This has been an incredible semester. In retrospect, I could say that life has drained the hell out of me. It has actually inundated me with memories which I could truly treasure, although some were not worth remembering about. I don't know. It's crazy, right? The first few months were a blast then it suddenly gravitated to an almost nightmarish crash that blasted shards of lessons to learn from. My teaching experience was freaking awesome! The bliss of imparting ideas and knowledge to my students provided me the strength to continue despite pressing issues lurking on the periphery. What really mattered to me then was the fact that being in the classroom and being with my students served as my refuge against the dreadful system of the university.
I was the little voice amid the many voices that cry for change. But still, I realized my voicelessness. I believe that my role is not to battle against the nearly collapsing edifice of what once we considered the cradle of virtue and science.
There is more work to do inside the classroom, I suppose. For me, teaching matters. For teaching, to borrow it from my late mentor, is a matter of love. And there in that four sturdy corners my love, my voice could resonate, and the din and the cacophony would never silence my desire to teach.