05/10/2025
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๐๐๐๐๐๐ | ๐ช๐ผ๐ฟ๐น๐ฑ ๐ง๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐โ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ฆ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฎ๐น
๐๐จ ๐๐จ๐ฅ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ฅ๐โ๐ฌ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ
The kettle hums before dawn, and the light filtering through the kitchen window has not yet found its full warmth. Somewhere, a teacher leans against the counter, half-awake, mentally rehearsing the day ahead; attendance sheets, quizzes, and that one student whoโs still learning how to meet the world halfway.
Cars and tricycles honk outside. The world turns. Life begins again.
By the time the first bell rings, the day has already been lived in fragments: the quick breakfast skipped, the hurried goodbyes to their own children, the forgotten umbrella. Teachers arrive not as superheroes, but as ordinary people carrying extraordinary weight and balancing exhaustion, expectation, and the hope that today, they might make someone understand.
Teaching has never been gentle work; it is a craft built by unseen hands. The chalk that clings to their clothes is dust from the dreams theyโve built for others and proof of battles fought daily: a fight against fatigue, apathy, and sometimes, against the limits of their own strength.
Yet teachers still find the grace to smile as if it were easy.
Inside the classroom, there is a choreography only they knowโthe slow pacing while waiting for answers, the practiced patience of repeating an explanation, the soft humor used to dissolve tension. The air smells faintly of ink and floor wax, of notebooks heavy with the lives of students who trust them, even without saying it.
They do not simply teach; they anchor.
Sir Carl Kevin Gallano knows this rhythm too well. His day oscillates between teaching ICT and Kasaysayan at Lipunang Pilipino, and later, coaching boysโ basketball. In one hand, a marker; in the other, a whistle. In both, purpose.
โBeing a teacher is very hard,โ he admitted. โSa isang section pa lang, marami na kayong estudyante, at hindi lang naman iisang klase ang hinahawakan ng mga g**o. But itโs our mission to provide knowledge. As a coach and a father, I have to balance everything.โ
Balance. Itโs the word that lives quietly behind every teacherโs smile. Between the noise of the classroom and the silence of home, they juggle lives, not just subjects. They teach computer codes and moral codes, historical timelines and personal patience. They are both guide and listener, disciplinarian and confidant.
And in the midst of it all, they remain human.
There are nights when the papers pile like small mountains on the table, the red ink bleeding like effort into every page. There are mornings when the laughter of students feels like caffeine, when even the smallest thank-you feels enough to teach through the week.
โWe have to praise and clap for every progress our students make,โ Sir Carl said. โBecause, in and out of school, we all learn differently. As teachers and coaches, we must recognize that.โ
It takes a special kind of vision to see progress where others see imperfectionโto believe that a hesitant voice can one day speak with conviction. That is the miracle teachers perform daily; they notice, nurture, and wait.
Every teacher carries ghosts of old students; the ones who made them cry, laugh, worry. They remember handwriting, laughter, the way one kidโs eyes brightened after finally understanding a lesson. They carry those memories like folded letters inside their chest, invisible yet permanent.
And perhaps that is what this day, World Teachersโ Day, tries to honor. It is not about the gifts or performances or roses wrapped in ribbons, but about the soft acknowledgement that behind every confident child stands a weary, relentless guide who refuses to give up.
Sir Carl hopes that what his students remember are not his lessons, but his example. โI want them to remember the values I try to show, such as respect, perseverance, and kindness,โ he said.
And maybe that is what all teachers truly wish forโto be remembered, not as authority figures nor dictators, but as people who carried the weight of the world on tired shoulders, and still managed to lift others higher.
As the music fades and the celebration quiets, the classrooms will fall back into their usual rhythm. The teachers will return to their seats, to their heavy bags, and patient hearts. They will keep carrying the weight of other peopleโs dreams, quietly and consistently, until the end of another long day.
And so, that same kettle hums once more. The air smells faintly of chalk and brewed coffee. The window glows amber now, framing the silhouette of someone who has given everything and asks for little in return.
The world turns, as it always does. But it stands upright because somewhere, a teacher is already awake, holding the light steady for the rest of us.
Feature by Thea-Marie Balbin
Layout by Mary Cantos
