Chapter 11-Too Much
1792 Words
By the beginning of her second month at St. Clare Learning Center, Lena had learned one important truth about teaching:
The bell did not mean the work was over.
Sometimes, it meant the other work was just beginning.
At 4:00 p.m., the learners would rush out of the classroom, their voices filling the hallway as they hurried toward the gate.
Lena used to watch them leave with a small sense of relief.
Now, she watched them disappear and looked at the pile of papers waiting on her desk.
“Good afternoon, Ma'am Lena!”
“Good afternoon! See you tomorrow!”
“Bye, Ma'am!”
“Don't forget your homework!”
“Yes, Ma'am!”
The last learner ran out of the room.
Silence followed.
Lena turned toward the board.
There were still notes from the day's lesson written across it.
She looked at the clock.
4:07 p.m.
She sighed.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Let's do this.”
She sat down.
Thirty activity sheets waited for checking.
Beside them was her lesson plan for tomorrow.
Underneath that were several folders containing documents she needed to organize.
And on the corner of her desk was a piece of paper she had almost forgotten about.
School Activity Preparation.
Lena picked it up.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
She had forgotten about it.
Again.
She quickly opened her notebook.
The next school activity was only a few days away.
Her Grade 5 class had been assigned a presentation, and she had volunteered to help prepare the materials.
Volunteered.
That word suddenly felt heavier than it had a week ago.
Lena rubbed her forehead.
“Why did I volunteer?”
She remembered what she had told herself when she first started teaching.
Be helpful.
Be dependable.
Don't be afraid of work.
She had taken those words seriously.
Maybe too seriously.
She opened her lesson plan.
Then the activity sheets.
Then the preparation list.
She stared at everything.
For several seconds, she did nothing.
“Ma'am Lena?”
She looked up.
Teacher Grace stood at the doorway.
“You're still here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lena pointed at her desk.
Grace walked closer and looked at the pile.
“Ah.”
“What?”
“That.”
“What?”
“That is the face of a teacher who has said yes too many times.”
Lena laughed.
“I can handle it.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“That's exactly what you said last week.”
“I can still handle it.”
“And the week before?”
Lena paused.
“I also said it.”
Grace smiled.
“Exactly.”
She pulled a chair and sat beside Lena.
“You know, Lena, being hardworking is good.”
“I know.”
“But you don't have to prove it every day.”
Lena looked at her.
“I just want people to know they can depend on me.”
“They already know.”
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You keep staying late.”
Lena smiled.
“That doesn't prove anything.”
“It proves you're tired.”
They both laughed.
For a moment, the weight on Lena's shoulders felt lighter.
Then Grace stood.
“Don't forget to go home.”
“I won't.”
Grace looked at the clock.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Grace left.
Lena looked back at her desk.
The promise lasted approximately three seconds.
She picked up another paper.
“Just one more.”
By 6:30 p.m., Lena was still at school.
The teachers' room was quieter now.
Most of the teachers had already gone home.
Only the hum of the electric fan and the occasional sound of a chair moving could be heard.
Lena checked another paper.
Correct.
Another.
Almost correct.
Another.
Blank.
She stopped.
The blank paper reminded her of one of her struggling learners.
She remembered the first time she had seen a child staring at a page without knowing how to begin.
She had learned that a blank page did not always mean a learner was lazy.
Sometimes it meant the learner needed help.
She wrote a short note beside the paper.
Needs guidance.
Then she moved to the next one.
She had thirty papers.
She was on number twenty-three.
Her eyes were beginning to hurt.
She leaned back.
Maybe she should have gone home earlier.
But tomorrow's lesson still needed preparation.
And the school activity still needed materials.
And the documents still needed organizing.
And—
Her phone vibrated.
A message from her mother.
Are you coming home for dinner?
Lena looked at the time.
6:47 p.m.
She typed:
Yes, Ma. Soon.
She stared at the word soon.
She wasn't sure what it meant anymore.
At 7:15 p.m., Lena finally left St. Clare.
She walked home carrying the same bag she had brought that morning.
Only now it felt heavier.
Inside were notebooks, lesson plans, activity sheets, folders, and a laptop.
She entered the house quietly.
Rosa was in the kitchen.
“You're home.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“You're late.”
“I had some work.”
Rosa looked at the bag.
“You brought work home?”
Lena nodded.
Rosa did not say anything immediately.
She simply looked at her daughter.
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Then eat first.”
“But I need to finish—”
“Eat first.”
Lena smiled.
“Yes, Ma.”
They sat together for dinner.
For a few minutes, Lena did not talk about school.
She ate.
She listened to her mother's stories.
She laughed at something small and ordinary.
It felt good.
Normal.
Then, after dinner, she went to her room.
She opened her laptop.
The first document appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
She worked until 9:30.
At 10:15, she checked the clock.
At 10:47, she was still working.
At 11:20, she finally closed the laptop.
She looked at tomorrow's lesson plan.
Finished.
She looked at the activity materials.
Partially finished.
She looked at the remaining papers.
Still there.
Lena leaned back in her chair.
She was exhausted.
But she also felt guilty for being exhausted.
That was the strange part.
She had wanted this.
She had prayed for this.
She had worked for this.
She had imagined herself standing in front of a classroom.
She had imagined being called Ma'am Lena.
She had imagined helping children learn.
She had imagined going home tired but fulfilled.
She had never imagined being tired before the day even began.
The next morning, Lena arrived at school earlier than usual.
She placed her bag on her desk and began arranging her materials.
Teacher Sam entered a few minutes later.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Sir.”
He looked at her.
“You're early.”
“I usually am.”
“You look tired.”
Lena smiled.
“Everyone keeps telling me that.”
“Maybe everyone is right.”
She laughed.
Sam placed his things on the table.
“What happened?”
“Too much work.”
Sam nodded.
“That happens.”
“I thought I could handle everything.”
“You probably can.”
Lena looked at him.
“But?”
“But handling everything doesn't mean you should.”
Lena became quiet.
Sam continued.
“You're young, Lena. You have energy. You want to prove yourself. That's good.”
He paused.
“But don't turn your willingness to help into a habit of carrying everything.”
Lena looked down at her hands.
“I just don't want people to think I'm lazy.”
“Doing less than everything does not make you lazy.”
“Then how do I know when enough is enough?”
Sam smiled.
“You learn.”
Lena laughed softly.
“That's your answer to everything.”
“Because it's true.”
The bell rang.
Learners began entering the classroom.
Lena stood.
Whatever tiredness she carried, she had to set it aside for the moment.
“Good morning, class!”
“Good morning, Ma'am Lena!”
Thirty voices answered.
And despite everything, Lena smiled.
The lesson began.
The day became busy quickly.
One learner forgot his notebook.
Another had no pencil.
Two students argued during group work.
One group finished early.
Another group barely started.
A learner needed help reading instructions.
Someone spilled water.
Someone else asked a question completely unrelated to the lesson.
“Ma'am, can clouds fall?”
Lena paused.
“Not exactly.”
“But what if they get too heavy?”
“That's rain.”
“Oh.”
The class continued.
Lena smiled.
For a while, she forgot how tired she was.
This was the part she loved.
The part that reminded her why she had chosen teaching.
Then the bell rang.
The learners packed their things.
“Goodbye, Ma'am!”
“Goodbye!”
“See you tomorrow!”
“Don't forget your assignment!”
They left.
Lena sat down.
She looked at the clock.
4:00 p.m.
She looked at her desk.
The work was waiting.
Again.
But this time, she did not immediately begin.
She took out her notebook.
She turned to a fresh page.
For several seconds, she stared at it.
Then she wrote:
I want to be a good teacher.
She stopped.
Underneath it, she wrote:
But being a good teacher does not mean doing everything.
She looked at the sentence.
It felt strange.
Almost wrong.
Then she added another:
I need to learn how to work hard without losing myself in the work.
Lena closed the notebook.
She picked up her papers.
But instead of trying to finish everything that evening, she made a list.
Must finish today.
Can finish tomorrow.
Can ask for help.
She looked at the last category.
It was almost empty.
Lena smiled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Maybe that's something I need to learn too.”
She packed her things.
For the first time in weeks, she decided to leave some work at school.
Not because she cared less.
Not because she was lazy.
But because she was beginning to understand something her mother had been trying to teach her all along.
A person could give their best without giving away everything.
And perhaps that was another lesson teaching had been waiting to give her.
The bell had taught her when the school day ended.
Now Lena had to learn when her own day should end.
She switched off the classroom light.
Then she closed the door behind her.
Tomorrow, there would be more work.
More lessons.
More responsibilities.
More challenges.
But for tonight, she was going home.
And for once, she allowed herself to believe that was enough.
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