We Keep Writing to Each Other

Letters of exchange that kept the teacher and student connected, that helped one another grow, and this connection between this teacher and her former student will remain, strong after the man is released from prison I’m sure!  Translated…

In this day and age, who still, writes letters?  I do, so does, A, one from you, one to you, twice a week, and we’d, entered, into, our seventh year now.

Seven years ago, I’d, received that first letter from the penitentiary of Taichung, I’d opened in in confusion, and anxiousness, and the sender was, A!

A was one of my students, I was his homeroom instructor during his three years of middle school, and, he’d wanted to send him a few test-taking books, to help him finish his high school education in prison, at the end, he’d written, “I’m so sorry teacher, I’d, made, a huge mistake in my life, please forgive me!”

As I finished reading, I’d felt bad for this child, A was really intelligent kid, he’d done outstandingly in his first year of middle school, and in the second year, he’d gotten into the wrong crowd, started skipping the classes then.

I’d worried that he might drop out, and had his classmates, and the head of student affairs to the breakfast stores, the drink shops, even the net cafés to ask him to come back to school to class, and he’d dropped the words, “teacher, I’m only going to school, because you asked me to!”, but, the following morn, I’d not, seen him there.

Because he’d become, truant too long, after he passed through his three years, he’d not received the certificate of graduation only completely, I’d talked with him a long time, and, encouraged him to utilize the resources available to him, to get himself back into school, with the equivalency tests, he’d fallen, silent.

Counting up the years, those students from A’s grade would be, second year college students now, and yet, he became, stuck in a jam.  I was once his homeroom instructor, I’d felt, the responsibilities, for not helping him find his way, so other than sending him the exam study guides, I’d also, started, writing to him.

But what do I write about?  I’d shared with A the thoughts I’d gained from living day to day, for instance, how when there’s something I’d bumped into, and can’t resolve, I’d gone out to exercise, for a run to clear my mind, that that way, my feelings of defeated would get reduced, or be, completely, gone away; how I’d, loved spending time with my loved ones, that families is what’s, most important to me; that at age forty, I’d started, submitting my writings to the papers, and, at age fifty-five, I’d, taken up the drumming arts, and although, I’d not become a profession, but I love and enjoy what I was, doing.

While he’d, poured his heart out through writing back to me: six years of elementary he was the head of class services, the head of maintaining order for his class, that he’d received the mayor’s award at graduation, and that, was as good as it got for him!  Then after that, he’d become, the headache of all of his school instructors, gotten into the night club scenes in middle school, and, before he’d finished his first year of high school, he’d, committed a crime, and had been, locked up, inside, the tall walls since.

To encourage him, I’d often mentioned his good qualities in my letters to him: how the math instructor administered a math test with some level of difficult, which he’d scored a 90 on, and he was treated by the instructor to a piece of fried chicken steak; that he was the cleanliest student of my classes; how as he saw me carrying my laptop around in school, he’d, rushed over to help me carry some stuff, how he was, good in his nature.

He’d replied back: thanks teacher, I’d forgotten, about all those good qualities I used to have.

And we’d, exchanged like this, he’d told me, that he’d enjoyed these, written conversation sessions with me, and kept all the letters I’d sent to him, and would often reread, read closely, reread them again, that it’d, gave him the peace of mind; and because I’d mentioned the tiny little blessings in my own life a lot, he’d found, that he’d, tried to find the wonderful things in his life too.

Once, he’d even told me, that his cellmate was trying to pick a fight, and as he’d wanted to blow up, he was reminded of my words, “there are things, MORE important than getting angry.” And he’d, switched to a brand new mindset, and, stopped the fire from overflowing.  As he thought back, he felt glad, that he’d not, gotten into that fight with his cell mate, because there ARE things, more important, than getting angry—changing himself, making himself grow up, return back to the society, to start anew again.

I remembered when I received that first letter from A, it was, close to illegible, not really told me very much, and now, his handwriting became, pretty (I’d told him, that his writing skills reflected the changes in his heart), and the contents of his letters, even more wonderful, the first two pages were his thoughts, and, the third, was his, copying the Buddhist scripts he’d found, meaningful.

Two years ago, my father passed, and I’d shared how I was, fatherless, and, what I received, was the Mantra of the Heart, copied in perfect handwriting by him, told me that he’d written it, to give it to my father, hoped, that I stay strong, and peaceful.  I was moved to tears, and, on some level, he’d, healed me from, the loss of my, father!  I kept thought, I’d played the role of the encourager to him, and, he’d, encouraged me, in return!

Winter’s here, spring not too faraway.  And now, if there’s no change, by spring of next year, A would be eligible for parole, I’d promised to treat him out for a meal, to celebrate his, rebirth, and made a pact, that we shall, keep on, being, pen pals, to give one another encouragements in life, to share with each other, the goings on, of our, separate, lives.

And so, this is how the students and the teachers, ended up interacting, more like friends, the student originally wrote to the teacher, as a form of apology, and the teacher was, more than open in her mind, told him that he wasn’t a bad kid, that he was only, in with the wrong crowd, and, that made the man realize, that he’s, naturally, good, and, it’d, helped him turn his own life around, and the student offered console to the teacher, as she’d lost her father, and he’d, sent her the mantra he’d copied, from the Buddhist verses, and it’d, comforted her.