My Teacher Is Not My Hero

Teachers? Who are they, anyway? Simply nag people, with low patience, and high blood pressure reaching the ceiling of my classroom, and even surpassing the roof outside. But behind those strict and high-pitched voices, partnered with a face painted on it the perfectly cone-shaped eyebrows, is a humane heart congested with love and passion.  Friday, 5:00 PM. As I traced paths to my house after a long day at school, while scrolling the newsfeed of my f*******: account, I loudly swore someone for bumping me, and blushed the more when she accidentally stepped the just fell cellphone from my hands. And was too shocked to find out that she was a teacher judging with her uniform. I, then apologized as I stood up with so much frustration written on my face. And got more frustrated when I saw tears that suddenly flood out from her reddish eyes.  “Ma’am, what happened?” I asked her. I just thought something just happened so bad that she cannot contain herself. I helped her pick-up the books that fell on the ground. I still hear her sobs. And it melted my heart that I want to talk to her. She did not mind my question and continued to walk. I don’t have any idea where that walk leads but I am certain that I just can’t leave the books on the ground and let her walk alone in that situation. From there, an unforeseen journey awaits.