask him questions, and because he was so passionate about debate, he was always more than willing to help me. Looking back at how often I sought him out, it was pretty obvious that I enjoyed having his attention, although at the time, I probably would have denied it.

Sometimes, even when we were supposed to be having Science class, he would suddenly ask us to debate certain topics. My classmates would immediately complain whenever they had to go up against me. Since I was a member of the Debate Club, they thought I had a huge advantage over them.

And, honestly, I couldn't even blame them. I knew more about debating than they did, and I wasn't exactly shy about using that to my advantage.

One time, he actually agreed to let my entire class go up against me. The proposition was, “This House believes that teaching a man how to fish will let him live longer than giving him a fish.”

I was on the affirmative side. My classmates, one by one, shared their opinions about how simply teaching a man how to fish did not necessarily mean he would live longer. Some argued that giving someone a fish would be more practical, especially if they were hungry and needed food immediately. Others insisted that not everyone had the time, ability, or resources to learn how to fish in the first place.

I listened to each of them, quietly taking note of their arguments as they went around the room. Since I was the only one on the opposing side, I knew I had to address each point they raised.

When it was finally my turn, I stood up and presented my argument. I explained that giving someone a fish might solve their hunger for a day, but teaching them how to fish gave them the ability to provide for themselves beyond that one meal. It wasn't simply about the fish—it was about giving someone the knowledge and skill to become self-sufficient.

One by one, I countered their arguments, until eventually, my classmates started running out of things to say.

My teacher was watching the entire exchange with a smile on his face. I could tell he was enjoying every minute of it.

Thankfully, I managed to save face for the Debate Club and won the argument. More than just winning, though, that was when I realized that I had genuinely grown to love debating. What started as an opportunity to spend more time with my teacher eventually became something I truly enjoyed doing for myself.

One day, I heard the news that he would only be staying for another month before moving to a new school. Apparently, he had been offered a higher position there, and naturally, he took the opportunity.

Perhaps because I was young, and because it was the first time I felt that I had admired someone who was genuinely worth admiring, I couldn't control my emotions. I started crying.

All the times I had thought I had a crush on someone before, it was mostly because they were good-looking or because they had told me they liked me. This time, it was different. I admired him because of how kind he was, how patient he was, and how he treated his students with the same respect they gave him.

Maybe that's why his leaving affected me so much. It wasn't simply that my favorite teacher was leaving. I was losing someone I genuinely looked up to, someone who had introduced me to something I came to love and who, without even realizing it, had left a lasting impression on me.

Despite it being a vacant period, my best friend panicked. Admittedly, it was the first time she had ever seen me in that state. She considered calling the teacher who was the reason I was crying, but I pleaded with her not to. It would have been far too embarrassing for him to see me like that.

So instead, my best friend called a fourth-year student from the Debate Club whom I had grown very close to. She told her what had happened, and the moment she arrived, I was immediately scolded.

She said she understood why I was feeling that way, but I needed to learn how to control my emotions—not just for my own sake, but for the teacher's as well. She reminded me that my crying would inevitably attract attention, and people might misunderstand the situation.

And she had a point.

A student crying over a teacher was not exactly a good look, especially when there was no way to explain it without making the whole situation even more shameful.

Eventually, I managed to compose myself. But by then, the news had already reached my teacher. He called me to the Science Department office and asked me what was going on.

I remember being so flustered that, for a moment, I didn't know what to say. Eventually, I admitted that I was sad because I had learned that he was leaving.

Thankfully, he didn't question me any further. He could have easily raised an eyebrow and asked why it was any of my business if he was transferring to another school. Instead, he simply explained that the opportunity was too good for him to turn down.

He spoke about it so calmly, as if he wanted me to understand that his leaving wasn't something I should be sad about. It was a good opportunity for him, and he said he would be grateful if I could be happy for him.

I smiled and nodded, wishing him luck on his new adventure. Deep down, I was still sad that he was leaving, but I knew he was right. If I genuinely admired him as much as I claimed to, then I should be happy to see him take an opportunity that could help him grow.

The Debate Club eventually disbanded after he left, as no other teacher was willing to take over as its adviser. In a way, it felt like another part of my high school life had ended with him. Without him there to guide us, the club simply faded away.

Still, it remained one of the most unforgettable chapters of my high school journey.