How her middle school instructor became a role model, a mentor to her in life, and led her on the path of being an educator too, translated…
There’s, that letter-sized notebook lying inside my desk drawer quietly, I’d flipped open the pages, and saw that there were, two different handwritings, one, a bit, childish, the other, handsome and well-written, this was the exchange diary ten, this was the exchange diary I’d kept for over forty years on end. It’s, just that, the person with whom I’d exchanged this diary from my teenage years wasn’t anyone in my peer group, nor my besties from way back, but my first year high school Chinese instructor, but why?
Back on when I was in the first year of high school, my very first essay topic “self-dissection”, and, I’d read my graded writings, other than an eighty-five as a grade, there was also the comments of my Chinese instructor: “Poetic girl, very brave to build your own dreams, you shall achieve what you set up your mind to one day”. And, next to the comments, there were the red circles for a few lines on end.
My three years of middle school, I was, close to the bottom of class, and I’d never imagined, I would get the commends, the affirmations from my school instructor, and with this “brand new glory” of sorts, I’d felt, like I was, floating in air, couldn’t believe my eyes, that I was, more than blessed for being given the comments! The instructor thought me poetic? My essay got circled by the teacher for good use of wording?
Putting aside my self-doubt, ever since, I got, really, concentrated in my Chinese courses.
like this…
Once, my Chinese instructor mentioned how her path to education was lain out: she’d not made a high enough grade in her college entrance, and started working as an operator at a factory, and thought that that’s her life, but one day, she’d felt that her life shouldn’t be just that, she’d picked up her studies again, worked during the daytime, studied in the nights, after two years of hard work in studying, she’d retaken her college exam, and finally gotten accepted into the university of her, choice. And now, she’s, totally, my idol.
Or maybe it was how I looked up to her, or how I’d, longed for the encouragements, the job well done from my school instructor, I’d written a note, placed it on her desk in the teacher’s office, asked if I could swap diary with her? The following day, my instructor gave me a letter-sized notebook, with “dear girl, I’m more than honored, to exchange words with you” on the first page, and she’d, written an essay titled “self-dissection” too, I’d taken that exchange diary, felt so moved I couldn’t, make a word out.
My lost confidence from being at the bottom of the class, my trials of my backgrounds at home, that sense of lost I’d felt toward the future, how my heart pitter-pattered as I received a letter from a boy, in the exchange diaries, I’d, held nothing back, wrote whatever I wanted that came to my mind, and the instructor used her compassions, and her sense of child’s mind, empathized my youthful, my not being experienced enough; and, the writings we’d exchanged a few days, she’d always, written more than I had, not only did she helped me with my doubts, she’d also, shared with me her understandings of life she’d gained, or recommended the fitting materials for me to rad up, because of this diary exchange, my first year of high school was, colorful, and poetic.
In my second year, due to my family, I’d had to, transfer to another school, and thus, the exchange diaries halted, but I’d found, that toward the challenges of my new environment, I was, steady, wasn’t like how unsure, uncertain I’d been from my middle school days, so, where did my confidence come from? Turned out, since I became “penpals” with my teacher, in her guidance, I’d matured, on the inside.
And, the BEST of what my exchange diaries came much later still, as I’d become a school instructor myself, I’d loved making the exchanges of words with my students too especially toward children who’d locked up their hearts, who’d, become, defensive toward people around them, the mildness of my words, the quality of my words to them, the show of cares and concerns for them, normally, worked way better than the words of advice, of recommendation that came from an adult teacher, which made the hard-to-handle, much easier in handling.
My middle school instructor had sown down that seed with the diary exchanges with me, and gave me the strength in my teenage years, and she’d set an example for me as I’d become an educator too, and now, I’m past sixty years of age, and, as I’d recalled, the hope she’d instilled in me is still, very much, alive.
So, this is what a mentor can do for you, s/he inspires you to reach for your dreams, and when you need, s/he is there, to offer you the social, the emotional support, and s/he is a good individual you can go to, for advices you may need when you bump into the forks in the roads in your life.