MY OLIVER TWISTS

I admit I am a cry baby. I cry at the littlest mushy thing like hugs, unexpected "thank-you's", freebies, tearful "I'm sorries" from my 2-year-old, even the teary-eyed students who looked seemingly betrayed at the prospect of goodbyes.

Yesterday was unexpected. I guess I was too overjoyed by how things turn out that I gave the habalhabal driver some good extra pesos when he hauled me to the gate of the school after the uphill and downhill ride--one last time. And who would not be, my next assignment would be five-minute walk away from where I live.

I was all smile when I got to the gate and to the classrooms when I saw my students teary-eyed and looking lost. They knew. Long before I knew. They saw my replacement English teacher first and knew right at that instant I'm leaving. I was cornered with darting hurt look from each of them. Despite being thrown in a pandemonic state of things, I still caught some murmured questions aimed at me like machine guns that have no plans to relent. Questions were hurled from what sounded like thick strangled tongues trying desperately, wanting to ask in English (as such was my rule if they had to speak within earshot of their English teacher).

"Are you really going ma'am? Away from us?"

The replacement teacher wasn't at any count bad. Not at all. So I am sure after this little hoopla, things will fall into place. They will be all right. These orphans, as how my students would like to call themselves with me their class adviser, gone in a few moments from then. From that, one can understand why I call them my "Oliver Twists." I have never seen a hunger as theirs--you could stick a spoon to their mouth, they'd bite, spoon including. I can see them wide-eyed everytime I taught them not only what my lesson plan stipulates but also the unwritten laws of this universe we call culture despite the modern times.

I thought I had never began my trek with these kids yet. We have miles to travel or so I thought. I had unconscious plans to train them and mold them in what powers I could muster. Two months, only two months and I am done with my Oliver Twists.

Again, I am a cry baby. When I saw them broke down in broad daylight (even at the presence of the new teacher), I knew right there I was through. And what little I had with with them was more than enough. Right there, while they're like that(wanting more of what I could give) than later when there is no certainty if they would still want more of what they could purge from me the same way they want me now.

Such self-absorbed thinking you might say. But all this fuss is enough to tell me I have taught enough. My Oliver Twists are no orphans. Not at all.