Last Saturday, I witnessed the graduation of my first ever advisory class. It was a bit sad because up until that day, I never fully realized that I was going to lose them. You see, it was just then that the reality of the whole event hit me straight in the face.
I guess it’s because I take the kids for granted. Every time I see them in school, I couldn’t help but look at them as if they were still the same kids that I once handled, the same rowdy but sweet bunch of innocent students, the same rambunctious and yet inquisitive group of teenagers, the very first class of kids I considered as my own sons and daughters (virtually the same except for the fact that they’re a bit taller, huskier, more exquisitely handsome and beautiful now). I never realized that in the last three years that they were not under me, they were steadily maturing, growing more independent, and slowly but surely becoming adults, and also, to my selfish side’s dismay, establishing stronger bonds with other teachers.
You see, when I saw them, for the last time, go up the stage one by one to receive their diplomas, that’s when the reality started sinking in. I wanted to cry. The only thing running through my mind at that time was that I will not be able to see these kids anymore after the ceremony, at least not everyday like it used to be for the last four years. That’s when my tears welled up. However, it was not until when they paraded off, then hugged and bid goodbye to their present teachers that the tears dangerously came close to falling.
This, I guess that was the final blow that truly symbolized how much they’ve grown. Because as much as I wish that it was me that they were saying goodbye to, I know that that was how it was supposed to end. My children have indeed grown and learned to form bonds with other people. I just have to accept it. Perhaps, four years ago it would have gone the way I wanted it to but the sad truth is, they’re not just mine anymore.
There was nothing I could do except to recall pictures of them from way back when they were still under me - their funny antics, our many serious conversations about being mature, the punishments I gave them for not putting their chairs back in order, the leche flan frenzy, the hilarious slips that gave birth to the tradition of the word of the day. Everything! We would never have those again. Heck, we won’t even see each other anymore. And as much as I would like to stop them from leaving, I have to let them go.
I felt like I wanted to say so much to them but I don’t really know how to start. I’m sure they’ve heard everything I could possibly say from their other teachers so what’s the point?
I guess it’s a good thing our paths never crossed again after the march. I don’t think I would’ve been able to say goodbye to them without letting tears drop from my eyes and I don’t want that to happen. I mean, it’s enough that I have memories of them that I will share and cherish. There’s no need to share tears as well. After all, they’ll always be the first class I ever loved and first love never dies.