Feeling calm...
I think about Mrs. T all the time, my elementary school teacher.
There are infinite ways of thinking about a person. I used to think about her when I wanted to revise the carefree time as a child. A perfect episode. We ran wild and turned the city into our forests, rivers and mountains, the embodiment of which was her smile. I don't recall a time when she wasn't smiling or laughing, even the angry expression on her face for punishing my mischief looked fake and felt warm. Before the performance of our class chorus, she forced makeup on me and sighed, 'how pretty', and I blushed and my heart giggled at hearing her remark, which, as a girl myself, I'd usually thought only the silly weak ones would love to hear. I guess I checked my happiness too soon. We grew up. Things started to go, and things became better, but years in between I never saw her again because not wanting to ruin her favorite happy child, because not being able to face her with a troubled look. 'When I become stronger, I'll see her again.' I did, but a noose aborted my plan. Now I think about her knowing the end of the story. It took me years to concretize the news of her suicide. She was not the only one in my life who decided to leave this way but the first one to liberate me with this decision. When good news comes filling me with hope, I want to tell her, which I can, so it doesn't matter; when bad news arrives depressing and trapping me, I wonder whether it could be as devastating as what she was going through. Unlikely, but even it is, it can be switched off and we can go off the stage anytime we want, that is what she showed me, so it doesn't matter. Indeed, it doesn't matter. I was born but forged by her, and she'd left me lingering in the purple afterglow of the sun. She'd taught me plenty and I am grateful for the last lesson 'jump into the wild, my kid.' because whatever chaos there is, it doesn't matter.
